It was that of one of Cetewayo's companions to whom I had sold some cloth at Nodwengu.

The fallen were piled up quite thick around me--we were using them as a breastwork, friend and foe together.

I saw Scowl's horse rear into the air and fall.

He slipped over its tail, and next instant was fighting at my side, also with a spear, muttering Dutch and English oaths as he struck.
"Beetje varm! [a little hot] Beetje varm, Baas!" I heard him say.

Then my horse screamed aloud and something hit me hard upon the head--I suppose it was a thrown kerry--after which I remember nothing for a while, except a sensation of passing through the air.
I came to myself again, and found that I was still on the horse, which was ambling forward across the veld at a rate of about eight miles an hour, and that Scowl was clinging to my stirrup leather and running at my side.