Sebitoani had allotted to us a bright clean kotla for eating and sleeping in, and after supper we lay down on the grass, which had been cut for our beds by the thoughtful attention of the chief. In the dead of the night he paid us a visit alone, and sat down very quietly and mournfully at our fire. Livingstone and I woke up and greeted him, and then he dreamily recounted the history of his life, his wars, escapes, successes and conquests, and the far-distant wandering in his raids. By the fire’s glow and flicker among the reeds, with that tall dark earnest speaker and his keenly attentive listeners, it has always appeared to me one of the most weird scenes I ever saw. With subdued manner and voice Sebitoani went on through the livelong night till near the dawn, his low tones only occasionally interrupted by an inquiry from Livingstone. He described the way in which he had circumvented a strong ‘impi’ of Matabili on the raid, and raised his voice for a minute or two as he recounted how, hearing of their approach, he had sent men to meet the dreaded warriors of ’Umsilegas, feigning themselves traitors to him in order to lure them to destruction by promising to guide them to the bulk of the cows and oxen which they said, in fear of their coming, had been placed in fancied security on one of the large islands of the Chobé; how the Zulus fell into the trap, and allowed themselves to be ferried over in three or four canoes hidden there for the purpose, and how when the last trip had been made the boatmen, pulling out into midstream, told them they could remain where they were till they were fetched off, and in the meantime might search for the cattle; how, after leaving them till they were worn and weak with hunger, for there was nothing to eat on the island, he passed over, killed the chiefs, and absorbed the soldiers into his own ranks, providing them with wives, a luxury they were not entitled to under Zulu military law until their spears had been well reddened in fight. Then he waved his hand westwards, and opened out a story of men over whom he had gained an easy triumph ‘away away very far by the bitter waters,’ and to whom, when they asked for food, wishing to bind them with fetters of kindness, he sent a fat ox, and, ‘“Would you believe it? they returned it, saying they didn’t eat ox.” “Then what do you eat?” I asked; “_we_ like beef better than anything.” “We eat _men_,” said they. I had never heard of this before. But they were very pressing, so at last I sent them two slaves of Macobas--the river people--who, as you know, are very dark in colour, but they brought them back, saying they did not like _black_ men, but preferred the redder variety, and as that meant sending my own fighting men, I told them they might go without altogether.’ This was the only intimation we ever had that cannibalism existed in our part of Africa.