Within less than an hour we were at that wharf off which the Maria lay in what one day will be the splendid port of Durban, though in those times its shipping arrangements were exceedingly primitive.  A strange-looking band we must have been.  I, who was completely dressed, and I trust tidy, marched ahead.  Next came Hans in the filthy wide-awake hat which he usually wore and greasy corduroys and after him the oleaginous Sammy arrayed in European reach-me-downs, a billy-cock and a bright blue tie striped with red, garments that would have looked very smart had it not been for his recent immersion.  After him followed the fierce-looking Mavovo and his squad of hunters, all of whom wore the “ring” or isicoco, as the Zulus call it; that is, a circle of polished black wax sewn into their short hair.  They were a grim set of fellows, but as, according to a recent law it was not allowable for them to appear armed in the town, their guns had already been shipped, while their broad stabbing spears were rolled up in their sleeping mats, the blades wrapped round with dried grass.

Each of them, however, bore in his hand a large knobkerry of red-wood, and they marched four by four in martial fashion.  It is true that when we embarked on the big boat to go to the ship much of their warlike ardour evaporated, since these men, who feared nothing on the land, were terribly afraid of that unfamiliar element, the water.

We reached the Maria, an unimposing kind of tub, and climbed aboard.  On looking aft the first thing that I saw was Stephen seated on the capstan with a pistol in his hand, as Sammy had said.  Near by, leaning on the bulwark was the villainous-looking Portugee, Delgado, apparently in the worst of tempers and surrounded by a number of equally villainous-looking Arab sailors clad in dirty white.  In front was the Captain of the port, a well-known and esteemed gentleman of the name of Cato, like myself a small man who had gone through many adventures.  Accompanied by some attendants, he was seated on the after-skylight, smoking, with his eyes fixed upon Stephen and the Portugee.

“Glad to see you, Quatermain,” he said.  “There’s some row on here, but I have only just arrived and don’t understand Portuguese, and the gentleman on the capstan won’t leave it to explain.”

“What’s up, Stephen?” I asked, after shaking Mr. Cato by the hand.

“What’s up?” replied Somers.  “This man,” and he pointed to Delgado, “wanted to sneak out to sea with all our goods, that’s all, to say nothing of me and Sammy, whom, no doubt, he’d have chucked overboard, as soon as he was out of sight of land.  However, Sammy, who knows Portuguese, overheard his little plans and, as you see, I objected.”