The solemn faces of the men, well aware that the
short passage of an hour would mean for some, and perhaps all
of them, the last great passage to the unknown or oblivion; the
bated whispers in which they spoke; even Sir Henry's continuous
and thoughtful examination of his woodcutter's axe and the fidgety
way in which Good kept polishing his eyeglass, all told the same
tale of nerves stretched pretty nigh to breaking-point. Only
Umslopogaas, leaning as usual upon Inkosi-kaas and taking an
occasional pinch of snuff, was to all appearance perfectly and
completely unmoved. Nothing could touch his iron nerves.
The moon went down. For a long while she had been getting nearer
and nearer to the horizon. Now she finally sank and left the
world in darkness save for a faint grey tinge in the eastern
sky that palely heralded the dawn.
Mr Mackenzie stood, watch in hand, his wife clinging to his arm
and striving to stifle her sobs.
'Twenty minutes to four,' he said, 'it ought to be light enough
to attack at twenty minutes past four. Captain Good had better
be moving, he will want three or four minutes' start.'
Good gave one final polish to his eyeglass, nodded to us in a
jocular sort of way -- which I could not help feeling it must
have cost him something to muster up -- and, ever polite, took
off his steel-lined cap to Mrs Mackenzie and started for his
position at the head of the kraal, to reach which he had to make
a detour by some paths known to the natives.
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