The officer smiled as he said, “Do me any harm! no, I don’t think they are likely to do that. Are there any white men here?”
“None,” I replied. “The few white men who were here have either been killed by a war-party of the Zulus, or have escaped in a vessel.”
“Then how is it you have escaped?”
“I was with a tribe down the coast, who fought with the Zulus and beat them off.”
“How did you come by those pistols?”
“They belonged to the captain of a small vessel here, who was killed by the Zulus as he was getting water up the bay.”
As I said this the officer spoke in a low tone to a companion who was sitting near him. He then said—
“Put those pistols on the ground, and come into the boat.”
I did as he told me, and stepped into the boat, the sailors eyeing me suspiciously.
“Pull off from the shore,” said the officer, and the boat was moved into the middle of the stream, so that it was safe from an attack by any one not armed with guns.