“Indeed! He has a peculiar way of showing it.”
“I mean, he’s ’fraid to let us go. We’ll have to die, baas Willem.”
The Kaffir uttered these words with a resigned expression of countenance, that proclaimed him inspired by a firm conviction of their truth.
“Must this be, Hendrik?” said Willem, turning to his companion. “It hardly seems possible. Tell me, am I dreaming?”
“I can answer for myself,” replied Hendrik, “for I was never more awake. The rheims around my wrists are nearly cutting off my hands. I shall die if I have to remain tied up much longer. But dare these people put us to death?”
For a time, the captives remained silent. They were reflecting upon the many atrocities which they had heard to have been committed by Zooloo Kaffirs on the white settlers of the Cape country,—deeds of unprovoked violence performed much nearer the reach of retribution than these now were. The savages into whose hands they had fallen were protected by distance from any chance of being chastised from the south; and they had no respect for the cowardly Portuguese of the north.
This was not all. The hunters had first done them an injury, and then refused what had been demanded for compensation. In that resistance, a chief had been outraged by a blow. Moreover, there was property which the natives dearly prized; and the safest way to secure it would be to render their captives incapable of ever afterwards claiming it, or seeking redress for the spoliation.
The whole case wore a black look. Our adventurers began really to believe that Congo was telling the truth, when he said, they would have to die!