to the sonorous croak of the
bull-frog--the result was indescribably terrific and deafening. Then it
ceased as suddenly as the war-song had ceased.

The King had appeared. Advancing a few steps from the gateway, he
paused and stood surveying the gathering. Then, cleaving the silence in
thunder tones, there volleyed forth from every throat the salute royal--

"Kumalo!"

Over the wide slopes without it rolled and echoed. Voices far and
near--single voices, and voices in groups--the melodious voices of women
at work in the cornfields--all who heard it echoed it back, now clear,
now faint and mellowed by distance--

"_Kumalo_!"

There was that in the aspect of the King as he stood thus, his massive
features stern and gloomy as he frowned down upon those whose homage he
was receiving, his attitude haughty and majestic to the last degree,
which was calculated to strike awe into the white beholders if only
through the consciousness of how absolutely they were in his power. He
had discarded all European attempts at adornment, and was clad in
nothing but the inevitable _mutya_ and a kaross made of the dressed skin
of a lioness, thrown carelessly over his shoulders. His shaven head was
surmounted just above the forehead by the small Matabele ring, a far
less dignified-looking form of crest than the large Zulu one. Then, as
he advanced a few steps further, with head thrown back, and his form,
though bulky, erect and commanding, a more majestic-looking savage it
would be hard to imagine.

A massive chair, carved out of a single tree stump, was now set by one
of the attendants, and as Lo Bengula enthroned himself upon it, again
the mighty shouts of praise rent the air--

"Thou art the child of the sun!"

"Blanket, covering thy people!"

"King mountain of the Matopo!"

"Elephant whose tread shaketh the world!"

"Eater-up of Zwang'indaba!"

"Crocodile, who maketh our rivers to flow clear water!"

"Rhinoceros!"

Such, and many more, were the attributes wherewith they hailed their
monarch, who was, to all intents and purposes, their god. Then the
chorus altered. A new and more ominous clamour now expressed its
burden. It became hostile and bloodthirsty in intent towards the white
strangers within their gates.

Who were these whites? chanted the warriors. It were better to make an
end of them. They were but the advance-guard of many more--swarms upon
swarms of them--even as the few locusts who constituted