saw Mavovo
stab a man and go down. He rose and stabbed another, then fell again for
he was hard hit.

Two Arabs rushed to kill him. I shot them both with a right and left,
for fortunately my rifle was just reloaded. He rose once more and killed
a third man. Stephen came to his support and grappling with an Arab,
dashed his head against the gate-post so that he fell. Old Bausi,
panting like a grampus, plunged in with his remaining Mazitu and the
combatants became so confused in the dark gloom of the overhanging smoke
that I could scarcely tell one from the other. Yet the maddened Arabs
were winning, as they must, for how could our small and ever-lessening
company stand against their rush?

We were in a little circle now of which somehow I found myself the
centre, and they were attacking us on all sides. Stephen got a knock
on the head from the butt end of a gun, and tumbled against me, nearly
upsetting me. As I recovered myself I looked round in despair.

Now it was that I saw a very welcome sight, namely Hans, yes, the lost
Hans himself, with his filthy hat whereof I noticed even then the frayed
ostrich feathers were smouldering, hanging by a leather strap at the
back of his head. He was shambling along in a sly and silent sort
of way, but at a great rate with his mouth open, beckoning over his
shoulder, and behind him came about one hundred and fifty Mazitu.

Those Mazitu soon put another complexion upon the affair, for charging
with a roar, they drove back the Arabs, who had no space to develop
their line, straight into the jaws of that burning hell. A little later
the rest of the Mazitu returned with Babemba and finished the job. Only
quite a few of the Arabs got out and were captured after they had thrown
down their guns. The rest retreated into the centre of the market-place,
whither our people followed them. In this crisis the blood of these
Mazitu told, and they stuck to the enemy as Zulus themselves would
certainly have done.

It was over! Great Heaven! it was over, and we began to count
our losses. Four of the Zulus were dead and two others were badly
wounded--no, three, including Mavovo. They brought him to me leaning on
the shoulder of Babemba and another Mazitu captain. He was a shocking
sight, for he was shot in three places, and badly cut and battered as
well. He looked at me a little while, breathing heavily, then spoke.

"It was a very good fight, my father," he said. "Of all that I have
fought I