Indeed on these occasions I was always accompanied by a guard of swift-footed and armed soldiers sent "to protect me," or more probably to kill me if I did anything that seemed suspicious.
In the course of my rambles I met sundry natives whom I had known in the old days, some of them a long while ago.

They all seemed glad to see me and were quite ready to talk of past times, but of the present they would say little or nothing, except that they were certain there would be war.

Of Anscombe and Heda I could hear nothing, and indeed did not dare to make any direct inquiries concerning them, but several reliable men assured me that the last missionaries and traders having departed, there was not a white man, woman or child left in Zululand except myself.
It was "all black" they said, referring to the colour of their people, as it had been before the time of Chaka.

So I was forced to eat out my heart with anxiety in silence, hoping and praying that Zikali had played an honest part and sent them away safely.
Why should he not have done so, seeing that it was my presence he had desired, not theirs?
They were only taken, or rather snared, because they were with me and could not be separated, or so I believed at the time.
One ray of comfort I did get.

About the fifth day after my interview I saw Goza, who told me that the king's messengers were back from the Black Kloof and had brought "a word" for me from Zikali himself.