We now proceeded to the rocks, Dix bringing up the rear, with orders from me to shoot the first person who committed an act of open treachery. There were here about twenty Kaffirs. We were soon seated on the ground--Sandilli, Noziah, and myself, the centre of a circle which these men formed about us. Dix was stationed outside the circle, gun in hand. The difficulties of entering into good-fellowship with Sandilli now became apparent; for notwithstanding the beseeching looks of Noziah, he remained dumbly staring at me in the rudest manner, and I could see nothing but suppressed rage written on his ugly countenance. The other members of his council--mostly old men, who remained squatted on their hands like savage grizzly bears--looked askance at me with their bloodshot eyes, as though they would like nothing better than pulling me to pieces. Feeling thus too disagreeably scrutinised, I told Dix to point his gun, as if by accident, somewhere near Sandilli’s head. This movement considerably smoothed down the very distorted features of that dark gentleman. He said something in Kaffir to Noziah, pointing to Dix, and I told the latter to move his firelock a little on one side. After this mute episode snuff was passed round, and the conversation opened. I explained in Dutch that I had been led to this interview with the hope of stopping further shedding of blood; that the late engagements between my men and the Kaffirs had been more like the slaughtering of cattle than an honest struggle between man and man; they (the Kaffirs) had no ammunition, and very few guns left; it was worse than madness to suppose that a piece of stick, blessed by a witch-doctor, could drive, as they pretended, the English into the sea,--in fact, I argued that it was a duty for Sandilli, and well worthy his great influence, to order his blind followers not to sacrifice themselves any longer to such a senseless enterprise.