On the following morning Thomas crept out from beneath his wagon, not
refreshed, it is true, but filled with a renewed and even more fiery
zeal. During those damp hours of unrest he had reflected much and
brought the whole position into perspective, a clear if a narrow
perspective. The Chief with whom he had to deal evidently was a fool, if
not an imbecile, and the Christians who remained after a generation of
teaching were for the most part poor creatures, the weak-kneed amongst
this mixed-blood tribe, probably those of the milder Basuto origin.

Such strength as remained in the people, who were, after all, but a
dwindling handful marooned in a distant spot, was to be found among
those of the old Zulu stock. They were descendants of the men sent
by the Kings Chaka and Dingaan to keep an eye upon the humble Basuto
slaves, whose duty it was to herd the royal cattle, the men, too, to
whom was entrusted the proud but hateful business of carrying out
the execution of persons that, for one reason or another, it was not
desirable to kill at home.

The individuals detailed for these duties were for the most part of high
blood, inconvenient persons, perhaps, whom it was desired to move to
a distance. Thus, as Thomas Bull soon learned, Menzi was said to be
no less a man than the grandson of the King Dingaan himself, one whose
father had developed troublesome ambitions, but whose life had been
spared because his mother was a favourite with the King.

Hence some of the grandson's pride, which was enhanced by the fact that
in his youth he had been trained in medicine and magic by a certain
Zikali, alias "Opener-of-Roads," who was said to have been the greatest
witch-doctor that ever lived in Zululand, and through him had acquired,
or perhaps developed inherent psychic gifts, that were in any case