Four of the Zulus were dead and two others were badly wounded
--no, three, including Mavovo. They brought him to me leaning on the
shoulder of Babemba and another Mazitu captain. He was a shocking
sight, for he was shot in three places, and badly cut and battered as
well. He looked at me a little while, breathing heavily, then spoke.
"It was a very good fight, my father," he said. "Of all that I have
fought I can remember none better, although I have been in far greater
battles, which is well as it is my last. I foreknew it, my father, for
though I never told it you, the first death lot that I drew down
yonder in Durban was my own. Take back the gun you gave me, my father.
You did but lend it me for a little while, as I said to you. Now I go
to the Underworld to join the spirits of my ancestors and of those who
have fallen at my side in many wars, and of those women who bore my
children. I shall have a tale to tell them there, my father, and
together we will wait for you--till you, too, die in war!"
Then he lifted up his arm from the neck of Babemba, and saluted me
with a loud cry of /Baba! Inkosi!/ giving me certain great titles
which I will not set down, and having done so sank to the earth.
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