THE AMBUSH
We had reached the bush after six hours’ downhill trek over a pretty
bad track made by cattle—of course, there were no roads in Zululand at
this date. I remember the place well. It was a kind of spreading
woodland on a flat bottom, where trees of no great size grew sparsely.
Some were mimosa thorns, others had deep green leaves and bore a kind
of plum with an acid taste and a huge stone, and others silver-coloured
leaves in their season. A river, too, low at this time of the year,
wound through it, and in the scrub upon its banks were many guinea-fowl
and other birds. It was a pleasing, lonely place, with lots of game in
it, that came here in the winter to eat the grass, which was lacking on
the higher veld. Also it gave the idea of vastness, since wherever one
looked there was nothing to be seen except a sea of trees.
Well, we outspanned by the river, of which I forget the name, at a spot
that Saduko showed us, and set to work to cook our food, that consisted
of venison from a blue wildebeest, one of a herd of these wild-looking
animals which I had been fortunate enough to shoot as they whisked past
us, gambolling in and out between the trees.
While we were eating I observed that armed Zulus arrived continually in
parties of from six to a score of men, and as they arrived lifted their
spears, though whether in salutation to Saduko or to myself I did not
know, and sat themselves down on an open space between us and the
river-bank. Although it was difficult to say whence they came, for they
appeared like ghosts out of the bush, I thought it well to take no
notice of them, since I guessed that their coming was prearranged.
“Who are they?” I whispered to Scowl, as he brought me my tot of
“squareface.”
“Saduko’s wild men,” he answered in the same low voice, “outlaws of his
tribe who live among the rocks.”
Now I scanned them sideways, while pretending to light my pipe and so
forth, and certainly they seemed a remarkably savage set of people.
Great, gaunt fellows with tangled hair, who wore tattered skins upon
their shoulders and seemed to have no possessions save some snuff, a
few sleeping-mats, and an ample supply of large fighting shields,
hardwood kerries or knob-sticks, and broad ixwas, or stabbing assegais.
Such was the look of them as they sat round us in silent semicircles,
like _aas-vögels_—as the Dutch call vultures—sit round a dying ox.
Still I smoked on and took no notice.
At length, as I expected, Saduko grew weary of my silence and spoke.
“These are men of the Amangwane tribe, Macumazahn; three hundred of
them, all that Bangu left alive, for when their fathers were killed,
the women escaped with some of the children, especially those of the
outlying kraals. I have gathered them to be revenged upon Bangu, I who
am their chief by right of blood.”
“Quite so,” I answered. “I see that you have gathered them; but do they
wish to be revenged on Bangu at the risk of their own lives?”
“We do, white _Inkoosi_,” came the deep-throated answer from the three
hundred.
“And do they acknowledge you, Saduko, to be their chief?”
“We do,” again came the answer. Then a spokesman stepped forward, one
of the few grey-haired men among them, for most of these Amangwane were
of the age of Saduko, or even younger.
“O Watcher-by-Night,” he said, “I am Tshoza, the brother of Matiwane,
Saduko’s father, the only one of his brothers that escaped the
slaughter on the night of the Great Killing. Is it not so?”
“It is so,” exclaimed the serried ranks behind him.
“I acknowledge Saduko as my chief, and so do we all,” went on Tshoza.
“So do we all,” echoed the ranks.
“Since Matiwane died we have lived as we could, O Macumazana; like
baboons among the rocks, without cattle, often without a hut to shelter
us; here one, there one. Still, we have lived, awaiting the hour of
vengeance upon Bangu, that hour which Zikali the Wise, who is of our
blood, has promised to us. Now we believe that it has come, and one and
all, from here, from there, from everywhere, we have gathered at the
summons of Saduko to be led against Bangu and to conquer him or to die.
Is it not so, Amangwane?”
“It is, it is so!” came the deep, unanimous answer, that caused the
stirless leaves to shake in the still air.
