I found the country almost entirely depopulated.  Not very long before Mosilikatze the Lion, Chaka’s General had swept across it in his progress towards what is now Matabeleland.  His footsteps were evident enough.  Time upon time I trekked up to what had evidently been the sites of Kaffir kraals.  Now the kraals were ashes and piles of tumbled stones, and strewn about among the rank grass were the bones of hundreds of men, women, and children, all of whom had kissed the Zulu assegai.  I remember that in one of these desolate places I found the skull of a child in which a ground-lark had built its nest.  It was the twittering of the young birds inside that first called my attention to it.  Shortly after this we met with our second great adventure, a much more serious and tragic one than the first.

We were trekking parallel with the Kolong river when a herd of blesbock crossed the track.  I fired at one of them and hit it behind.  It galloped about a hundred yards with the rest of the herd, then lay down.  As we were in want of meat, not having met with any game for a few days past, I jumped on to my horse, and, telling Indaba-zimbi that I would overtake the waggons or meet them on the further side of a rise about an hour’s trek away, I started after the wounded buck.  As soon as I came within a hundred yards of it, however, it jumped up and ran away as fast as though it were untouched, only to lie down again at a distance.  I followed, thinking that strength would soon fail it.  This happened three times.  On the third occasion it vanished behind a ridge, and, though by now I was out of both temper and patience, I thought I might as well ride to the crest and see if I could get a shot at it on the further side.

I reached the ridge, which was strewn with stones, looked over it, and saw—­a Zulu Impi!

I rubbed my eyes and looked again.  Yes, there was no doubt of it.  They were halted about a thousand yards away, by the water; some were lying down, some were cooking at fires, others were stalking about with spears and shields in their hands; there might have been two thousand or more of them in all.  While I was wondering—­and that with no little uneasiness—­what on earth they could be doing there, suddenly I heard a wild cry to the right and left of me.  I glanced first one way, then the other.  From either side a great Zulu was bearing down on me, their broad stabbing assegais aloft, and black shields in their left hands.  The man to the right was about fifteen yards away, he to the left was not more than ten.  On they came, their fierce eyes almost starting out of their heads, and I felt, with a cold thrill of fear, that in another three seconds those broad “bangwans” might be buried in my vitals.  On such occasions we act, I suppose, more from instinct than from anything else—­there is no time for thought.  At any rate, I dropped the reins and, raising my gun, fired point blank at the left-hand man.  The bullet struck him in the