The Zulus applauded; Babemba clapped his hands; Stephen burst into one of his idiotic fits of laughter.

For my part I grew frightened.

Near at hand stood a large wooden pot such as the Kaffirs make, from which the coffee kettle had been filled, that fortunately was still half-full of water.

I seized it and ran to him.
"Save me, white lord!" he howled.

"You are the greatest of magicians and I am your slave." Here I cut him short by clapping the pot bottom upwards on his burning head, into which it vanished as a candle does into an extinguisher.
Smoke and a bad smell issued from beneath the pot, the water from which ran all over Imbozwi, who stood quite still.