“I understand, O Tshoza, brother of Matiwane and uncle of Saduko the
chief,” I replied. “But Bangu is a strong man, living, I am told, in a
strong place. Still, let that go; for have you not said that you come
out to conquer or to die, you who have nothing to lose; and if you
conquer, you conquer; and if you die, you die and the tale is told. But
supposing that you conquer. What will Panda, King of the Zulus, say to
you, and to me also, who stir up war in his country?”
Now the Amangwane looked behind them, and Saduko cried out:
“Appear, messenger from Panda the King!”
Before his words had ceased to echo I saw a little, withered man
threading his way between the tall, gaunt forms of the Amangwane. He
came and stood before me, saying:
“Hail, Macumazahn. Do you remember me?”
“Aye,” I answered, “I remember you as Maputa, one of Panda’s
_indunas_.”
“Quite so, Macumazahn; I am Maputa, one of his _indunas_, a member of
his Council, a captain of his _impis_ [that is, armies], as I was to
his brothers who are gone, whose names it is not lawful that I should
name. Well, Panda the King has sent me to you, at the request of Saduko
there, with a message.”
“How do I know that you are a true messenger?” I asked. “Have you
brought me any token?”
“Aye,” he answered, and, fumbling under his cloak, he produced
something wrapped in dried leaves, which he undid and handed to me,
saying:
“This is the token that Panda sends to you, Macumazahn, bidding me to
tell you that you will certainly know it again; also that you are
welcome to it, since the two little bullets which he swallowed as you
directed made him very ill, and he needs no more of them.”
I took the token, and, examining it in the moonlight, recognised it at
once.
It was a cardboard box of strong calomel pills, on the top of which was
written: “Allan Quatermain, Esq.: One _only_ to be taken as directed.”
Without entering into explanations, I may state that I had taken “one
as directed,” and subsequently presented the rest of the box to King
Panda, who was very anxious to “taste the white man’s medicine.”
“Do you recognise the token, Macumazahn?” asked the _induna_.
“Yes,” I replied gravely; “and let the King return thanks to the
spirits of his ancestors that he did not swallow three of the balls,
for if he had done so, by now there would have been another Head in
Zululand. Well, speak on, Messenger.”
But to myself I reflected, not for the first time, how strangely these
natives could mix up the sublime with the ridiculous. Here was a matter
that must involve the death of many men, and the token sent to me by
the autocrat who stood at the back of it all, to prove the good faith
of his messenger, was a box of calomel pills! However, it served the
purpose as well as anything else.
Maputa and I drew aside, for I saw that he wished to speak with me
alone.
“O Macumazana,” he said, when we were out of hearing of the others,
“these are the words of Panda to you: ‘I understand that you,
Macumazahn, have promised to accompany Saduko, son of Matiwane, on an
expedition of his against Bangu, chief of the Amakoba. Now, were anyone
else concerned, I should forbid this expedition, and especially should
I forbid you, a white man in my country, to share therein. But this dog
of a Bangu is an evil-doer. Many years ago he worked on the Black One
who went before me to send him to destroy Matiwane, my friend, filling
the Black One’s ears with false accusations; and thereafter he did
treacherously destroy him and all his tribe save Saduko, his son, and
some of the people and children who escaped. Moreover, of late he has
been working against me, the King, striving to stir up rebellion
against me, because he knows that I hate him for his crimes. Now I,
Panda, unlike those who went before me, am a man of peace who do not
wish to light the fire of civil war in the land, for who knows where
such fires will stop, or whose kraals they will consume? Yet I do wish
to see Bangu punished for his wickedness, and his pride abated.
Therefore I give Saduko leave, and those people of the Amangwane who
remain to him, to avenge their private wrongs upon Bangu if they can;
and I give you leave, Macumazahn, to be of his party. Moreover, if any
cattle are taken, I shall ask no account of them; you and Saduko may
divide them as you wish. But understand, O Macumazana, that if you or
your people are killed or wounded, or robbed of your goods, I know
nothing of the matter, and am not responsible to you or to the white
House of Natal; it is your own matter. These are my words. I have
spoken.’”
