“What does a white man at Ulundi at such a time, when even John Dunn dare not come?  Let us kill him and send his head as a present to the English general across the Tugela.  That will settle this long talk about peace or war.”

Others of a like mind echoed this kind proposal, with the result that presently a score or so of them made a rush at me, brandishing their sticks, since they might not carry arms in the royal kraal.  Goza did his best to keep them off, but was swept aside like a feather, or rather knocked over, for I saw him on his back with his thin legs in the air.

“You must climb out of this pit by yourself,” he began, addressing me in his pompous and figurative way.  Then somebody stamped on his face, and fixing his teeth in his assailant’s heel, he grew silent for a while.

The truculent blackguard, who was about six feet three high and had a mouth like a wolf’s throat, arrived in front of me and, bending down, roared out—­

“We are going to kill you, White Man.”

I had a pistol in my pocket and could perfectly well have killed him, as I was much tempted to do.  A second’s reflection showed me, however, that this would be useless, and in a sense put me in the wrong, though when the matter came on for argument it would interest me no more.  So I just folded my arms and, looking up at him, said—­

“Why, Black Man?”

“Because your face is white,” he roared.

“No,” I answered, “because your heart is black and your eyes are so full of blood that you do not know Macumazahn when you see him.”

“Wow!” said one, “it is Watcher-by-Night whom our fathers knew before us.  Leave him alone.”

“No,” shouted the great fellow, “I will send him to watch where it is always night, I who keep a club for white rats,” and he brandished his stick over me.

Now my temper rose.  Watching my opportunity, I stretched out my right foot and hooked him round the ankle, at the same time striking up with all my force.  My fist caught him beneath the chin and over he went backwards sprawling on the ground.

“Son of a dog!” I said, “if a single stick touches me, at least you shall go first,” and whipping out my revolver, I pointed it at him.

He lay quiet enough, but how the matter would have ended I do not know, for passion was running high, had not Goza at this moment risen with a bleeding nose and called out—­

“O Fools, would you kill the king’s guest to whom the king himself has given safe-conduct.  Surely you are pots full of beer, not men.”

“Why not?” answered one.  “This is the Place of Soldiers.  The king’s house is yonder.  Give the old jackal a start of a length of ten assegais.  If he reaches it first, he can shake hands with his friend, the king.  If not we will make him into medicine.”

“Yes, yes, run for it, Jackal,” clamoured the others, knocking their shields with their sticks, as men do who would frighten a buck, and opening out to make a road for me.