King Solomon's Mines
was within forty yards or so, when they hurled themselves with
irresistible force upon them. Again there came the awful roll of the
meeting shields, and as we watched the tragedy repeated itself.
But this time the issue was left longer in doubt; indeed, it seemed for
awhile almost impossible that the Greys should again prevail. The
attacking regiment, which was formed of young men, fought with the
utmost fury, and at first seemed by sheer weight to be driving the
veterans back. The slaughter was truly awful, hundreds falling every
minute; and from among the shouts of the warriors and the groans of the
dying, set to the music of clashing spears, came a continuous hissing
undertone of “_S’gee, s’gee_,” the note of triumph of each victor as he
passed his assegai through and through the body of his fallen foe.
But perfect discipline and steady and unchanging valour can do wonders,
and one veteran soldier is worth two young ones, as soon became
apparent in the present case. For just when we thought that it was all
over with the Greys, and were preparing to take their place so soon as
they made room by being destroyed, I heard Sir Henry’s deep voice
ringing out through the din, and caught a glimpse of his circling
battle-axe as he waved it high above his plumes. Then came a change;
the Greys ceased to give; they stood still as a rock, against which the
furious waves of spearmen broke again and again, only to recoil.
Presently they began to move once more—forward this time; as they had
no firearms there was no smoke, so we could see it all. Another minute
and the onslaught grew fainter.
“Ah, these are _men_, indeed; they will conquer again,” called out
Ignosi, who was grinding his teeth with excitement at my side. “See, it
is done!”
Suddenly, like puffs of smoke from the mouth of a cannon, the attacking
regiment broke away in flying groups, their white head-dresses
streaming behind them in the wind, and left their opponents victors,
indeed, but, alas! no more a regiment. Of the gallant triple line,
which forty minutes before had gone into action three thousand strong,
there remained at most some six hundred blood-spattered men; the rest
were under foot. And yet they cheered and waved their spears in
triumph, and then, instead of falling back upon us as we expected, they
ran forward, for a hundred yards or so, after the flying groups of
foemen, took possession of a rising knoll of ground, and, resuming
their triple formation, formed a threefold ring around its base. And
there, thanks be to Heaven, standing on the top of the mound for a
minute, I saw Sir Henry, apparently unharmed, and with him our old
friend Infadoos. Then Twala’s regiments rolled down upon the doomed
band, and once more the battle closed in.
As those who read this history will probably long ago have gathered, I
am, to be honest, a bit of a coward, and certainly in no way given to
fighting, though somehow it has often been my lot to get into
unpleasant positions, and to be obliged to shed man’s blood. But I have
always hated it, and kept my own blood as undiminished in quantity as
possible, sometimes by a judicious use of my heels. At this moment,
however, for the first time in my life, I felt my bosom burn with
martial ardour. Warlike fragments from the “Ingoldsby Legends,”
together with numbers of sanguinary verses in the Old Testament, sprang
up in my brain like mushrooms in the dark; my blood, which hitherto had
been half-frozen with horror, went beating through my veins, and there
came upon me a savage desire to kill and spare not. I glanced round at
the serried ranks of warriors behind us, and somehow, all in an
instant, I began to wonder if my face looked like theirs. There they
stood, the hands twitching, the lips apart, the fierce features
instinct with the hungry lust of battle, and in the eyes a look like
the glare of a bloodhound when after long pursuit he sights his quarry.
Only Ignosi’s heart, to judge from his comparative self-possession,
seemed, to all appearances, to beat as calmly as ever beneath his
leopard-skin cloak, though even _he_ still ground his teeth. I could
bear it no longer.
“Are we to stand here till we put out roots, Umbopa—Ignosi, I
mean—while Twala swallows our brothers yonder?” I asked.
“Nay, Macumazahn,” was the answer; “see, now is the ripe moment: let us
pluck it.”
As he spoke a fresh regiment rushed past the ring upon the little
mound, and wheeling round, attacked it from the hither side.
Then, lifting his battle-axe, Ignosi gave the signal to advance, and,
screaming the wild Kukuana war-cry, the Buffaloes charged home with a
rush like the rush of the sea.
What followed immediately on this it is out of my power to tell. All I
can remember is an irregular yet ordered advance, that seemed to shake
the ground; a sudden change of front and forming up on the part of the
regiment against which the charge was directed; then an awful shock, a
dull roar of voices, and a continuous flashing of spears, seen through
a red mist of blood.
When my mind cleared I found myself standing inside the remnant of the
Greys near the top of the mound, and just behind no less a person than
Sir Henry himself. How I got there I had at the moment no idea, but Sir
Henry afterwards told me that I was borne up by the first furious
charge of the Buffaloes almost to his feet, and then left, as they in
turn were pressed back. Thereon he dashed out of the circle and dragged
me into shelter.
As for the fight that followed, who can describe it? Again and again
the multitudes surged against our momentarily lessening circle, and
again and again we beat them back.
“The stubborn spearmen still made good
The dark impenetrable wood,
Each stepping where his comrade stood
The instant that he fell,”
as someone or other beautifully says.