“I see,” I answered. “I am to pull Panda’s hot iron out of the fire and
to extinguish the fire. If I succeed I may keep a piece of the iron
when it gets cool, and if I burn my fingers it is my own fault, and I
or my House must not come crying to Panda.”
“O Watcher-by-Night, you have speared the bull in the heart,” replied
Maputa, the messenger, nodding his shrewd old head. “Well, will you go
up with Saduko?”
“Say to the King, O Messenger, that I will go up with Saduko because I
promised him that I would, being moved by the tale of his wrongs, and
not for the sake of the cattle, although it is true that if I hear any
of them lowing in my camp I may keep them. Say to Panda also that if
aught of ill befalls me he shall hear nothing of it, nor will I bring
his high name into this business; but that he, on his part, must not
blame me for anything that may happen afterwards. Have you the
message?”
“I have it word for word; and may your Spirit be with you, Macumazahn,
when you attack the strong mountain of Bangu, which, were I you,”
Maputa added reflectively, “I think I should do just at the dawn, since
the Amakoba drink much beer and are heavy sleepers.”
Then we took a pinch of snuff together, and he departed at once for
Nodwengu, Panda’s Great Place.
Fourteen days had gone by, and Saduko and I, with our ragged band of
Amangwane, sat one morning, after a long night march, in the hilly
country looking across a broad vale, which was sprinkled with trees
like an English park, at that mountain on the side of which Bangu,
chief of the Amakoba, had his kraal.
It was a very formidable mountain, and, as we had already observed, the
paths leading up to the kraal were amply protected with stone walls in
which the openings were quite narrow, only just big enough to allow one
ox to pass through them at a time. Moreover, all these walls had been
strengthened recently, perhaps because Bangu was aware that Panda
looked upon him, a northern chief dwelling on the confines of his
dominions, with suspicion and even active enmity, as he was also no
doubt aware Panda had good cause to do.
Here in a dense patch of bush that grew in a kloof of the hills we held
a council of war.
So far as we knew our advance had been unobserved, for I had left my
wagons in the low veld thirty miles away, giving it out among the local
natives that I was hunting game there, and bringing on with me only
Scowl and four of my best hunters, all well-armed natives who could
shoot. The three hundred Amangwane also had advanced in small parties,
separated from each other, pretending to be Kafirs marching towards
Delagoa Bay. Now, however, we had all met in this bush. Among our
number were three Amangwane who, on the slaughter of their tribe, had
fled with their mothers to this district and been brought up among the
people of Bangu, but who at his summons had come back to Saduko. It was
on these men that we relied at this juncture, for they alone knew the
country. Long and anxiously did we consult with them. First they
explained, and, so far as the moonlight would allow, for as yet the
dawn had not broken, pointed out to us the various paths that led to
Bangu’s kraal.
“How many men are there in the town?” I asked.
“About seven hundred who carry spears,” they answered, “together with
others in outlying kraals. Moreover, watchmen are always set at the
gateways in the walls.”
“And where are the cattle?” I asked again.
“Here, in the valley beneath, Macumazahn,” answered the spokesman. “If
you listen you will hear them lowing. Fifty men, not less, watch them
at night—two thousand head of them, or more.”
“Then it would not be difficult to get round these cattle and drive
them off, leaving Bangu to breed up a new herd?”
“It might not be difficult,” interrupted Saduko, “but I came here to
kill Bangu, as well as to seize his cattle, since with him I have a
blood feud.”
“Very good,” I answered; “but that mountain cannot be stormed with
three hundred men, fortified as it is with walls and schanzes. Our band
would be destroyed before ever we came to the kraal, since, owing to
the sentries who are set everywhere, it would be impossible to surprise
the place. Also you have forgotten the dogs, Saduko. Moreover, even if
it were possible, I will have nothing to do with the massacre of women
and children, which must happen in an assault. Now, listen to me, O
Saduko. I say let us leave the kraal of Bangu alone, and this coming
night send fifty of our men, under the leadership of the guides, down
to yonder bush, where they will lie hid. Then, after moonrise, when all
are asleep, these fifty must rush the cattle kraal, killing any who may
oppose them, should they be seen, and driving the herd out through
yonder great pass by which we have entered the land. Bangu and his
people, thinking that those who have taken the cattle are but common
thieves of some wild tribe, will gather and follow the beasts to
recapture them. But we, with the rest of the Amangwane, can set an
ambush in the narrowest part of the pass among the rocks, where the
grass is high and the euphorbia trees grow thick, and there, when they
have passed the Nek, which I and my hunters will hold with our guns, we
will give them battle. What say you?”
