There was a humorous twinkle in the speaker’s eyes, the point of the allusion being that he and Hyland had twice met in battle face to face, but the assegai of the one and the revolver of the other had simultaneously turned upon another enemy.
“We’ll have no end of yarns now from the other side,” went on Hyland. Then to the Zulu. “I was saying Manamandhla, this is a good day to have arrived on—Christmas Day—but then, you don’t know what that is.”
“I have heard U ’Jobo tell the people some story about it—” was the answer.
“U ’Jobo!” cried Hyland, “Whau! U ’Jobo! It will be a long time before he tells ‘the people’ any more of his stories—impela!”
“He’s a considerable swine and deserves all he’s got,” said Elvesdon. “Still I’m glad I was able to help the poor devil a little. After all he did try to warn us.”
For the Rev. Job Magwegwe had fallen upon evil days. He had been arrested at an early stage of the rebellion, and tried, on several charges of holding seditious and inflammatory gatherings under the guise of prayer meetings; and in the result was sentenced to two years’ hard labour and thirty-six lashes. But Elvesdon’s representations had procured the remission of the lashes and of six months of imprisonment.
They sat thus chatting for some time, and then Thornhill suggested that his visitor should go with Hyland and choose a fat beast to kill, for himself and the farm people, and any others the latter might like to send word to—by way of making a Christmas festivity for themselves in the evening.
“Good idea!” said Hyland, “I’m getting tired of sitting still. A ride over to the herd will do all right. Coming, Prior?”
“Rather.”
Now, by all rights, Manamandhla should have been arrested as an arch-rebel, and sent for trial: but—he was not.