To be handled by a multitude of Kaffirs is like being shaken by some wild animal.

Their skins are insensible to pain, and I have seen a Zulu stand on a piece of red-hot iron without noticing it till he was warned by the smell of burning hide.

Anyhow, after I had been bound by Kaffir hands and tossed on Kaffir shoulders, I felt as if I had been in a scrimmage of mad bulls.

I found myself lying looking up at the moon.

It was the edge of the bush, and all around was the stir of the army getting ready for the road.