King Solomon's Mines
wounded in the leg by a _tolla_ in the course of the pursuit, but that
the chain armour had prevented his last assailant’s spear from doing
anything more than bruise him badly. It was a merciful escape. As
nothing could be done for him at the moment, he was placed on one of
the wicker shields used for the wounded, and carried along with us.
On arriving before the nearest gate of Loo we found one of our
regiments watching it in obedience to orders received from Ignosi. The
other regiments were in the same way guarding the different exits to
the town. The officer in command of this regiment saluted Ignosi as
king, and informed him that Twala’s army had taken refuge in the town,
whither Twala himself had also escaped, but he thought that they were
thoroughly demoralised, and would surrender. Thereupon Ignosi, after
taking counsel with us, sent forward heralds to each gate ordering the
defenders to open, and promising on his royal word life and forgiveness
to every soldier who laid down his arms, but saying that if they did
not do so before nightfall he would certainly burn the town and all
within its gates. This message was not without its effect. Half an hour
later, amid the shouts and cheers of the Buffaloes, the bridge was
dropped across the fosse, and the gates upon the further side were
flung open.
Taking due precautions against treachery, we marched on into the town.
All along the roadways stood thousands of dejected warriors, their
heads drooping, and their shields and spears at their feet, who, headed
by their officers, saluted Ignosi as king as he passed. On we marched,
straight to Twala’s kraal. When we reached the great space, where a day
or two previously we had seen the review and the witch hunt, we found
it deserted. No, not quite deserted, for there, on the further side, in
front of his hut, sat Twala himself, with but one attendant—Gagool.
It was a melancholy sight to see him seated, his battle-axe and shield
by his side, his chin upon his mailed breast, with but one old crone
for companion, and notwithstanding his crimes and misdeeds, a pang of
compassion shot through me as I looked upon Twala thus “fallen from his
high estate.” Not a soldier of all his armies, not a courtier out of
the hundreds who had cringed round him, not even a solitary wife,
remained to share his fate or halve the bitterness of his fall. Poor
savage! he was learning the lesson which Fate teaches to most of us who
live long enough, that the eyes of mankind are blind to the
discredited, and that he who is defenceless and fallen finds few
friends and little mercy. Nor, indeed, in this case did he deserve any.
Filing through the kraal gate, we marched across the open space to
where the ex-king sat. When within about fifty yards of him the
regiment was halted, and accompanied only by a small guard we advanced
towards him, Gagool reviling us bitterly as we came. As we drew near,
Twala, for the first time, lifted his plumed head, and fixed his one
eye, which seemed to flash with suppressed fury almost as brightly as
the great diamond bound round his forehead, upon his successful
rival—Ignosi.
“Hail, O king!” he said, with bitter mockery; “thou who hast eaten of
my bread, and now by the aid of the white man’s magic hast seduced my
regiments and defeated mine army, hail! What fate hast thou in store
for me, O king?”
“The fate thou gavest to my father, whose throne thou hast sat on these
many years!” was the stern answer.
“It is good. I will show thee how to die, that thou mayest remember it
against thine own time. See, the sun sinks in blood,” and he pointed
with his battle-axe towards the setting orb; “it is well that my sun
should go down in its company. And now, O king! I am ready to die, but
I crave the boon of the Kukuana royal House[9] to die fighting. Thou
canst not refuse it, or even those cowards who fled to-day will hold
thee shamed.”
[9] It is a law amongst the Kukuanas that no man of the direct royal
blood can be put to death, unless by his own consent, which is,
however, never refused. He is allowed to choose a succession of
antagonists, to be approved by the king, with whom he fights, till one
of them kills him.—A.Q.
“It is granted. Choose—with whom wilt thou fight? Myself I cannot fight
with thee, for the king fights not except in war.”
Twala’s sombre eye ran up and down our ranks, and I felt, as for a
moment it rested on myself, that the position had developed a new
horror. What if he chose to begin by fighting _me_? What chance should
I have against a desperate savage six feet five high, and broad in
proportion? I might as well commit suicide at once. Hastily I made up
my mind to decline the combat, even if I were hooted out of Kukuanaland
as a consequence. It is, I think, better to be hooted than to be
quartered with a battle-axe.
Presently Twala spoke.
“Incubu, what sayest thou, shall we end what we began to-day, or shall
I call thee coward, white—even to the liver?”
“Nay,” interposed Ignosi hastily; “thou shalt not fight with Incubu.”
“Not if he is afraid,” said Twala.
Unfortunately Sir Henry understood this remark, and the blood flamed up
into his cheeks.
“I will fight him,” he said; “he shall see if I am afraid.”
“For Heaven’s sake,” I entreated, “don’t risk your life against that of
a desperate man. Anybody who saw you to-day will know that you are
brave enough.”
“I will fight him,” was the sullen answer. “No living man shall call me
a coward. I am ready now!” and he stepped forward and lifted his axe.
I wrung my hands over this absurd piece of Quixotism; but if he was
determined on this deed, of course I could not stop him.
“Fight not, my white brother,” said Ignosi, laying his hand
affectionately on Sir Henry’s arm; “thou hast fought enough, and if
aught befell thee at his hands it would cut my heart in twain.”
“I will fight, Ignosi,” was Sir Henry’s answer.
