“My life has its value, but the life of the chief of the Igazipuza has a far greater one. And this I hold in my hand.”
Another astonished gasp escaped the hearers. This statement was only too true. Here, in the heart of the Igazipuza kraal—his ferocious warriors going through their appalling war-dance, with the aspect of fiends let loose, but a few paces distant—Ingonyama in his heart of hearts quailed before this solitary white man dictating terms. Again had a policy of boldness succeeded.
“Return to your waggons, Jandosi,” said the chief at length. “I would think this matter over. You shall know my answer in the morning.”
Most men would have pressed for a reply there and then, but John Dawes was nothing if not judicious. He thoroughly understood the policy of providing a broad bridge for a fleeing foe. His object was gained, viz. to secure himself at the moment of the popular outburst, and he had nearly succeeded.
“Now are the counsels of good sense about to triumph,” he replied. “Take till the morning to consider, even then may my ‘tongue’ be recalled. And now, send one of these indunas to go with me to the waggons and to remain the night, for your people are turbulent and rude at times, Ingonyama, and I would avoid trouble with them.”
The chief thought a moment, then uttered a word or two. One of the councillors stood up.
“Good,” said Dawes. “Fare thee well, O wearer of the lion’s skin. Between the eyes was the life let out—may that never be the lot of its wearer, O chief of the Igazipuza.”
He knew that Ingonyama was for the time being cowed, and that it was incumbent upon him to return to his waggons before the reaction should set in. Yet as he rode at a foot-pace out of the kraal, with the induna walking beside him, as he passed behind the ranks of excited barbarians almost within touching distance, he honestly expected every moment to be his last. A word from the chief, a cry, a signal, and that armed mass would fall upon him in a moment and hack him into a thousand pieces. Still, for some unaccountable reason, the “word” remained unspoken, the signal was not given. It might be that Ingonyama had further and more fell designs; it might be that he was acting in good faith, anyhow Dawes reached his waggons unmolested.
But he had ample reason to congratulate himself in securing the presence of the induna—or hostage as the latter really was—for by-and-by, as the warriors discovered the escape of Gerard, they came surging around the waggons in a wild, clamourous, threatening crowd. Even then, in the presence of one of the most trusted councillors of the chief, a massacre seemed imminent, but eventually they drew off.
Throughout that night as Dawes lay, feigning sleep but never more fully awake in his life, he was wondering how his young companion had fared. So far, the latter must have effected his escape, inasmuch as he had not been brought back. Whether he would ultimately succeed depended largely on the vigour and persistency wherewith the Igazipuza should prosecute the pursuit.