rched, however, all round, and although every
bush was examined, no one was discovered, nor did they perceive any
traces of blood which might have indicated that some wounded person had
got thus far from the scene of slaughter.

They were about to return to the camp, when, looking towards the kraal,
the trader fancied that he saw some object move in the centre among
several dead oxen, which had probably been wounded by the assegais of
the attacking party, and had returned there to die. He accordingly made
his way towards the spot, followed by Umgolo, over the still warm ashes.
He preferred the risk of burning his boots to going round through the
entrance, where the bodies of the slaughtered people lay so thickly that
he could scarcely pass without treading upon them.

"Who can this be?" he exclaimed as he got near where the dead oxen lay.
"If my eyes do not deceive me, here's a young white boy. Who are you?
What brought you here, my child?" he asked in a kind tone.

But the boy did not reply. He had been lying between two of the cattle,
partly under one of them, and having apparently been asleep, and just
awakened, was endeavouring to get up. Round his waist was a robe of
monkey skins, and a cloak of wild cat skins hung over his shoulders.
Both were stained with blood, but whether it came from a wound he had
received, or was that of the animals whose bodies had sheltered him, it
was difficult to say. When the trader lifted him up, he evinced no
fear, though he still did not speak.

"Are you English or Dutch?" asked the trader. "A Zulu you cannot be,
though dressed like one."

There was no reply. The boy, who seemed to be about eight or nine years
old, looked round with an astonished gaze at the circle of ashes to
which the kraal had been reduced.

"Why, the poor child is wounded, I fear," said the trader, examining his
arm. "Terror probably has deprived him of his wits."

As he said this, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he bound it
round the injured limb, so as to staunch the flow of blood.

"The sooner we get him to the camp the better: he wants both food and
water. Although he cannot say anything about himself, I have no doubt
that Mangaleesu will be able to give an account of him."

Saying this, the trader, giving his gun to Umgolo to carry, lifted the
boy up in his arms, and hurried with him down the hill towards the camp.
Had the boy been a Zulu, Umgolo would probably have recommended that