his behalf. Here he saw the
Queen and her ministers, once more conquering, as it had been
prophesied that he would by her who wore the shape of Mameena at
the memorable scene in the Valley of Bones when I was present.
Often I have thought of him dressed in a black coat and seated in
that villa in Melbury Road in the suburb of London which I
understand is populated by artists. A strange contrast truly to
the savage prince receiving the salute of triumph after the
Battle of the Tugela in which he won the kingship, or to the
royal monarch to whose presence I had been summoned at Ulundi.
However, he was brought back to Zululand again by a British
man-of-war, re-installed to a limited chieftainship by Sir
Theophilus Shepstone, and freed from the strangling embrace of
the black coat.

Then of course there was more fighting, as every one knew would
happen, except the British Colonial Office; indeed all Zululand
ran with blood. For in England Cetewayo and his rights, or
wrongs, had, like the Boers and their rights, or wrongs, become a
matter of Party politics to which everything else must give way.
Often I wonder whether Party politics will not in the end prove
the ruin of the British Empire. Well, thank Heaven, I shall not
live to learn.

So Cetewayo came back and fought and was defeated by those who
once had been his subjects. Now for the last scene, that is all
with which I need concern myself.

At the beginning of February, 1884, business took me to Zululand;
it had to do with a deal in cattle and blankets. As I was
returning towards the Tugela who should I meet but friend Goza,
he who had escorted me from the Black Kloof to Ulundi before the
outbreak of war, and who afterwards escorted me and that
unutterable nuisance, Kaatje, out of the country. At first I
thought that we came together by accident, or perhaps that he had
journeyed a little way to thank me for the blankets which I had
sent to him, remembering my ancient promise, but afterwards I
changed my opinion on this point.

Well, we talked over many matters, the war, the disasters that
had befallen Zululand, and so forth. Especially did we talk of
that night in the Valley of Bones and the things we had seen
there side by side. I asked him if the people still believed in
the Inkosazana-y-Zulu who then appeared in the moonlight on the
rock. He answered that some did and some did not. For his part,
he added, looking at me fixedly, he did not, since i