men closed in: there was a struggling mass of men, and then a shout of “Yena gofile” (“he is dead.”) I rushed up to the crowd, and there was the leopard covered with blood, his lips drawn back showing his teeth, and his limbs extended as they had been in his last spring. I jumped about with delight and excitement, for this was the first leopard I had ever seen killed, and it was by the aid of my trap that he had been secured.

The legs of the leopard were tied together, and a long pole was then inserted between them, and he was carried to the kraal, the men singing songs as they accompanied his body. Two men immediately set to work to skin him, they then extracted his teeth and claws. Of the use they were going to make of these latter I at the time was ignorant, but in a few days I learned their value. All the principal men from the neighbouring kraals were invited to come to our village in the evening, for the Caffres intended to eat the leopard, the flesh being supposed to give a man courage and endurance. A very small piece of meat could be spared for each man, as there were more than a hundred men assembled. They all sat in a circle on a piece of level ground outside our village, a fire being lighted in the centre, at which the leopard, cut up into pieces, was being toasted. Many songs were sung by the men, the chorus being shouted by all. This chorus was very little more than “Ingwe gofile, Tina shiele, Yena shingarner, Yena gofile:” which meant, “The leopard is dead, We have struck him, He is a rascal, He is dead.”

We sat several hours singing songs that were extemporised by the best singers, and occasionally drinking Itchuala, a sort of beer made out of corn, and then we all retired to our huts and slept. Three days after this the same men assembled at our kraal in the evening, and I was told by the chief to come to the meeting. I did not know what it was for, but I found all the Caffres looking at me, and the young girls seemed to regard me most attentively. I thought perhaps they intended to eat me, though I had seen nothing since my capture that frightened me. When the men were seated in a circle, the chief stood up, and, going into the centre of the circle, made a long speech, which was to this effect: “This white boy I prevented from being assagied; some of you wished to kill him, but I said, ‘No—he shall be as my son, let him live.’ You agreed, and he lives. Though his skin is white, his heart is the heart of an Umzimvubu. He can throw an assagy well. He thinks, and it is he who made the trap that caught the leopard. I ask you, men, does he not deserve the necklace of leopard’s claws? Shall he not be a young chief? Say, men, what you think.”

There was immediately a shout of consent, and the chief, calling me to him, gave me a necklace made out of the claws of the leopard, which he fastened round my neck, and immediately the men shouted, “Inkosana!”

“He is a young chief!”

I have, since those days, heard of men who by deeds of valour have gained the Victoria Cross, or by good service have received honours from their sovereign; but I doubt if any of these felt more pride and gratification than I did when I received this necklace of leopard’s claws from the hands of the chief. I immediately felt a craving for opportunities of distinguishing myself, and wished for another chance at a leopard or at some other savage animal, in order that I might prove my courage, as ably as I had shown my skill in designing and constructing the leopard-trap.