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 nought, unless it were his battleaxe.
'Oh 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.