Chapter Twenty Two.
Farewell.
Months later the whole band reached safely a small Portuguese haven on the south-west coast, in which there lay at anchor the Mormon’s own steam-vessel, the Brigham Young, and all going on board of her, the old Prophet, who had now become excellent friends with Grenville and his party, ordered steam to be got up, and, running comfortably down the coast, soon landed our friends at Cape Town to wait for the English mail-boat, whilst he himself, after revictualling his ship, set sail for home with the remnant of his victorious army of the “Elect.”
Bitter was the final parting between Grenville and Amaxosa, though the great Zulu to some extent concealed his true feelings under the mask of his accustomed stoicism.
“The light has gone out of my sun, my father,” he said; “the storm-clouds are very heavy, and my heart is split in twain. What can the chieftain of the Undi say more? Yet, my father, if aught of evil comes upon thee, then, out of the trackless deserts of the unknown land beyond, call thou aloud for Amaxosa, thy true and only son, and thy faithful war-dog will answer, ‘Here am I, my father!’ and will straightway follow on along the narrow, bloodstained path, even through the darksome shadows of the dead, and into the glorious land of the great hereafter.
“Fare ye well, Inkoosis, wise and mighty chiefs!
“Adieu, my little sister, who from the shadows of the cruel past hast come to bless us!
“And to thee, my father—to thee, with whom the spirit of thy son is bound in the bundle of life here and hereafter, to thee the Lion of the Zulu gives his greeting last and best. Greeting to thee, bravest of the brave!
“Greeting and farewell!”