“You Hans Sterk!” said the other with incredulity. “We heard he was killed with the two Uys.” “You Hans Sterk!” the man repeated, as he came nearer, and examined Hans closely, “and how did you escape? You must be a Dutchman by your speech, though in the dim light of the morning I took you for a Kaffir spy, wearing the clothes of some of Retief’s murdered men. Come to the fire and let us hear your story.”
“Let me eat and drink first,” said Hans. “I have been two days without food, and have travelled on foot at a rate that would have puzzled an ostrich. Then, when I’m washed, you shall hear of my escape. But tell me the news. How came you here? and have all my people escaped?”
“We are out on patrol from the Bay, for we, too, were defeated when your people were; and we came up yesterday to pick up any stragglers. Your people have gone back to Bushman’s river, but it is bad for them. Their cattle are swept away, and they have little or no food. Their crops are destroyed, and they dare not again attack the Zulus, at least not till they get more help.”
Having gained this information, Hans commenced his meal, which consisted of grilled buffaloe. He knew there was a journey before him, so he did not eat to excess; but, having taken sufficient to satisfy his immediate craving for food, he inquired for the nearest stream, and, accompanied by the white men, soon washed off his disguise, and showed himself in his natural colours.
“Then all those Kaffirs are from Natal Bay?” inquired Hans.
“Yes, these are our Kaffirs,” replied the Dutchman. “There were many Kaffirs killed in the battle, and these men have come up to look after any of their friends who may be hidden hereabouts. Our people had a greater defeat than yours, and we lost ten or twelve white men, whilst hundreds of our Kaffirs were killed.”
“How is it that you don’t fear a strong party coming now?” inquired Hans; “for I was followed to within three miles of this place by a party of Zulus.”
“We have our spies out, and one is hidden in that tree on the hill there, and if he saw danger he would signal to us at once. A man reported yesterday afternoon that he heard a shot fired from near the Tugela, but as no one else heard it we began to doubt his report. Still we came on this way on the chance of its being true, and we camped last night about a mile from here, and at daybreak crossed your spoor, and followed it for some time, when a spy came in, and said he had seen a man asleep under a tree, and thought he was a Zulu. You were lucky to escape being assagied at once, before we found out our mistake.”
“Ah!” said the Dutchman, “there’s a signal. Matuan, come here. What does Kangela mean?”
A Kaffir approached at this remark, and looking steadily towards a Kaffir who was signalling from a hill on which the Dutchman had said a spy was concealed, he at once replied—