Now, Saduko answered that he would rather attack the kraal, which he
wished to burn. But the old Amangwane, Tshoza, brother of the dead
Matiwane, said:
“No, Macumazahn, Watcher-by-Night, is wise. Why should we waste our
strength on stone walls, of which none know the number or can find the
gates in the darkness, and thereby leave our skulls to be set up as
ornaments on the fences of the accursed Amakoba? Let us draw the
Amakoba out into the pass of the mountains, where they have no walls to
protect them, and there fall on them when they are bewildered and
settle the matter with them man to man. As for the women and children,
with Macumazahn I say let them go; afterwards, perhaps, they will
become _our_ women and children.”
“Aye,” answered the Amangwane, “the plan of the white _Inkoosi_ is
good; he is clever as a weasel; we will have his plan and no other.”
So Saduko was overruled and my counsel adopted.
All that day we rested, lighting no fires and remaining still as the
dead in the dense bush. It was a very anxious day, for although the
place was so wild and lonely, there was always the fear lest we should
be discovered. It was true that we had travelled mostly by night in
small parties, to avoid leaving a spoor, and avoided all kraals; still,
some rumour of our approach might have reached the Amakoba, or a party
of hunters might stumble on us, or those who sought for lost cattle.
Indeed, something of this sort did happen, for about midday we heard a
footfall, and perceived the figure of a man, whom by his head-dress we
knew for an Amakoba, threading his way through the bush. Before he saw
us he was in our midst. For a moment he hesitated ere he turned to fly,
and that moment was his last, for three of the Amangwane leapt on him
silently as leopards leap upon a buck, and where he stood there he
died. Poor fellow! Evidently he had been on a visit to some
witch-doctor, for in his blanket we found medicine and love charms.
This doctor cannot have been one of the stamp of Zikali the Dwarf, I
thought to myself; at least, he had not warned him that he would never
live to dose his beloved with that foolish medicine.
Meanwhile a few of us who had the quickest eyes climbed trees, and
thence watched the town of Bangu and the valley that lay between us and
it. Soon we saw that so far, at any rate, Fortune was playing into our
hands, since herd after herd of kine were driven into the valley during
the afternoon and enclosed in the stock-kraals. Doubtless Bangu
intended on the morrow to make his half-yearly inspection of all the
cattle of the tribe, many of which were herded at a distance from his
town.
At length the long day drew to its close and the shadows of the evening
thickened. Then we made ready for our dreadful game, of which the stake
was the lives of all of us, since, should we fail, we could expect no
mercy. The fifty picked men were gathered and ate food in silence.
These men were placed under the command of Tshoza, for he was the most
experienced of the Amangwane, and led by the three guides who had dwelt
among the Amakoba, and who “knew every ant-heap in the land,” or so
they swore. Their duty, it will be remembered, was to cross the valley,
separate themselves into small parties, unbar the various cattle
kraals, kill or hunt off the herdsmen, and drive the beasts back across
the valley into the pass. A second fifty men, under the command of
Saduko, were to be left just at the end of this pass where it opened
out into the valley, in order to help and reinforce the cattle-lifters,
or, if need be, to check the following Amakoba while the great herds of
beasts were got away, and then fall back on the rest of us in our
ambush nearly two miles distant. The management of this ambush was to
be my charge—a heavy one indeed.
Now, the moon would not be up till midnight. But two hours before that
time we began our moves, since the cattle must be driven out of the
kraals as soon as she appeared and gave the needful light. Otherwise
the fight in the pass would in all probability be delayed till after
sunrise, when the Amakoba would see how small was the number of their
foes. Terror, doubt, darkness—these must be our allies if our desperate
venture was to succeed.
