Now he was explaining to Mr. Dove the political and social position among
that people, whose cruel laws and customs led to constant fights on the
part of tribes or families, who knew that they were doomed, and their
consequent massacre if caught, as had happened that day. Of course, the
clergyman, who had lived for some years at Durban, knew that this was
true, although, never having actually witnessed one of these dreadful
events till now, he did not realise all their horror.
"I fear that my task will be even harder than I thought," he said with a
sigh.
"What task?" asked Ishmael.
"That of converting the Zulus. I am trekking to the king's kraal now, and
propose to settle there."
Ishmael knocked out his pipe and filled it again before he answered.
Apparently he could find no words in which to express his thoughts, but
when at length these came they were vigorous enough.
"Why not trek to hell and settle _there_ at once?" he asked, "I beg
pardon, I meant heaven, for you and your likes. Man," he went on
excitedly, "have you any heart? Do you care about your wife and daughter?"
"I have always imagined that I did, Mr. Ishmael," replied the missionary
in a cold voice.
"Then do you wish to see their throats cut before your eyes, or," and he
looked at Rachel, "worse?"
"How can you ask such questions?" said Mr.
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