“Thank you, Mr. Robertson——”

“Captain Robertson,” he interrupted. “Man, don’t look astonished. You mightn’t guess it, but I commanded a mail-steamer once and should like to hear myself called rightly again before I die.”

“I beg your pardon—Captain Robertson, but myself, I don’t drink anything before sundown. However, if you have something to eat——?”

“Oh yes, Inez—she’s my daughter—will find you a bite. Those men of yours,” and he also looked doubtfully at Umslopogaas and his savage company, “will want food as well. I’ll have a beast killed for them; they look as if they could eat it, horns and all. Where are my people? All asleep, I suppose, the lazy lubbers. Wait a bit, I’ll wake them up.”

Going to the house he snatched a great sjambok cut from hippopotamus hide, from where it hung on a nail in the wall, and ran towards the group of huts which I have mentioned, roaring out the name Thomaso, also a string of oaths such as seamen use, mixed with others of a Portuguese variety. What happened there I could not see because boughs were in the way, but presently I heard blows and screams, and caught sight of people, all dark-skinned, flying from the huts.

A little later a fat, half-breed man—I should say from his curling hair that his mother was a negress and his father a Portuguese—appeared with some other nondescript fellows and began to give directions in a competent fashion about our oxen, also as to the killing of a calf. He spoke in bastard Portuguese, which I could understand, and I heard him talk of Umslopogaas to whom he pointed, as “that nigger,” after the fashion of such cross-bred people who choose to consider themselves white men. Also he made uncomplimentary remarks about Hans, who of course understood every word he said. Evidently Thomaso’s temper had been ruffled by this sudden and violent disturbance of his nap.

Just then our host appeared puffing with his exertions and declaring that he had stirred up the swine with a vengeance, in proof of which he pointed to the sjambok that was reddened with blood.

“Captain Robertson,” I said, “I wish to give you a hint to be passed on to Mr. Thomaso, if that is he. He spoke of the Zulu soldier there as a nigger, etc. Well, he is a chief of a high rank and rather a terrible fellow if roused. Therefore I recommend Mr. Thomaso not to let him understand that he is insulting him.”

“Oh! that’s the way of these ‘snuff-and-butters’ one of whose grandmothers once met a white man,” replied the Captain, laughing, “but I’ll tell him,” and he did in Portuguese.