At length everything was more or less ready, and the question arose as to what was to be done with Hassan.  The Zulus, like Hans, wished to kill him, as Sammy explained to him in his best Arabic.  Then this murderous fellow showed what a coward he was at heart.  He flung himself upon his knees, he wept, he invoked us in the name of the Compassionate Allah who, he explained, was after all the same God that we worshipped, till Mavovo, growing impatient of the noise, threatened him with his kerry, whereon he became silent.  The easy-natured Stephen was for letting him go, a plan that seemed to have advantages, for then at least we should be rid of his abominable company.  After reflection, however, I decided that we had better take him along with us, at any rate for a day or so, to hold as a hostage in case the Arabs should follow and attack us.  At first he refused to stir, but the assegai of one of the Zulu hunters pressed gently against what remained of his robe, furnished an argument that he could not resist.

At length we were off.  I with the two guides went ahead.  Then came the bearers, then half of the hunters, then the four donkeys in charge of Hans and Sammy, then Hassan and the rest of the hunters, except Mavovo, who brought up the rear with Stephen.  Needless to say, all our rifles were loaded, and generally we were prepared for any emergency.  The only path, that which the guides said we must follow, ran by the seashore for a few hundred yards and then turned inland through Hassan’s village where he lived, for it seemed that the old mission house was not used by him.  As we marched along a little rocky cliff—­ it was not more than ten feet high—­where a deep-water channel perhaps fifty yards in breadth separated the mainland from the island whence the slaves had been loaded on to the Maria, some difficulty arose about the donkeys.  One of these slipped its load and another began to buck and evinced an inclination to leap into the sea with its precious burden.  The rearguard of hunters ran to get hold of it, when suddenly there was a splash.

The brute’s in!  I thought to myself, till a shout told me that not the ass, but Hassan had departed over the cliff’s edge.  Watching his opportunity and being, it was clear, a first-rate swimmer, he had flung himself backwards in the midst of the confusion and falling into deep water, promptly dived.  About twenty yards from the shore he came up for a moment, then dived again heading for the island.  I dare say I could have potted him through the head with a snap shot, but somehow I did not like to kill a man swimming for his life as though he were a hippopotamus or a crocodile.  Moreover, the boldness of the manœuvre appealed to me.  So I refrained from firing and called to the others to do likewise.

As our late host approached the shore of the island I saw Arabs running down the rocks to help him out of the water.  Either they had not left the place, or had re-occupied it as soon as H.M.S. Crocodile had vanished with her prize.  As it was clear that to recapture Hassan would involve an attack upon the garrison of the island which we were in no position to carry out, I gave orders for the march to be resumed.  These, the difficulty with the donkey having been overcome, were obeyed at once.