Heavens! how long that half-minute seemed!  It happened many years ago, but the whole scene rises up before my eyes as I write.  There behind us was the blood-stained laager, and near it lay the piles of dead; round us was rank upon rank of plumed savages, standing in silence to wait the issue of the duel, and in the centre stood the grey-haired chief and general, Sususa, in all his war finery, a cloak of leopard skin upon his shoulders.  At his feet lay the senseless form of little Tota, to my left squatted Indaba-zimbi, nodding his white lock and muttering something—­probably spells; while in front was my giant antagonist, his spear aloft and his plumes wavering in the gentle wind.  Then over all, over grassy slope, river, and koppie, over the waggons of the laager, the piles of dead, the dense masses of the living, the swooning child, over all shone the bright impartial sun, looking down like the indifferent eye of Heaven upon the loveliness of nature and the cruelty of man.  Down by the river grew thorn-trees, and from them floated the sweet scent of the mimosa flower, and came the sound of cooing turtle-doves.  I never smell the one or hear the other without the scene flashing into my mind again, complete in its every detail.

Suddenly, without a sound, Bombyane shook his assegai and rushed straight at me.  I saw his huge form come; like a man in a dream, I saw the broad spear flash on high; now he was on me!  Then, prompted to it by some providential impulse—­or had the spells of Indaba-zimbi anything to do with the matter?—­I dropped to my knee, and quick as light stretched out my spear.  He drove at me:  the blade passed over my head.  I felt a weight on my assegai; it was wrenched from my hand; his great limbs knocked against me.  I glanced round.  Bombyane was staggering along with head thrown back and outstretched arms from which his spear had fallen.  His spear had fallen, but the blade of mine stood out between his shoulders—­I had transfixed him.  He stopped, swung slowly round as though to look at me:  then with a sigh the giant sank down—­dead.

For a moment there was silence; then a great cry rose—­a cry of “Bombyane is dead.  The White Spirit has slain Bombyane.  Kill the wizard, kill the ghost who has slain Bombyane by witchcraft.”

Instantly I was surrounded by fierce faces, and spears flashed before my eyes.  I folded my arms and stood calmly waiting the end.  In a moment it would have come, for the warriors were mad at seeing their champion overthrown thus easily.  But presently through the tumult I heard the high, cracked voice of Indaba-zimbi.

“Stand back, you fools!” it cried; “can a spirit then be killed?”

“Spear him! spear him!” they roared in fury.  “Let us see if he is a spirit.  How did a spirit slay Bombyane with an assegai?  Spear him, rain-maker, and we shall see.”

“Stand back,” cried Indaba-zimbi again, “and I will show you if he can be killed.  I will kill him myself, and call him back to life again before your eyes.”