“Men,” said Mr. Mackenzie, after he had put all the circumstances of the case fully and clearly before them, and explained to them the proposed plan of our forlorn hope—“men, for years I have been a good friend to you, protecting you, teaching you, guarding you and yours from harm, and ye have prospered with me. Ye have seen my child—the Water-lily, as ye call her—grow year by year, from tenderest infancy to tender childhood, and from childhood on towards maidenhood. She has been your children’s playmate, she has helped to tend you when sick, and ye have loved her.”
“We have,” said a deep voice, “and we will die to save her.”
“I thank you from my heart—I thank you. Sure am I that now, in this hour of darkest trouble, now that her young life is like to be cut off by cruel and savage men—who of a truth ‘know not what they do’—ye will strive your best to save her, and to save me and her mother from broken hearts. Think, too, of your own wives and children. If she dies, her death will be followed by an attack upon us here, and at the best, even if we hold our own, your houses and gardens will be destroyed, and your goods and cattle swept away. I am, as ye well know, a man of peace. Never in all these years have I lifted my hand to shed man’s blood; but now I say strike, strike, in the name of God, Who bade us protect our lives and homes. Swear to me,” he went on with added fervour—“swear to me that whilst a man of you remains alive ye will strive your uttermost with me and with these brave white men to save the child from a bloody and cruel death.”
“Say no more, my father,” said the same deep voice, that belonged to a stalwart elder of the mission; “we swear it. May we and ours die the death of dogs, and our bones be thrown to the jackals and the kites, if we break the oath! It is a fearful thing to do, my father, so few to strike at so many, yet will we do it or die in the doing. We swear!”
“Ay, thus say we all,” chimed in the others.
“Thus say we all,” said I.
“It is well,” went on Mr. Mackenzie. “Ye are true men and not broken reeds to lean on. And now, friends—white and black together—let us kneel and offer up our humble supplication to the Throne of Power, praying that He in the hollow of Whose hand lie all our lives, Who giveth life and giveth death, may be pleased to make strong our arms that we may prevail in what awaits us at the morning’s light.”
And he knelt down, an example that we all followed except Umslopogaas, who still stood in the background, grimly leaning on Inkosi-Kaas. The fierce old Zulu had no gods and worshipped naught, unless it were his battleaxe.
“O God of gods!” began the clergyman, his deep voice, tremulous with emotion, echoing up in the silence even to the leafy roof; “Protector of the oppressed, Refuge of those in danger, Guardian of the helpless, hear Thou our prayer! Almighty Father, to Thee we come in supplication. Hear Thou our prayer! Behold, one child hast Thou given us—an innocent child, nurtured in Thy knowledge—and now she lies beneath the shadow of the sword, in danger of a fearful death at the hands of savage men. Be with her now, O God, and comfort her! Save her, O Heavenly Father! O God of battle, Who teacheth our hands to war and our fingers to fight, in Whose strength are hid the destinies of men, be Thou with us in the hour of strife. When we go forth into the shadow of death, make Thou us strong to conquer. Breathe Thou upon our foes and scatter them; turn Thou their strength to water, and bring their high-blown pride to naught; compass us about with Thy protection; throw over us the shield of Thy power; forget us not now in the hour of our sore distress; help us now that the cruel man would dash our little ones against the stones! Hear Thou our prayer! And for those of us who, kneeling now on earth in health before Thee, shall at the sunrise adore Thy Presence on the Throne, hear our prayer! Make them clean, O God; wash away their offences in the blood of the Lamb; and when their spirits pass, O receive Thou them into the haven of the just. Go forth, O Father, go forth with us into the battle, as with the Israelites of old. O God of battle, hear Thou our prayer!”
He ceased, and after a moment’s silence we all rose, and then began our preparations in good earnest. As Umslopogaas said, it was time to stop “talking” and get to business. The men who were to form each little party were carefully selected, and still more carefully and minutely instructed as to what was to be done. After much consideration it was agreed that the ten men led by Good, whose duty it was to stampede the camp, were not to carry firearms; that is, with the exception of Good himself, who had a revolver as well as a short sword—the Masai “sime” which I had taken from the body of our poor servant who was murdered in the canoe. We feared that if they had firearms the result of three crossfires carried on at once would be that some of our own people would be shot; besides, it appeared to all of us that the work they had to do would best be carried out with cold steel—especially to Umslopogaas, who was, indeed, a great advocate of cold steel. We had with us four Winchester repeating rifles, besides half a dozen Martinis. I armed myself
