“Be quiet!” I said to him.  “Can’t you die like a man?”

“No, indeed I cannot, Mr. Quatermain,” he answered, and went on howling for pity in about twenty different languages.

Stephen and I walked together, he still carrying the Union Jack, of which no one tried to deprive him.  I think the Mazitu believed it was his fetish.  We didn’t talk much, though once he said: 

“Well, the love of orchids has brought many a man to a bad end.  I wonder whether the Governor will keep my collection or sell it.”

After this he relapsed into silence, and not knowing and indeed not caring what would happen to his collection, I made no answer.

We had not far to go; personally I could have preferred a longer walk.  Passing with our guards down a kind of by-street, we emerged suddenly at the head of the market-place, to find that it was packed with thousands of people gathered there to see our execution.  I noticed that they were arranged in orderly companies and that a broad open roadway was left between them, running to the southern gate of the market, I suppose to facilitate the movements of so large a crowd.

All this multitude received us in respectful silence, though Sammy’s howls caused some of them to smile, while the Zulu war-chant appeared to excite their wonder, or admiration.  At the head of the market-place, not far from the king’s enclosure, fifteen stout posts had been planted on as many mounds.  These mounds were provided so that everyone might see the show and, in part at any rate, were made of soil hollowed from fifteen deep graves dug almost at the foot of the mounds.  Or rather there were seventeen posts, an extra large one being set at each end of the line in order to accommodate the two donkeys, which it appeared were also to be shot to death.  A great number of soldiers kept a space clear in front of the posts.  On this space were gathered Bausi, his councillors, some of his head wives, Imbozwi more hideously painted than usual, and perhaps fifty or sixty picked archers with strung bows and an ample supply of arrows, whose part in the ceremony it was not difficult for us to guess.

“King Bausi,” I said as I was led past that potentate, “you are a murderer and Heaven Above will be avenged upon you for this crime.  If our blood is shed, soon you shall die and come to meet us where we have power, and your people shall be destroyed.”

My words seemed to frighten the man, for he answered: 

“I am no murderer.  I kill you because you are robbers of men.  Moreover, it is not I who have passed sentence on you.  It is Imbozwi here, the chief of the doctors, who has told me all about you, and whose spirit says you must die unless my brother Dogeetah appears to save you.  If Dogeetah comes, which he cannot do because he is dead, and vouches for you, then I shall know that Imbozwi is a wicked liar, and as you were to die, so he shall die.”