All was arranged at last and the time had come. We, the three captains
of our divided force, bade each other farewell, and passed the word
down the ranks that, should we be separated by the accidents of war, my
wagons were the meeting-place of any who survived.
Tshoza and his fifty glided away into the shadow silently as ghosts and
were gone. Presently the fierce-faced Saduko departed also with his
fifty. He carried the double-barrelled gun I had given him, and was
accompanied by one of my best hunters, a Natal native, who was also
armed with a heavy smooth-bore loaded with slugs. Our hope was that the
sound of these guns might terrify the foe, should there be occasion to
use them before our forces joined up again, and make them think they
had to do with a body of raiding Dutch white men, of whose _roers_—as
the heavy elephant guns of that day were called—all natives were much
afraid.
So Saduko went with his fifty, leaving me wondering whether I should
ever see his face again. Then I, my bearer Scowl, the two remaining
hunters, and the ten score Amangwane who were left turned and soon were
following the road by which we had come down the rugged pass. I call it
a road, but, in fact, it was nothing but a water-washed gully strewn
with boulders, through which we must pick our way as best we could in
the darkness, having first removed the percussion cap from the nipple
of every gun, for fear lest the accidental discharge of one of them
should warn the Amakoba, confuse our other parties, and bring all our
deep-laid plans to nothing.
Well, we accomplished that march somehow, walking in three long lines,
so that each man might keep touch with him in front, and just as the
moon began to rise reached the spot that I had chosen for the ambush.
Certainly it was well suited to that purpose. Here the track or gully
bed narrowed to a width of not more than a hundred feet, while the
steep slopes of the kloof on either side were clothed with scattered
bushes and finger-like euphorbias which grew among stones. Behind these
stones and bushes we hid ourselves, a hundred men on one side and a
hundred on the other, whilst I and my three hunters, who were armed
with guns, took up a position under shelter of a great boulder nearly
five feet thick that lay but a little to the right of the gully itself,
up which we expected the cattle would come. This place I chose for two
reasons: first, that I might keep touch with both wings of my force,
and, secondly, that we might be able to fire straight down the path on
the pursuing Amakoba.
These were the orders that I gave to the Amangwane, warning them that
he who disobeyed would be punished with death. They were not to stir
until I, or, if I should be killed, one of my hunters, fired a shot;
for my fear was lest, growing excited, they might leap out before the
time and kill some of our own people, who very likely would be mixed up
with the first of the pursuing Amakoba. Secondly, when the cattle had
passed and the signal had been given, they were to rush on the Amakoba,
throwing themselves across the gully, so that the enemy would have to
fight upwards on a steep slope.
That was all I told them, since it is not wise to confuse natives by
giving too many orders. One thing I added, however—that they must
conquer or they must die. There was no mercy for them; it was a case of
death or victory. Their spokesman—for these people always find a
spokesman—answered that they thanked me for my advice; that they
understood, and that they would do their best. Then they lifted their
spears to me in salute. A wild lot of men they looked in the moonlight
as they departed to take shelter behind the rocks and trees and wait.
That waiting was long, and I confess that before the end it got upon my
nerves. I began to think of all sorts of things, such as whether I
should live to see the sun rise again; also I reflected upon the
legitimacy of this remarkable enterprise. What right had I to involve
myself in a quarrel between these savages?
Why had I come here? To gain cattle as a trader? No, for I was not at
all sure that I would take them if gained. Because Saduko had twitted
me with faithlessness to my words? Yes, to a certain extent; but that
was by no means the whole reason. I had been moved by the recital of
the cruel wrongs inflicted upon Saduko and his tribe by this Bangu, and
therefore had not been loath to associate myself with his attempted
vengeance upon a wicked murderer. Well, that was sound enough so far as
it went; but now a new consideration suggested itself to me. Those
wrongs had been worked many years ago; probably most of the men who had
aided and abetted them by now were dead or very aged, and it was their
sons upon whom the vengeance would be wreaked.
