'He say,' the Kaffir reported, 'want food; drank bad water, poisoned by Matabeles; better now, but want eat.'
This was a need which was easily supplied. I had plenty of food with me, biscuits and tinned tongue, which I had brought for my lunch. I gave him this, and something to drink. He ate and drank greedily, which nearly choked him. He looked gratefully at me, and I placed him in a sitting posture with his back to a tree, and gave him a couple of prunes, which were evidently a novelty to him, and afforded him great delight.
The Kaffir, who rejoiced in the name of Billy, conversed with the young fellow from time to time, and suddenly Billy burst out laughing; a piece of rude behaviour which greatly shocked him the next moment, for he placed his hand over his mouth and looked very ashamed of himself.
'What is it, Billy?' I asked him.
'He say his people call him "White Witch,"' said Billy. 'He say, "I t'ink I white man like your master."'
Billy again burst out laughing, and again stifled the laugh in shocked surprise at his own rudeness.
I gazed at the sick youth with new curiosity and interest. I examined his features: there was nothing of the low-caste negro type about him, that was clear; but then it often happens that a Zulu or a Matabele is born with features which resemble those of a higher type of humanity.
'Ask him why they call him "White Witch,"' said I.
After a long talk with our new friend, Billy apparently gave up the attempt to solve this mystery.
'No understand,' he told me; 'he talk nonsense—much nonsense; not tell any truth.'