“White men,” said the atkayma, “centuries ago deceived my people, who destroyed them. Never since have they permitted a white man to penetrate into their country. Their one great hatred—greater than that for the Mopanes—is this hatred of the whites. When I, as the head of the nation, brought you here, the people submitted reluctantly; but now they demand your death—that you be sacrificed upon the funeral pyre of my murdered father. It is the custom to sacrifice to the gods on such an occasion.”
“I suppose your precious uncle is at the bottom of this,” remarked Archie.
“He has induced the priests to demand you as sacrifices. I have just come from the great temple, which is on an island in the lake. The priests will not listen to my protests. They are determined to destroy the hated white men and the blacks who are with them. According to our law no strangers may exist in our land or leave it alive.”
“We’ll show them a trick or two,” remarked Ned Britton, smiling.
Chaka hesitated; then he added:
“The priests and the council have hinted that unless you are all delivered up to them at daybreak to-morrow morning, when my father’s body is to be cremated with much ceremony, they will assassinate me, their atkayma, and place my uncle at the head of the nation.”
We looked at one another a little bewildered at this. Chaka had misjudged his power over these stubborn people, and a serious complication had unexpectedly arisen.
“In that case,” said Allerton slowly, “something must be done to-night.”
Chaka nodded, but made no other reply. He sat on the stone floor, swaddled in his robe of royalty and hugging his knees in a very unroyal attitude. Paul eyed him thoughtfully, likewise refraining from speech. We others knew it was an occasion when we were not called upon to interfere with the promoters of the expedition.
Gradually the sun sank. After a brief twilight darkness flooded the room. We were growing impatient when Chaka slowly arose and said: