“You said him nay; you said, ’Let him fight with our bravest man, let him fight with Bombyane the giant for the child.’  And he deigned to slay Bombyane as you have seen, and now you say, ‘Slay him; he is no spirit.’  Now I will show you if he is a spirit, for I will slay him before your eyes, and call him to life again.  But you have brought this upon yourselves.  Had you believed, had you offered no insult to the Spirit, he would have stayed with you, and you should have become unconquerable.  Now he will arise and leave you, and woe be on you if you try to stay him.

“Now all men,” he went on, “look for a space upon this assegai that I hold up,” and he lifted the bangwan of the deceased Bombyane high above his head so that all the multitude could see it.  Every eye was fixed upon the broad bright spear.  For a while he held it still, then he moved it round and round in a circle, muttering as he did so, and still their gaze followed it.  For my part, I watched his movements with the greatest anxiety.  That assegai had already been nearer my person than I found at all pleasant, and I had no desire to make a further acquaintance with it.  Nor, indeed, was I sure that Indaba-zimbi was not really going to kill me.  I could not understand his proceedings at all, and at the best I did not relish playing the corpus vile to his magical experiments.

“Look! look! look!” he screamed.

Then suddenly the great spear flashed down towards my breast.  I felt nothing, but, to my sight, it seemed as though it had passed through me.

“See!” roared the Zulus.  “Indaba-zimbi has speared him; the red assegai stands out behind his back.”

“Roll over, Macumazahn,” Indaba-zimbi hissed in my ear, “roll over and pretend to die—­quick! quick!”

I lost no time in following these strange instructions, but falling on to my side, threw my arms wide, kicked my legs about, and died as artistically as I could.  Presently I gave a stage shiver and lay still.

“See!” said the Zulus, “he is dead, the Spirit is dead.  Look at the blood upon the assegai!”

“Stand back! stand back!” cried Indaba-zimbi, “or the ghost will haunt you.  Yes, he is dead, and now I will call him back to life again.  Look!” and putting down his hand, he plucked the spear from wherever it was fixed, and held it aloft.  “The spear is red, is it not?  Watch, men, watch! it grows white!”

“Yes, it grows white,” they said.  “Ou! it grows white.”

“It grows white because the blood returns to whence it came,” said Indaba-zimbi.  “Now, great Spirit, hear me.  Thou art dead, the breath has gone out of thy mouth.  Yet hear me and arise.  Awake, White Spirit, awake and show thy power.  Awake! arise unhurt!”

I began to respond cheerfully to this imposing invocation.

“Not so fast, Macumazahn,” whispered Indaba-zimbi.

I took the hint, and first held up my arm, then lifted my head and let it fall again.