As they approached they heard swelling from within those cracked and melancholy walls the sound of a fierce, defiant chant which Thomas guessed must be some ancient Zulu war-song, as indeed it was. It was a very impressive song, chanted by many people, which informed the listeners that those who sung it were the King’s oxen, born to kill the King’s enemies, and to be killed for the King, and so forth; a deep-noted, savage song that thrilled the blood, at the first sound of which the accordion gave a feeble wail and metaphorically expired. “Isn’t that beautiful music, Father. I never heard anything like that before,” exclaimed Tabitha. Before Thomas could answer, out from the ruined doorway of the Church issued a band of men—there might have been a hundred of them—clad in all the magnificent panoply of old-time Zulu warriors, with tall plumes upon their heads, large shields upon their arms, kilts about their middles, and fringes of oxtails hanging from their knees and elbows. They formed into a double line and advanced, waving broad-bladed assegais. Then at a signal they halted by the wagon and uttered a deep-throated salute. In front of their lines was a little withered old fellow who carried neither shield nor spear, but only a black rod to which was bound the tail of a _wildebeeste_. Except for his _moocha_ he was almost naked, and into his grey hair was woven a polished ring of black gum, from which hung several little bladders. Upon his scraggy neck was a necklace of baboon’s teeth and amulets, whilst above the _moocha_ was twisted a snake that might have been either alive or stuffed. His face, though aged and shrunken, was fine-featured and full of breeding, while his hands and feet were very small; his eyes were brooding, the eyes of a mystic, but when his interest was excited their glance was as sharp as a bradawl. Just now it was fixed on Thomas, who felt as if it were piercing him through and through. The owner of the eyes, as Thomas guessed at once, was Menzi, a witch-doctor very famous in those parts. “Why are these men armed with spears? It is against the law for Kaffirs to carry spears,” he said to the Chief. “This is Portuguese Territory; there is no law in Portuguese Territory,” answered Kosa with a vacant stare. “Then we might be all murdered here and no notice taken,” exclaimed Thomas. “Yes, Teacher. Many people have been murdered here: my father was murdered, and I dare say I shall be.” “Who by?” Kosa made no answer, but his vacant eyes rested for a little while on Menzi. “Good God! what a country,” said Thomas to himself, looking at Dorcas who was frightened. Then he turned to meet Menzi, who was advancing towards them.