Suddenly some of them caught sight of me, whereon a tall, truculent fellow called out-- "What does a white man at Ulundi at such a time, when even John Dunn dare not come?
Let us kill him and send his head as a present to the English general across the Tugela.

That will settle this long talk about peace or war." Others of a like mind echoed this kind proposal, with the result that presently a score or so of them made a rush at me, brandishing their sticks, since they might not carry arms in the royal kraal.

Goza did his best to keep them off, but was swept aside like a feather, or rather knocked over, for I saw him on his back with his thin legs in the air.
"You must climb out of this pit by yourself," he began, addressing me in his pompous and figurative way.

Then somebody stamped on his face, and fixing his teeth in his assailant's heel, he grew silent for a while.
The truculent blackguard, who was about six feet three high and had a mouth like a wolf's throat, arrived in front of me and, bending down, roared out-- "We are going to kill you, White Man." I had a pistol in my pocket and could perfectly well have killed him, as I was much tempted to do.

A second's reflection showed me, however, that this would be useless, and in a sense put me in the wrong, though when the matter came on for argument it would interest me no more.