Sirayo, beginning suavely, ended by ringing out in a stern command, and, quelled by the authority in his tone, a few of the young men ranged up behind him.
“What means this, son of Umkomaas? are your warriors quicker to run than to obey?”
There was a threatening murmur from the dark mass of men who had gathered opposite to Sirayo and his small party.
“Who are you that we should obey?”
“Who am I? Well do you ask, for never yet have you seen a warrior like me. I am he who was the first war chief of the Zulus of the south. I have led, I have fought, I have conquered since I was a boy like this son of Umkomaas: I am Sirayo!”
They fell back before this name, and the women fled again; for the fame of the great chief, spreading from tribe to tribe, had entered their remote valley.
“Yes, I am Sirayo, and there never was a warrior yet who would not have left all to follow him at his command. You have heard; now, without more words, will you obey?”
“Bayate!” they cried, and thundered on their shields—all but a few Indunas, who would feign probe their suspicions by prolonged discussion.
“It is well. Let there be no more thought of flight. Your women will return to their kraals. The men will take their weapons and meet in the great kraal. Every man will take his place in his own regiment, and the Indunas will take their proper positions. Advance!”
Under the spell of this born leader the courage of the people returned; the men poured on in one direction, talking excitedly, and Sirayo followed with the young chief by his side, whose head was thrown back, while his eyes continually turned upon his formidable companion.