What right had I to assist in visiting the sins of the fathers upon the
sons? Frankly I could not say. The thing seemed to me to be a part of
the problem of life, neither less nor more. So I shrugged my shoulders
sadly and consoled myself by reflecting that very likely the issue
would go against me, and that my own existence would pay the price of
the venture and expound its moral. This consideration soothed my
conscience somewhat, for when a man backs his actions with the risk of
his life, right or wrong, at any rate he plays no coward’s part.
The time went by very slowly and nothing happened. The waning moon
shone brightly in a clear sky, and as there was no wind the silence
seemed peculiarly intense. Save for the laugh of an occasional hyena
and now and again for a sound which I took for the coughing of a
distant lion, there was no stir between sleeping earth and moonlit
heaven in which little clouds floated beneath the pale stars.
At length I thought that I heard a noise, a kind of murmur far away. It
grew, it developed.
It sounded like a thousand sticks tapping upon something hard, very
faintly. It continued to grow, and I knew the sound for that of the
beating hoofs of animals galloping. Then there were isolated noises,
very faint and thin; they might be shouts; then something that I could
not mistake—shots fired at a distance. So the business was afoot; the
cattle were moving, Saduko and my hunter were firing. There was nothing
for it but to wait.
The excitement was very fierce; it seemed to consume me, to eat into my
brain. The sound of the tapping upon the rocks grew louder until it
merged into a kind of rumble, mixed with an echo as of that of very
distant thunder, which presently I knew to be not thunder, but the
bellowing of a thousand frightened beasts.
Nearer and nearer came the galloping hoofs and the rumble of
bellowings; nearer and nearer the shouts of men, affronting the
stillness of the solemn night. At length a single animal appeared, a
koodoo buck that somehow had got mixed up with the cattle. It went past
us like a flash, and was followed a minute or so later by a bull that,
being young and light, had outrun its companions. That, too, went by,
foam on its lips and its tongue hanging from its jaws.
Then the herd appeared—a countless herd it seemed to me—plunging up the
incline—cows, heifers, calves, bulls, and oxen, all mixed together in
one inextricable mass, and every one of them snorting, bellowing, or
making some other kind of sound. The din was fearful, the sight
bewildering, for the beasts were of all colours, and their long horns
flashed like ivory in the moonlight. Indeed, the only thing in the
least like it which I have ever seen was the rush of the buffaloes from
the reed camp on that day when I got my injury.
They were streaming past us now, a mighty and moving mass so closely
packed that a man might have walked upon their backs. In fact, some of
the calves which had been thrust up by the pressure were being carried
along in this fashion. Glad was I that none of us were in their path,
for their advance seemed irresistible. No fence or wall could have
saved us, and even stout trees that grew in the gully were snapped or
thrust over.
At length the long line began to thin, for now it was composed of
stragglers and weak or injured beasts, of which there were many. Other
sounds, too, began to dominate the bellowings of the animals, those of
the excited cries of men. The first of our companions, the
cattle-lifters, appeared, weary and gasping, but waving their spears in
triumph. Among them was old Tshoza. I stepped upon my rock, calling to
him by name. He heard me, and presently was lying at my side panting.
“We have got them all!” he gasped. “Not a hoof is left save those that
are trodden down. Saduko is not far behind with the rest of our
brothers, except some that have been killed. All the Amakoba tribe are
after us. He holds them back to give the cattle time to get away.”
“Well done!” I answered. “It is very good. Now make your men hide among
the others that they may find their breath before the fight.”
So he stopped them as they came. Scarcely had the last of them vanished
into the bushes when the gathering volume of shouts, amongst which I
heard a gun go off, told us that Saduko and his band and the pursuing
Amakoba were not far away. Presently they, too, appeared—that is the
handful of Amangwane did—not fighting now, but running as hard as they
could, for they knew they were approaching the ambush and wished to
pass it so as not to be mixed up with the Amakoba. We let them go
through us. Among the last of them came Saduko, who was wounded, for
the blood ran down his side, supporting my hunter, who was also
wounded, more severely as I feared.
