it is a lion
who fronts them. Of which are ye?

"Lo, the spirit of the Great Great One who founded this nation is still
alive. His serpent still watches over those whom he made great in the
art of war. Shall you shame his name, his memory? Of a truth, no.

"Yonder comes the white army--nearer, nearer day by day. Soon it will
be here. But first it will have to pass over the bodies of the lions of
Matyobane. Shall it do so? Of a truth, no!"

The King ceased. And upon the silence arose mighty shouts. To the
death they would oppose this invasion. The King, their father, might
sit safe, since his children, his fighting dogs were at large. They
would eat up these whites--ha--ha! a mere mouthful, and the race of
Matyobane should be greater than ever among the great nations of the
world.

Then again a silence fell suddenly, and immediately from a score of
points along the lines, voices began to lead off the war-song:

"Woz'ubone!
Woz'ubone, kiti kwazulu!
Woz'ubone! Nantz'indaba.
Indaba yemkonto.
Jji-jji! Jji-jji!

"Nantz'indaba? Indaba yezizwe?
Akwasimuntu.
Jji-jji! Jji-jji!

"Woz'ubone! Nantz'indaba.
Indaba ka Matyobane."

[See Note 1.]

Louder and louder, in its full-throated cadence, the national war-song
rolled forth, thundrous in its wild weird strophes, to the accompaniment
of stamping feet and clashing of shields--the effect of the deep humming
hiss of the death chorus alone appalling in its fiendlike intensity.
The vast crescent of bedizened warriors swayed and waved in its
uncontrollable excitement, and the dust clouds streamed overhead as an
earnest of the smoke of burning and pillage, which was wont to mark the
fiery path of this terrible race in its conquering progress. Louder,
louder, the song roared forth, and then, when excitement had reached its
highest pitch, silence fell with a suddenness as startling as the mighty
outburst which had preceded it.

For the King had advanced from where he had been standing. Facing
eastward he now stood. Poising the long, slender, casting assegai in
his hand with a nervous quiver, he hurled it far out over the stockade.

"Go now, children of Matyobane!" he cried in tones of thunder.

It was the signal. Rank upon rank the armed legions filed forth from
the gates of the great kraal. In perfect silence now they marched,
their faces set eastward--a fell, vast, unsparing host upon destruction
bent. Woe to the invading