“It is well, Incubu; thou art a brave man. It will be a good fray.
Behold, Twala, the Elephant is ready for thee.”
The ex-king laughed savagely, and stepping forward faced Curtis. For a
moment they stood thus, and the light of the sinking sun caught their
stalwart frames and clothed them both in fire. They were a well-matched
pair.
Then they began to circle round each other, their battle-axes raised.
Suddenly Sir Henry sprang forward and struck a fearful blow at Twala,
who stepped to one side. So heavy was the stroke that the striker half
overbalanced himself, a circumstance of which his antagonist took a
prompt advantage. Circling his massive battle-axe round his head, he
brought it down with tremendous force. My heart jumped into my mouth; I
thought that the affair was already finished. But no; with a quick
upward movement of the left arm Sir Henry interposed his shield between
himself and the axe, with the result that its outer edge was shorn
away, the axe falling on his left shoulder, but not heavily enough to
do any serious damage. In another moment Sir Henry got in a second
blow, which was also received by Twala upon his shield.
Then followed blow upon blow, that were, in turn, either received upon
the shields or avoided. The excitement grew intense; the regiment which
was watching the encounter forgot its discipline, and, drawing near,
shouted and groaned at every stroke. Just at this time, too, Good, who
had been laid upon the ground by me, recovered from his faint, and,
sitting up, perceived what was going on. In an instant he was up, and
catching hold of my arm, hopped about from place to place on one leg,
dragging me after him, and yelling encouragements to Sir Henry—
“Go it, old fellow!” he hallooed. “That was a good one! Give it him
amidships,” and so on.
Presently Sir Henry, having caught a fresh stroke upon his shield, hit
out with all his force. The blow cut through Twala’s shield and through
the tough chain armour behind it, gashing him in the shoulder. With a
yell of pain and fury Twala returned the blow with interest, and, such
was his strength, shore right through the rhinoceros’ horn handle of
his antagonists battle-axe, strengthened as it was with bands of steel,
wounding Curtis in the face.
A cry of dismay rose from the Buffaloes as our hero’s broad axe-head
fell to the ground; and Twala, again raising his weapon, flew at him
with a shout. I shut my eyes. When I opened them again it was to see
Sir Henry’s shield lying on the ground, and Sir Henry himself with his
great arms twined round Twala’s middle. To and fro they swung, hugging
each other like bears, straining with all their mighty muscles for dear
life, and dearer honour. With a supreme effort Twala swung the
Englishman clean off his feet, and down they came together, rolling
over and over on the lime paving, Twala striking out at Curtis’ head
with the battle-axe, and Sir Henry trying to drive the _tolla_ he had
drawn from his belt through Twala’s armour.
It was a mighty struggle, and an awful thing to see.
“Get his axe!” yelled Good; and perhaps our champion heard him.
At any rate, dropping the _tolla_, he snatched at the axe, which was
fastened to Twala’s wrist by a strip of buffalo hide, and still rolling
over and over, they fought for it like wild cats, drawing their breath
in heavy gasps. Suddenly the hide string burst, and then, with a great
effort, Sir Henry freed himself, the weapon remaining in his hand.
Another second and he was upon his feet, the red blood streaming from
the wound in his face, and so was Twala. Drawing the heavy _tolla_ from
his belt, he reeled straight at Curtis and struck him in the breast.
The stab came home true and strong, but whoever it was who made that
chain armour, he understood his art, for it withstood the steel. Again
Twala struck out with a savage yell, and again the sharp knife
rebounded, and Sir Henry went staggering back. Once more Twala came on,
and as he came our great Englishman gathered himself together, and
swinging the big axe round his head with both hands, hit at him with
all his force.
There was a shriek of excitement from a thousand throats, and, behold!
Twala’s head seemed to spring from his shoulders: then it fell and came
rolling and bounding along the ground towards Ignosi, stopping just at
his feet. For a second the corpse stood upright; then with a dull crash
it came to the earth, and the gold torque from its neck rolled away
across the pavement. As it did so Sir Henry, overpowered by faintness
and loss of blood, fell heavily across the body of the dead king.
In a second he was lifted up, and eager hands were pouring water on his
face. Another minute, and the grey eyes opened wide.
He was not dead.
Then I, just as the sun sank, stepping to where Twala’s head lay in the
dust, unloosed the diamond from the dead brows, and handed it to
Ignosi.
“Take it,” I said, “lawful king of the Kukuanas—king by birth and
victory.”
Ignosi bound the diadem upon his brows. Then advancing, he placed his
foot upon the broad chest of his headless foe and broke out into a
chant, or rather a pæan of triumph, so beautiful, and yet so utterly
savage, that I despair of being able to give an adequate version of his
words. Once I heard a scholar with a fine voice read aloud from the
Greek poet Homer, and I remember that the sound of the rolling lines
seemed to make my blood stand still. Ignosi’s chant, uttered as it was
in a language as beautiful and sonorous as the old Greek, produced
exactly the same effect on me, although I was exhausted with toil and
many emotions.
“Now,” he began, “now our rebellion is swallowed up in victory, and our
evil-doing is justified by strength.
“In the morning the oppressors arose and stretched themselves; they
bound on their harness and made them ready to war.