I called to him.
“Saduko,” I said, “halt at the crest of the path and rest there so that
you may be able to help us presently.”
He waved the gun in answer, for he was too breathless to speak, and
went on with those who were left of his following—perhaps thirty men in
all—in the track of the cattle. Before he was out of sight the Amakoba
arrived, a mob of five or six hundred men mixed up together and
advancing without order or discipline, for they seemed to have lost
their heads as well as their cattle. Some of them had shields and some
had none, some broad and some throwing assegais, while many were quite
naked, not having stayed to put on their moochas and much less their
war finery. Evidently they were mad with rage, for the sounds that
issued from them seemed to concentrate into one mighty curse.
The moment had come, though to tell the truth I heartily wished that it
had not. I wasn’t exactly afraid, although I never set up for great
courage, but I did not quite like the business. After all we were
stealing these people’s cattle, and now were going to kill as many of
them as we could. I had to recall Saduko’s dreadful story of the
massacre of his tribe before I could make up my mind to give the
signal. That hardened me, and so did the reflection that after all they
outnumbered us enormously and very likely would prove victors in the
end. Anyhow it was too late to repent. What a tricky and uncomfortable
thing is conscience, that nearly always begins to trouble us at the
moment of, or after, the event, not before, when it might be of some
use.
I raised myself upon the rock and fired both barrels of my gun into the
advancing horde, though whether I killed anyone or no I cannot say. I
have always hoped that I did not; but as the mark was large and I am a
fair shot, I fear that is scarcely possible. Next moment, with a howl
that sounded like that of wild beasts, from either side of the gorge
the fierce Amangwane free-spears—for that is what they were—leapt out
of their hiding-places and hurled themselves upon their hereditary
foes. They were fighting for more than cattle; they were fighting for
hate and for revenge since these Amakoba had slaughtered their fathers
and their mothers, their sisters and their brothers, and they alone
remained to pay them back blood for blood.
Great heaven! how they did fight, more like devils than human beings.
After that first howl which shaped itself to the word “Saduko,” they
were silent as bulldogs. Though they were so few, at first their
terrible rush drove back the Amakoba. Then, as these recovered from
their surprise, the weight of numbers began to tell, for they, too,
were brave men who did not give way to panic. Scores of them went down
at once, but the remainder pushed the Amangwane before them up the
hill. I took little share in the fight, but was thrust backward with
the others, only firing when I was obliged to save my own life. Foot by
foot we were pushed back till at length we drew near to the crest of
the pass.
Then, while the issue hung in the balance, there was another shout of
“Saduko!” and that chief himself, followed by his thirty, rushed upon
the Amakoba.
This charge decided the battle, for not knowing how many more were
coming, those who were left of the Amakoba turned and fled, nor did we
pursue them far.
We mustered on the hill-top, not more than two hundred of us now, the
rest were fallen or desperately wounded, my poor hunter, whom I had
lent to Saduko, being among the dead. Although wounded, he died
fighting to the last, then fell down, shouting to me:
“Chief, have I done well?” and expired.
I was breathless and spent, but as in a dream I saw some Amangwane drag
up a gaunt old savage, crying:
“Here is Bangu, Bangu the Butcher, whom we have caught alive.”
Saduko stepped up to him.
“Ah! Bangu,” he said, “now say, why should I not kill you as you would
have killed the little lad Saduko long ago, had not Zikali saved him?
See, here is the mark of your spear.”
“Kill,” said Bangu. “Your Spirit is stronger than mine. Did not Zikali
foretell it? Kill, Saduko.”
“Nay,” answered Saduko. “If you are weary I am weary, too, and wounded
as well. Take a spear, Bangu, and we will fight.”
So they fought there in the moonlight, man to man; fought fiercely
while all watched, till presently I saw Bangu throw his arms wide and
fall backwards.
Saduko was avenged. I have always been glad that he slew his enemy
thus, and not as it might have been expected that he would do.