Thus it is that the native population of Natal, fed from within and
without, has in thirty years increased enormously in number. Secluded
from the outside world in his location, the native has lived in peace
and watched his cattle grow upon a thousand hills. His wealth has become
great and his wives many. He no longer dreads swift "death by order
of the king," or by word of the witch-doctor. No "impi," or native
regiment, can now sweep down on him and "eat him up," that is, carry off
his cattle, put his kraal to the flames, and himself, his people, his
wives, and children to the assegai. For the first time in the story of
the great Kafir race, he can, when he rises in the morning, be sure that
he will not sleep that night, stiff, in a bloody grave. He has tasted
the blessings of peace and security, and what is the consequence? He has
increased and multiplied until his numbers are as grains of sand on the
sea-shore. Overlapping the borders of his location, he squats on private
lands, he advances like a great tidal wave, he cries aloud for room,
more room.
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