While I was recovering from this dreadful spectacle, which, fortunately, Marie did not witness, the captain Kambula arrived, saying that Dingaan wished to see me.  So taking with me the Hottentot Hans and two of the Zulus whom I had hired at Delagoa Bay—­for the royal orders were that none of the other white people were to come, I was led through the fence of the vast town in which stood two thousand huts—­the “multitude of houses” as the Zulus called it—­and across a vast open space in the middle.

On the farther side of this space, where, before long, I was fated to witness a very tragic scene, I entered a kind of labyrinth.  This was called “siklohlo”, and had high fences with numerous turns, so that it was impossible to see where one was going or to find the way in or out.  Ultimately, however, I reached a great hut named “intunkulu”, a word that means the “house of houses,” or the abode of the king, in front of which I saw a fat man seated on a stool, naked except for the moocha about his middle and necklaces and armlets of blue beads.  Two warriors held their broad shields over his head to protect him from the sun.  Otherwise he was alone, although I felt sure that the numerous passages around him were filled with guards, for I could hear them moving.

On entering this place Kambula and his companions flung themselves upon their faces and began to sing praises of which the king took no notice.  Presently he looked up, and appearing to observe me for the first time asked: 

“Who is that white boy?”

Then Kambula rose and said: 

“O king, this is the Son of George, whom you commanded me to capture.  I have taken him and the Amaboona” (that is, the Boers), “his companions, and brought them all to you, O king.”

“I remember,” said Dingaan.  “The big Boer who was here, and whom Tambusa”—­he was one of Dingaan’s captains—­“let go against my will, said that he was a terrible man who should be killed before he worked great harm to my people.  Why did you not kill him, Kambula, although it is true he does not look very terrible?”

“Because the king’s word was that I should bring him to the king living,” answered Kambula.  Then he added cheerfully:  “Still, if the king wishes it, I can kill him at once.”

“I don’t know,” said Dingaan doubtfully; “perhaps he can mend guns.”  Next, after reflecting a while, he bade a shield-holder to fetch someone, I could not hear whom.

“Doubtless,” thought I to myself, “it is the executioner,” and at that thought a kind of mad rage seized me.  Why should my life be ended thus in youth to satisfy the whim of a savage?  And if it must be so, why should I go alone?

In the inside pocket of my ragged coat I had a small loaded pistol with two barrels.  One of those barrels would kill Dingaan—­at five paces I could not miss that bulk—­and the other would blow out my brains, for I was not minded to have my neck twisted or to be beaten to death with sticks.  Well, if it was to be done, I had better do it at once.  Already my hand was creeping towards the pocket when a new idea, or rather two ideas, struck me.