[*] Sir Theophilus Shepstone’s.

A slight involuntary murmur rose from the ring of indunas, but the old man never flinched, not even when the soldiers, who presently would murder him, came and seized him roughly.  For a few seconds, perhaps five, he covered his face with the corner of the kaross he wore, then he looked up and spoke to the king in a clear voice.

“O King,” he said, “I am a very old man; as a youth I served under Chaka the Lion, and I heard his dying prophecy of the coming of the white man.  Then the white men came, and I fought for Dingaan at the battle of the Blood River.  They slew Dingaan, and for many years I was the counsellor of Panda, your father.  I stood by you, O King, at the battle of the Tugela, when its grey waters were turned to red with the blood of Umbulazi your brother, and of the tens of thousands of his people.  Afterwards I became your counsellor, O King, and I was with you when Sompseu set the crown upon your head and you made promises to Sompseu—­promises that you have not kept.  Now you are weary of me, and it is well; for I am very old, and doubtless my talk is foolish, as it chances to the old.  Yet I think that the prophecy of Chaka, your great-uncle, will come true, and that the white men will prevail against you and that through them you shall find your death.  I would that I might have stood in one more battle and fought for you, O King, since fight you will, but the end which you choose is for me the best end.  Sleep in peace, O King, and farewell. Bayete!"[*]

     [*] The royal salute of the Zulus.

For a space there was silence, a silence of expectation while men waited to hear the tyrant reverse his judgment.  But it did not please him to be merciful, or the needs of policy outweighed his pity.

“Take him away,” he repeated.  Then, with a slow smile on his face and one word, “Good-night,” upon his lips, supported by the arm of a soldier, the old warrior and statesman shuffled forth to the place of death.

Hadden watched and listened in amazement not unmixed with fear.  “If he treats his own servants like this, what will happen to me?” he reflected.  “We English must have fallen out of favour since I left Natal.  I wonder whether he means to make war on us or what?  If so, this isn’t my place.”

Just then the king, who had been gazing moodily at the ground, chanced to look up.  “Bring the stranger here,” he said.

Hadden heard him, and coming forward offered Cetywayo his hand in as cool and nonchalant a manner as he could command.

Somewhat to his surprise it was accepted.  “At least, White Man,” said the king, glancing at his visitor’s tall spare form and cleanly cut face, “you are no ‘umfagozan’ (low fellow); you are of the blood of chiefs.”

“Yes, King,” answered Hadden, with a little sigh, “I am of the blood of chiefs.”

“What do you want in my country, White Man?”