As for the head itself, it was perfectly bare, and yellow in hue, while its wrinkled scalp moved and contracted like the hood of a cobra.
The figure to which this fearful countenance belonged, a countenance so fearful indeed that it caused a shiver of fear to pass through us as we gazed on it, stood still for a moment.

Then suddenly it projected a skinny claw armed with nails nearly an inch long, and laying it on the shoulder of Twala the king, began to speak in a thin and piercing voice-- "Listen, O king! Listen, O warriors! Listen, O mountains and plains and rivers, home of the Kukuana race! Listen, O skies and sun, O rain and storm and mist! Listen, O men and women, O youths and maidens, and O ye babes unborn! Listen, all things that live and must die! Listen, all dead things that shall live again--again to die! Listen, the spirit of life is in me and I prophesy.

I prophesy! I prophesy!" The words died away in a faint wail, and dread seemed to seize upon the hearts of all who heard them, including our own.

This old woman was very terrible.
"_Blood! blood! blood!_ rivers of blood; blood everywhere.

I see it, I smell it, I taste it--it is salt! it runs red upon the ground, it rains down from the skies.
"_Footsteps! footsteps! footsteps!_ the tread of the white man coming from afar.