Now among the household of the Reverend Mr. Owen was an English boy called William Wood, who was not more than twelve or fourteen years of age.  This lad knew both Dutch and Zulu, and acted as interpreter to the Owen family during the absence on a journey of a certain Mr. Hulley, who really filled that office.  While this conversation was taking place in Dutch he was engaged in rendering every word of it into English for the benefit of the clergyman and his family.  When Mr. Owen understood the full terror of the situation, he broke in saying: 

“This is not a time to eat or to sleep, but a time to pray that the heart of the savage Dingaan may be turned.  Come, let us pray!”

“Yes,” rejoined Vrouw Prinsloo, when William Wood had translated.  “Do you pray, Predicant, and all the rest of you who have nothing else to do, and while you are about it pray also that the bullets of Allan Quatermain may not be turned.  As for me and Allan, we have other things to see to, so you must pray a little harder to cover us as well as yourselves.  Now you come along, nephew Allan, or that liver may be overdone and give you indigestion, which is worse for shooting than even bad temper.  No, not another word.  If you try to speak any more, Henri Marais, I will box your ears,” and she lifted a hand like a leg of mutton, then, as Marais retreated before her, seized me by the collar as though I were a naughty boy and led me away to the wagons.

CHAPTER XIII

THE REHEARSAL

By the women’s wagon we found the liver cooked in its frying-pan, as the vrouw had said.  Indeed, it was just done to a turn.  Selecting a particularly massive slice, she proceeded to take it from the pan with her fingers in order to set it upon a piece of tin, from which she had first removed the more evident traces of the morning meal with her constant companion, the ancient and unwashen vatdoek.  As it chanced the effort was not very successful, since the boiling liver fat burnt the vrouw’s fingers, causing her to drop it on the grass, and, I am sorry to add, to swear as well.  Not to be defeated, however, having first sucked her fingers to ease their smart, she seized the sizzling liver with the vatdoek and deposited it upon the dirty tin.

“There, nephew,” she said triumphantly, “there are more ways of killing a cat than by drowning.  What a fool I was not to think of the vatdoek at first.  Allemachte! how the flesh has burnt me; I don’t suppose that being killed would hurt much more.  Also, if the worst comes to the worst, it will soon be over.  Think of it, Allan, by to-night I may be an angel, dressed in a long white nightgown like those my mother gave me when I was married, which I cut up for baby-clothes because I found them chilly wear, having always been accustomed to sleep in my vest and petticoat.  Yes, and I shall have wings, too, like those on a white gander, only bigger if they are to carry my weight.”