At last, about three hundred miles inland, I came to a tribe, or rather, a people, that no white man had ever visited.

They are called the Mazitu, a numerous and warlike people of bastard Zulu blood." "I have heard of them," I interrupted.

"They broke north before the days of Senzangakona, two hundred years or more ago." "Well, I could make myself understood among them because they still talk a corrupt Zulu, as do all the tribes in those parts.

At first they wanted to kill me, but let me go because they thought that I was mad.
Everyone thinks that I am mad, Allan; it is a kind of public delusion, whereas I think that I am sane and that most other people are mad." "A private delusion," I suggested hurriedly, as I did not wish to discuss Brother John's sanity.

"Well, go on about the Mazitu." "Later they discovered that I had skill in medicine, and their king, Bausi, came to me to be treated for a great external tumour.