It was a splendid thing to see those brave battalions come on time
after time over the barriers of their dead, sometimes lifting corpses
before them to receive our spear-thrusts, only to leave their own
corpses to swell the rising piles. It was a gallant sight to see that
old warrior, Infadoos, as cool as though he were on parade, shouting
out orders, taunts, and even jests, to keep up the spirit of his few
remaining men, and then, as each charge rolled on, stepping forward to
wherever the fighting was thickest, to bear his share in its repulse.
And yet more gallant was the vision of Sir Henry, whose ostrich plumes
had been shorn off by a spear thrust, so that his long yellow hair
streamed out in the breeze behind him. There he stood, the great Dane,
for he was nothing else, his hands, his axe, and his armour all red
with blood, and none could live before his stroke. Time after time I
saw it sweeping down, as some great warrior ventured to give him
battle, and as he struck he shouted “_O-hoy! O-hoy!_” like his
Berserkir forefathers, and the blow went crashing through shield and
spear, through head-dress, hair, and skull, till at last none would of
their own will come near the great white “_umtagati_,” the wizard, who
killed and failed not.
But suddenly there rose a cry of “_Twala, y’ Twala_,” and out of the
press sprang forward none other than the gigantic one-eyed king
himself, also armed with battle-axe and shield, and clad in chain
armour.
“Where art thou, Incubu, thou white man, who slewest Scragga my son—see
if thou canst slay me!” he shouted, and at the same time hurled a
_tolla_ straight at Sir Henry, who fortunately saw it coming, and
caught it on his shield, which it transfixed, remaining wedged in the
iron plate behind the hide.
Then, with a cry, Twala sprang forward straight at him, and with his
battle-axe struck him such a blow upon the shield that the mere force
and shock of it brought Sir Henry, strong man as he is, down upon his
knees.
But at this time the matter went no further, for that instant there
rose from the regiments pressing round us something like a shout of
dismay, and on looking up I saw the cause.
To the right and to the left the plain was alive with the plumes of
charging warriors. The outflanking squadrons had come to our relief.
The time could not have been better chosen. All Twala’s army, as Ignosi
predicted would be the case, had fixed their attention on the bloody
struggle which was raging round the remnant of the Greys and that of
the Buffaloes, who were now carrying on a battle of their own at a
little distance, which two regiments had formed the chest of our army.
It was not until our horns were about to close upon them that they had
dreamed of their approach, for they believed these forces to be hidden
in reserve upon the crest of the moon-shaped hill. And now, before they
could even assume a proper formation for defence, the outflanking
_Impis_ had leapt, like greyhounds, on their flanks.
In five minutes the fate of the battle was decided. Taken on both
flanks, and dismayed at the awful slaughter inflicted upon them by the
Greys and Buffaloes, Twala’s regiments broke into flight, and soon the
whole plain between us and Loo was scattered with groups of running
soldiers making good their retreat. As for the hosts that had so
recently surrounded us and the Buffaloes, they melted away as though by
magic, and presently we were left standing there like a rock from which
the sea has retreated. But what a sight it was! Around us the dead and
dying lay in heaped-up masses, and of the gallant Greys there remained
but ninety-five men upon their feet. More than three thousand four
hundred had fallen in this one regiment, most of them never to rise
again.
“Men,” said Infadoos calmly, as between the intervals of binding a
wound on his arm he surveyed what remained to him of his corps, “ye
have kept up the reputation of your regiment, and this day’s fighting
will be well spoken of by your children’s children.” Then he turned
round and shook Sir Henry Curtis by the hand. “Thou art a great
captain, Incubu,” he said simply; “I have lived a long life among
warriors, and have known many a brave one, yet have I never seen a man
like unto thee.”
At this moment the Buffaloes began to march past our position on the
road to Loo, and as they went a message was brought to us from Ignosi
requesting Infadoos, Sir Henry, and myself to join them. Accordingly,
orders having been issued to the remaining ninety men of the Greys to
employ themselves in collecting the wounded, we joined Ignosi, who
informed us that he was pressing on to Loo to complete the victory by
capturing Twala, if that should be possible. Before we had gone far,
suddenly we discovered the figure of Good sitting on an ant-heap about
one hundred paces from us. Close beside him was the body of a Kukuana.
“He must be wounded,” said Sir Henry anxiously. As he made the remark,
an untoward thing happened. The dead body of the Kukuana soldier, or
rather what had appeared to be his dead body, suddenly sprang up,
knocked Good head over heels off the ant-heap, and began to spear him.
We rushed forward in terror, and as we drew near we saw the brawny
warrior making dig after dig at the prostrate Good, who at each prod
jerked all his limbs into the air. Seeing us coming, the Kukuana gave
one final and most vicious dig, and with a shout of “Take that,
wizard!” bolted away. Good did not move, and we concluded that our poor
comrade was done for. Sadly we came towards him, and were astonished to
find him pale and faint indeed, but with a serene smile upon his face,
and his eyeglass still fixed in his eye.
“Capital armour this,” he murmured, on catching sight of our faces
bending over him. “How sold that beggar must have been,” and then he
fainted. On examination we discovered that he had been seriously