Upon making out what was before me, the little I had heard about the war
rushed across my mind, and I saw at once that, catching the infection,
at least one of the native tribes which had been disarmed, and were
previously living at peace, had broken out, seizing the opportunity of
their Dutch and English masters being at enmity to take one side or the
other, possibly with some vague idea that they would thus regain their
independence.
What this warrior might be I could not tell at a distance, for he might
prove a Zulu still smarting under the defeat inflicted upon his nation
by the British, or a Swazi who bitterly hated the Boers for their brutal
treatment during the past.
I felt I ought to be able to tell at once by his appearance; but my
knowledge was, after all, imperfect, and I certainly could not at a
distance make out to what nation the man belonged.
I had not long time for consideration, as Sandho was steadily carrying
me nearer; but I decided to go as close as I could without getting
within range of an assagai; for it was worth some risk to get in touch
with a friendly native in my emergency, since I knew he would try all he
could to furnish me with food.
So I rode slowly on, straining my eyes the while to scan the various
points in his slight dress, but keeping a sharp lookout right and left
to make sure that his companions, if he had any, were not, after their
fashion, crawling along under cover to outflank me. However, all seemed
safe, for there was no cover on either side; but below the black
warrior, and behind the ridge, there was ample space for a couple of
hundred of his kin to be lying out of sight, ready at a signal to spring
up and make a furious onslaught.
"And turn me into a sort of human pin-cushion, which they would fill
with their assagais," I said half-aloud. "That wouldn't do, Sandho, old
boy; so be ready to gallop off when I pull your rein."
My horse threw up his head and laid back his ears, beginning to bound
off at once; but I checked him.
"Not yet, old boy; not yet. When I give the word you must make a
half-turn, and we must try and circumvent them--if it is them, and not
only one.--How near dare I go?" I asked myself; and I decided that
forty yards would be as far as I ought to venture, being of course well
on the _qui vive_.
The black--Swazi or Zulu--looked a terribly formidable enemy as he stood
above me, clearly seen against the sky, and I was beginning to feel that
I must not go much farther; but I was still in the dark as to what he
might be, friend or enemy, when he mystified me still further by
suddenly striking an attitude, standing as if suddenly turned into a
bronze figure defying some one on his right. Directly after, he dashed
into a kind of war-dance, advancing, retreating, throwing imaginary
assagais at invisible foes, and then coming apparently to close
quarters, screening his body with his long elliptic shield, and stabbing
away at men standing and others falling all around.
I need hardly say I drew rein at once and sat ready to urge Sandho to
his greatest speed at a moment's notice, for I felt that these
evolutions might either mean defiance and a display of what he would do
to me when I came within reach, or a feint to show his friendliness.
I cast the latter idea aside at once, and came to the conclusion that my
warlike gentleman was on the watch for an opportunity to dash in after
throwing me off my guard, and then I knew only too well what would
happen--that which had befallen many an unfortunate settler in the past:
a couple of small assagais darted at him like lightning, and the thrower
rushing in after them with his stabbing weapon, followed by the fatal
termination.
Still the grotesque dance went on, yet I felt pretty safe, for I was
fully fifty yards distant, and had often proved Sandho in encounters
with wild beasts; so I had no doubt of getting away in time when the
savage made his rush which was certainly coming, as I saw the lithe
actor was gradually working himself up to a sufficient pitch of
excitement. His eyes were rolling, his powerful black limbs shone, and
he darted here and there, leaping in the air to deliver some thrust with
greater effect, and generally carrying on in a way that would have made
me burst into a hearty fit of contemptuous laughter at the childish
exhibition, evidently meant to impress me with the fellow's great
bravery, had there not been, as I well knew, so terribly bloodthirsty an
element beneath it all.
"There, Sandho," I said softly as I leaned forward to stroke my horse's
soft arching neck, "I think we've had enough of the idiot's nonsense,
and we'll go."
I was in the act of saying these words, keenly watching all round for
danger, as well as beyond the bounding black in the full expectation of
catching sight at any moment of the plumed heads of a party of his
companions rising above the ridge, when, as if in a final effort or an
attempt at a climax to the weirdly absurd performance, the black warrior
proceeded to finish off with the slaying of about a dozen invisible
enemies around him. Bang went his stabbing assagai against his shield,
and then _stab, stab, stab_, when he turned upon his feet as if upon a
pivot, darting his weapon as if he were some fierce creature armed with
a terrible sting. I seemed to see in imagination an enemy go down at
every thrust; a strange thrill of horror ran through me, and an awful
kind of fascination held me seated there on my horse, as the black
warrior stabbed away till his back was completely turned to me and he
delivered a tremendous thrust, uttering a horrible yell. Then I burst
out into a hysterical peal of laughter, and nearly fell out of the
saddle.
Why? Because never was anything more absurd. The warrior's face was
averted, and the long elliptically-shaped shield no longer covered the
greater part of his person; and though I had failed in recognition
before, I knew him now by the tremendously cut-down trousers he wore.
"Go on, Sandho," I said, and my horse walked gently forward, while the
actor gave three or four more thrusts to kill the rest of the dozen
invisible enemies, bringing himself face to face with me; and after
leaping high in the air, uttering a triumphant yell, he grinned at me
from ear to ear, as he breathlessly cried:
"'At's a way kill um all, Boss Val."
For it was Joeboy on the war-path, ready in his own opinion to slay all
the Boers in the state.