An instance of the manner in which the Zulu king has obtained his character of “a treacherous and bloodthirsty sovereign,”[97] came under the notice of the present writer about December of last year (1878). Happening to be on a visit to some friends in Pietermaritzburg, and hearing them mention Cetshwayo’s cruelties, I observed that I did not much credit them, as I had never yet met anyone who knew of them from any trustworthy source. I was met with the assurance that their “kitchen-Kafir,” Tom, from whom they had received their accounts, was a personal witness, having himself escaped from a massacre, and they vouched for the truthfulness of the man’s character. I asked and obtained permission to question the man in his own language, being myself anxious to find any real evidence on the subject, especially as, at that time—with military preparations going on on every side—it was apparent to all that “we” intended war, and one would have been glad to discover that there was any justification for it on our side. The same evening I took an opportunity of interrogating “Tom,” saying, “So I hear that you know all about this wicked Zulu king. Tell me all about it.” Whereupon the man launched out into a long account of the slaughter of his people, from which not even infants were spared, and from which he was one of the few who had escaped. He had plainly been accustomed to tell the tale (doubtless a true one), and there were touches in it concerning the killing of the children which showed that he had been in the habit of recounting it to tender-hearted and horror-struck English mothers. When he had finished his tale I asked him when all the horrors which he had described had taken place. “Oh!” he replied, “it was at the time of the fight between Cetshwayo and Umbulazi (1856); that was when I left Zululand.” “And you have never been there since?” “No; I should be afraid to go, for Cetshwayo kills always.” “How do you know that?” I inquired, for he had started upon a fresh account of horrors relating to the time at which he was speaking. “Oh! I know it is true,” was the ready and confident reply, “because the white people here in ’Maritzburg tell me so out of the papers.”