However, I had little time for further reflection, for now the whole Impi was pouring back from the donga and river-banks where it had hidden while their ruse was carried out, and once more formed up on the side of the slope.  I was taken to the crest of the slope and placed in the centre of the reserve line in the especial charge of a huge Zulu named Bombyane, the same man who had come forward as a herald.  This brute seemed to regard me with an affectionate curiosity.  Now and again he poked me in the ribs with the handle of his assegai, as though to assure himself that I was solid, and several times he asked me to be so good as to prophesy how many Zulus would be killed before the “Amaboona,” as they called the Boers, were “eaten up.”

At first I took no notice of him beyond scowling, but presently, goaded into anger, I prophesied that he would be dead in an hour!

He only laughed aloud.  “Oh!  White Spirit,” he said, “is it so?  Well, I’ve walked a long way from Zululand, and shall be glad of a rest.”

And he got it shortly, as will be seen.

Now the Zulus began to sing again—­

     “We have caught the White Spirit, my brother! my brother! 
     Iron-Tongue whispered of him, he smelt him out, my brother. 
     Now the Maboona are ours—­they are already dead, my brother.”

So that treacherous villain Indaba-zimbi had betrayed me.  Suddenly the chief of the Impi, a grey-haired man named Sususa, held up his assegai, and instantly there was silence.  Then he spoke to some indunas who stood near him.  Instantly they ran to the right and left down the first line, saying a word to the captain of each company as they passed him.  Presently they were at the respective ends of the line, and simultaneously held up their spears.  As they did so, with an awful roar of “Bulala Amaboona”—­“Slay the Boers,” the entire line, numbering nearly a thousand men, bounded forward like a buck startled from its form, and rushed down upon the little laager.  It was a splendid sight to see them, their assegais glittering in the sunlight as they rose and fell above their black shields, their war-plumes bending back upon the wind, and their fierce faces set intently on the foe, while the solid earth shook beneath the thunder of their rushing feet.  I thought of my poor friends the Dutchmen, and trembled.  What chance had they against so many?

Now the Zulus, running in the shape of a bow so as to wrap the laager round on three sides, were within seventy yards, and now from every waggon broke tongues of fire.  Over rolled a number of the Umtetwa, but the rest cared little.  Forward they sped straight to the laager, striving to force a way in.  But the Boers plied them with volley after volley, and, packed as the Zulus were, the elephant guns loaded with slugs and small shot did frightful execution.  Only one man even got on to a waggon, and as he did so I saw a Boer woman strike him on the head with an axe.  He fell down, and slowly, amid howls of derision from the two lines on the hill-side, the Zulus drew back.