“It is, it is so!” came the deep, unanimous answer, that caused the stirless leaves to shake in the still air.

“I understand, O Tshoza, brother of Matiwane and uncle of Saduko the chief,” I replied.  “But Bangu is a strong man, living, I am told, in a strong place.  Still, let that go; for have you not said that you come out to conquer or to die, you who have nothing to lose; and if you conquer, you conquer; and if you die, you die and the tale is told.  But supposing that you conquer.  What will Panda, King of the Zulus, say to you, and to me also, who stir up war in his country?”

Now the Amangwane looked behind them, and Saduko cried out: 

“Appear, messenger from Panda the King!”

Before his words had ceased to echo I saw a little, withered man threading his way between the tall, gaunt forms of the Amangwane.  He came and stood before me, saying: 

“Hail, Macumazahn.  Do you remember me?”

“Aye,” I answered, “I remember you as Maputa, one of Panda’s indunas.”

“Quite so, Macumazahn; I am Maputa, one of his indunas, a member of his Council, a captain of his impis [that is, armies], as I was to his brothers who are gone, whose names it is not lawful that I should name.  Well, Panda the King has sent me to you, at the request of Saduko there, with a message.”

“How do I know that you are a true messenger?” I asked.  “Have you brought me any token?”

“Aye,” he answered, and, fumbling under his cloak, he produced something wrapped in dried leaves, which he undid and handed to me, saying: 

“This is the token that Panda sends to you, Macumazahn, bidding me to tell you that you will certainly know it again; also that you are welcome to it, since the two little bullets which he swallowed as you directed made him very ill, and he needs no more of them.”

I took the token, and, examining it in the moonlight, recognised it at once.

It was a cardboard box of strong calomel pills, on the top of which was written:  “Allan Quatermain, Esq.:  One only to be taken as directed.”  Without entering into explanations, I may state that I had taken “one as directed,” and subsequently presented the rest of the box to King Panda, who was very anxious to “taste the white man’s medicine.”

“Do you recognise the token, Macumazahn?” asked the induna.

“Yes,” I replied gravely; “and let the King return thanks to the spirits of his ancestors that he did not swallow three of the balls, for if he had done so, by now there would have been another Head in Zululand.  Well, speak on, Messenger.”

But to myself I reflected, not for the first time, how strangely these natives could mix up the sublime with the ridiculous.  Here was a matter that must involve the death of many men, and the token sent to me by the autocrat who stood at the back of it all, to prove the good faith of his messenger, was a box of calomel pills!  However, it served the purpose as well as anything else.