Oh, these words sounded sweetly to me. I left him toward nine o'clock in the evening to go to my hut to get a little rest, and found poor Ngoma a little better. I did not want Macondai to sleep in my hut; he was the only one besides myself that had not been seized by the plague.
As I lay wide awake on my couch, suddenly I heard a cry of anguish, a shriek from house to house. A shudder came over me. Olenda was dead—Olenda, my only friend, was dead.
As soon as that shriek was heard, Macondai, in despite of my former orders, rushed into my hut and said, "Chally, are your guns loaded? are your revolvers ready? for I do not know what the Ashira may do, since the great Olenda is dead."
I confess that I partook of Macondai's apprehensions, but I said to him, "Be of good cheer, my boy; there is but one God, and he will battle for us. Men can only kill the body."
This was a terrible blow for me, the consequences of which I could not foresee. Olenda, before dying, ordered his people to take care of me, and in a short time passed away as peacefully as if he had gone to sleep.
"OLENDA IS DEAD!"