It was a sufficiently terror-striking glance. They saw before them a magnificent specimen of a savage, very tall and broad, and of a rich red copper colour. He was clad in a mútya of leopard skin, and wore a short cloak of the same, dangling from one shoulder. His head was shaven, but it and the large thick ring were partly concealed by a towering head-dress of black ostrich plumes, a continuation of which fell on either side so as to cover his shoulders. But the face would have commanded attention anywhere, such an impression did it convey of relentless ferocity, of absolute pitilessness, and, at the same time, of indomitable courage. Yet it was the countenance of quite a young man.
For some time the King’s eyes rested on the two white men with a fierce and penetrating stare. Then, pointing at them with the broad-bladed assegai in his hand, he said:
“Who are these?”
A confused murmur arose among the crowd, a sort of deprecatory wail. Then the chiefs of the impi crawled to the King’s feet and began to make their report, a mere matter of ceremony, for of course swift runners had already been sent on ahead to tell what had happened. He listened in silence, gazing down upon them with a haughty stare.
“It is well,” he said at last. “Bring these people now before me.”
He strode forth, proceeding along the edge of the prostrate crowd. Three or four old indunas were with him, keeping just a pace in the rear. When he had passed, the whole impi sprang to its feet—and broke into shouts of praise:
“Fire-maker!”
“Mighty tree that crackleth into sparks!”
“Burner up of the sun at noon!”
“Thou, whose glance scorches up men!”