They are no longer an impi, they are a mob." Now the veterans moved restlessly on their haunches, pushing their legs out and drawing them in again.

They glanced at the fray, they looked into each other's eyes and spoke a word here, a word there, "Well smitten, Galazi! Wow! that one is down! A brave lad! Ho! a good club is the Watcher! The fight draws near, my brother!" And ever as they spoke their faces grew fiercer and their fingers played with their spears.
At length a captain called aloud to Umslopogaas:-- "Say, Slaughterer, is it not time to be up and doing?
The grass is wet to sit on, and our limbs grow cramped." "Wait awhile," answered Umslopogaas.

"Let them weary of their play.

Let them weary, I tell you." As he spoke the Halakazi huddled themselves together, and with a rush drove back Galazi and those who were left of the young men.

Yes, at last they were forced to flee, and after them came the Swazis, and in the forefront of the pursuit was their chief, ringed round with a circle of his bravest.
Umslopogaas saw it and bounded to his feet, roaring like a bull.