In addition to the many beliefs amongst the Zulus, of which I have given some examples, which may be properly called superstitious, there are a large number of curious half-beliefs and traditions, something of the nature of “old wives’ tales,” to which allusion is made more or less seriously in the ordinary course of Zulu conversation, and which often come as a surprise to the uninitiated European. I remember being much struck with some of these many years ago (as far back as in 1872), when my father took me as a child for a journey through Zululand on a visit to the great kraal of the celebrated King Mpande. On the way, as I was getting somewhat tired, a friendly Zulu told me to press my foot on an aloe (icena), and I should not be tired any longer. I saw no particular harm in obeying the injunction, and whether it was from the effect of the “icena,” or a thought cure wrought by the friendly Zulu, I certainly managed to get on.

On the same journey I was struck by a curious idea the Zulus have (somewhat akin to our “watched pot never boils”) as to disturbing the ordinary processes of the vegetable kingdom. I noticed some fine varieties of pumpkins, melons, and marrows, and, being curious to know their names, I pointed my finger at them. “Musa, musa” (don’t, don’t), shouted my native conductor, “they will never ripen if you point at them. You ought always to bend your fingers and point with your knuckles towards vegetables.” “Oh,” said I, “you might perhaps pick me that pumpkin (indicating one of the best), as it is the only one I pointed at, and it will prevent its rotting,” and he at once fell in with my suggestion, adding a few marrows growing near the pumpkin, which had also been in peril. Some of our mistakes in dealing with the Zulus might at times lead to serious consequences; but fortunately, as a rule they take them good naturedly, and attribute them to our ignorance.

It is rather curious, and perhaps a little humiliating, to civilized and superior people, to find one of their favourite nursery tactics—the threat of the black man coming down the chimney—in vogue (mutatis mutandis) among the Zulus. Fond Zulu mothers used to reduce their refractory offspring to order by the threat, “I’ll take you away to be eaten up by the white men,” and in the old times of which I am now speaking the threat always had the desired effect, though, let us hope in the present day, the notion of our being cannibals, if not bogies, no longer exists, even among the Zulus.

I well remember the day when we were graciously admitted to an audience with King Mpande, and the curious kind of awe with which the monarch and his attendants regarded us. The King spoke to us through his chief official, and courteously welcomed us to his Place, hoping we had not been disturbed by a big fight which had taken place in connection with some festivities among the Zulus near to us. It was a way his subjects had when their blood was heated, and he had done his best to stop it. He then noticed my long brown hair, which hung down to my waist, and observed, “What nice tails you have adorned yourself with! where did you get them? I should like some like that.” I said I had a private store from which I got them, and should not like anyone else to know. King Mpande smiled, and took it all in good part. I was the first white girl he had seen, and he looked therefore upon me as a curiosity.

“Come nearer,” he said, “and take off your hat, so that I can have a good look at you. How do you manage to tie the tails so neatly that no strings are seen?” He pulled and tugged at my hair, to see whether it would come off.

“Why, this is wonderful!” said he. “These are the tails they make under the sea. There’s nothing on land equal to this.”

“I glue them on,” said I.

“Wow! It is well done! Do show us how you do it.”

It was beyond human nature to keep a serious face after that. We all burst out laughing together. Then I told him that it was only my hair.

“Ngimdala!” (I am old) said the king (meaning in wisdom); and I was asked to go round for fuller inspection. The king noticed my hands. He said: “Her hands have a different colour to her face! Come nearer again, let me have a look at your hands.” I obeyed. He took my hand and felt it all over. “Mamo!” (oh! mother) “the skin moves. It is quite loose, and look how red it is.” I had a pair of scarlet silk gloves on. I pulled one off, an incident which caused a prodigious sensation in the royal hut. Exclamations of surprise were heard all round. “White girls are double skinned,” said one, “on their hands.” “They have a white skin to suit their face, and this is covered by a loose, dark red skin,” said the king. “Behold the artfulness of the white beings that come out of the sea.” The glove was carefully examined, and one man, with fear and trembling, picked it up with the tips of his fingers, but speedily dropped it again in horror and dismay. My father then explained to them as best he could that ladies wore gloves to protect their hands from getting sunburnt, and we took leave of the mighty king.

Outside the door we were met by a number of his royal daughters, all wanting to have a look at the girl from under the sea and her wonderful hair and hands. When they had satisfied their curiosity, they asked us to come and call on Giba, King Mpande’s celebrated snake charmer. He was sitting in his hut training his numerous snakes to go and come in to and out of their holes as he wanted them.

A great monster of a python was coiled round a stone in a corner, lazily watching his inferiors at their drill, and waiting his turn. “Ngqabitani” (the snake’s name, which means “hop down”), called out Giba, and the monster made a move and came with a twist and a roll, and was rewarded by a fowl to eat. It was a horrible performance.

The tendency which the Zulu has, in common with all savage or half-civilized people, to ascribe anything unusual to magic, and to account for the unknown by fanciful analogy (the basis, indeed, of most of the vulgar superstitions), was curiously illustrated in this journey by a chief whom we met and to whom my father gave a small mirror. The Zulu looked into it, gave a start, and dropped it to the ground. “Why, it is myself; I know, for I have seen a reflection of myself in a clear pool. These people carry mysterious things with them.” He picked it up gingerly, and handed it to his chief man, who, after examining it with the caution that a detective might display in opening a parcel supposed to contain dynamite, handed it round to the attendants, each of whom made a study of the “ego” and the “non ego” in the wonderful “charm,” which they took to their home and sealed up in an earthen pot.

Such are some of the curious ideas which were entertained by the Zulus as to the white man in the old days. Since that time increased intercourse with the white creatures from under the sea has dissipated some of their old delusions, but even to this day a large number of the natives look upon the white man as something weird, as a being who can do anything, and who has about him a touch of the mysterious, if not of the supernatural. Fortunately for us these ideas have never taken a very serious hold on the native mind. They look upon us as strange curiosities, but do not seriously associate our doings with the “black arts,” ready as they are to attribute dealings with forbidden agencies to their own people. It would have gone hard with us in the early days if any influential chief had conceived the idea, so readily seized by the Chinese, of designating all Europeans “foreign devils”—“Takati” (wizards)—with unknown powers and malignant designs. Our just and large-minded treatment of them has prevented the spread of any such notions amongst them. Their mental attitude towards us at the present day is one of bewildered simplicity, not unmingled with respect, and, when their confidence is obtained, with something of the loyal affection they have long been accustomed to entertain towards their own chiefs and superiors.