THE STORMING OF SECOCOEN/'S. 12$ 



On our arrival at the king's kraal we were received by 

 a very handsome, amiable young chief, named Bomvan. 

 It was his duty to look after us, to arrange an interview 

 with the king, to present us with a bullock and with 

 beer, and generally speaking to make himself agreeable 

 to us. This he did most thoroughly. He was of a fair 

 complexion for a Caffre, and had a remarkably musical 

 soft voice and pleasing manners. On our leaving I 

 parted from him with regret, and little thought under 

 what strange circumstances we were to meet again. 



To continue. We rushed down and carried the king's 

 kraal. The bullets fired from caves in the mountain 

 were whistling about us like hail. As I ran up to the 

 king's hut I saw a strange sight. There, before the door 

 of the royal hut, was the keeper of the king's hut lying 

 dead on his face, with both arms extended, and a stream 

 of dark blood which welled from a gash in his side 

 trickled across the pavement. 



Backwards and forwards over his prostrate form strode 

 an Amaswazi warrior with a huge shield and a bloody 

 assegai. He was shouting his isibongo (war song), and 

 as he sang he stamped his feet, flourished his assegai, 

 and writhed his body from head to foot till his plumes 

 shook and his ornaments rattled. Heedless was he of 

 the fire from the caves of our presence of all, save 

 that he was triumphing over the corpse of his enemy. 

 He reminded me of a fierce but beautiful panther as he 

 strode and shouted in his delirium of warlike ecstacy. 



As he turned, to my utter astonishment I beheld the 

 features of my friend, the gentle, courteous, refined Bom- 

 van. No transformation could have been more complete. 



I said : " Bomvan, get under cover, you fool, you will 

 be shot directly ". 



