The big Zulu thought a moment. His own country had been conquered by the English, and there was no more fighting. What should he do with himself for the rest of his life there? Here there would be plenty. And his wives? Well, the King had promised him six new ones here, and he had but two at home, and they were not new. His mind was made up.
“Great Great One. I will konza to the Black Elephant of the Inswani,” he replied. “But may I not go as far with my white chief as the King’s impi goeth? Then I return with the King’s lions.”
“That thou mayest do, Kumbelwa,” said the King.
So it came about that a few days later our two friends took leave of the King—and started on their return journey. They had plenty of bearers now, and a valuable load, and, moreover, travelled with a formidable escort of five hundred shields.
“I tell you what it is, Haviland,” Oakley observed, as they turned to take a last look at the great stockade with its array of ghastly and grinning heads, spiked on the stakes. “That chum of yours is a bloodthirsty young villain. But he’s jolly well worth being chummy with on an occasion like this.”
“Rather. The fellows at Saint Kirwin’s who used to call him ‘Haviland’s Chum’ to rag me, would stare if they only knew how I had run against him over here. In fact, they wouldn’t believe it.”
“Why don’t you put it into print?”
“Then they’d believe it still less.”