“Hold your tongue, you old idiot,” I said, “and stop your grinning. If you had been a man and not a false friend you would have got us out of this trouble, knowing as you do very well that we are no sellers of men, but rather the enemy of those who do such things.”
“Oh! white lord,” said Babemba, in a changed voice, “believe me I only smile to make you happy up to the end. My lips smile, but I am crying inside. I know that you are good and have told Bausi so, but he will not believe me, who thinks that I have been bribed by you. What can I do against that evil-hearted Imbozwi, the head of the witch-doctors, who hates you because he thinks you have better magic than he has and who whispers day and night into the king’s ear, telling him that if he does not kill you, all our people will be slain or sold for slaves, as you are only the scouts of a big army that is coming. Only last night Imbozwi held a great divination indaba, and read this and a great deal more in the enchanted water, making the king think he saw it in pictures, whereas I, looking over his shoulder, could see nothing at all, except the ugly face of Imbozwi reflected in the water. Also he swore that his spirit told me that Dogeetah, the king’s blood-brother, being dead, would never come to Beza Town again. I have done my best. Keep your heart white towards me, O Macumazana, and do not haunt me, for I tell you I have done my best, and if ever I should get a chance against Imbozwi, which I am afraid I shan’t, as he will poison me first, I will pay him back. Oh! he shall not die quickly as you will.”
“I wish I could get a chance at him,” I muttered, for even in this solemn moment I could cultivate no Christian spirit towards Imbozwi.
Feeling that he was honest after all, I shook old Babemba’s hand and gave him the letters I had written, asking him to try and get them to the coast. Then we started on our last walk.
The Zulu hunters were already outside the fence, seated on the ground, chatting and taking snuff. I wondered if this was because they really believed in Mavovo’s confounded Snake, or from bravado, inspired by the innate courage of their race. When they saw me they sprang to their feet and, lifting their right hands, gave me a loud and hearty salute of “Inkoosi! Baba! Inkoosi! Macumazana!” Then, at a signal from Mavovo, they broke into some Zulu war-chant, which they kept up till we reached the stakes. Sammy, too, broke into a chant, but one of quite a different nature.
“Be quiet!” I said to him. “Can’t you die like a man?”
“No, indeed I cannot, Mr. Quatermain,” he answered, and went on howling for pity in about twenty different languages.
Stephen and I walked together, he still carrying the Union Jack, of which no one tried to deprive him. I think the Mazitu believed it was his fetish. We didn’t talk much, though once he said:
“Well, the love of orchids has brought many a man to a bad end. I wonder whether the Governor will keep my collection or sell it.”
After this he relapsed into silence, and not knowing and indeed not caring what would happen to his collection, I made no answer.