Over the slumbering land the dawn has not yet broken, though but for the
chill mist lying upon bush and earth the first faint streaks might be
lining the eastern sky. Nor are the voices of the night stilled as yet,
and the weird laughter of the faraway jackals, and the crying of
invisible plover circling above, blend with ghostly mysterious rustlings
among the bush and damp grass-bents. For, like dark ghosts, innumerable
figures are flitting, well-nigh shoulder to shoulder in the mist, moving
rapidly in noiseless, springy advance.
Now these halt, and listen intently. Not a sound is audible on the
stillness; rather, would not be save to such as they. But to them,
well-nigh inaudible in the distance, comes the steady `crunch crunch' of
ruminating cattle, and the occasional snort and stamp of a horse.
They move forward again, and although not one can see more than a dozen
yards on either side, the crescent-moon formation advances unbroken.
They move forward, but now no longer erect. In bent, crouching
attitude, head turned on one side, intently listening, yet none the less
swiftly, none the less noiselessly, do they move; so noiselessly indeed
that not even the faintest rattle of assegai haft against shield stick
is heard throughout the whole length of that terrible battle line, and
of voices not even the faintest breath of a whisper. No need for such
at this stage. The tactics are simplicity itself, the plan already
laid.
Out of the misty gloom in front--though this is now growing perceptibly
less--the chewing of the ruminating cattle sounds nearer, but of any
sound betokening the proximity of human beings there is none. Soon, of
human beings other than these there will be none; none left in life,
that is; and the eyeballs of these human wolves roll, in the delirious
transport of the awaiting blood-feast; and weapons of destruction are
gripped and ready. Of a truth this mist is not there by accident. It
has been invoked by Umlimo that his children might steal upon these
hated Amakiwa, and rid the land of so many more of them, according to
his bidding.
And yet, the concealing mist is thinning somewhat. Well, it has served
its purpose, and having done so they will be better without it, to make
their work the surer and the more complete. And now, through its
lifting folds, rises in dark loom the jagged silhouette of the mopani
stockade. Then the crescent line seems to tighten itself as for a
spring, and, still in dead silence, the swarming dark figures hurl
themselves forward. They have barely a couple of hundred yards to
cover, and they will be pouring over the fence in their numbers, and
overwhelming those within by their sheer weight. Half the distance is
already covered, and in each savage ruthless heart is the anticipating
delight of a demon--when, lo--
It is as though the earth itself were splitting in the detonnade which
rends the stillness, crashing forth from that dark silent barrier.
Aimed low, hardly a single bullet misses its mark, in many cases doing
double, even treble, execution at that short range. Those thus stricken
leap in the air or fall heavily forward, in any case staggering, and
upsetting those immediately behind or around; and still with unflagging
rapidity and unerring accuracy that deadly fire plays upon the whole
advancing line. Advancing? No! Now no longer; for like the roll of a
vast billow, met by a cliff face, this dark wave staggers, hurling
itself on high, then falls back; and ever that pitiless hail adds to the
destruction, at the rate of so many lives per second. The confusion is
awful, absolute, complete.
Howls and yells, roars and shrieks from those stricken down, and those
in their immediate vicinity, mingle with the wild hissing of those
behind, pressing forward in fierce eagerness to pour over the defences
before those within shall have time to reload. But those within seem
not under the necessity of doing anything of the kind, for somehow that
terrific fire never slackens, and the crashing detonnade is marked by
the same deadly execution upon those without. Human intrepidity has its
limits, and these fall back, gliding, wriggling like snakes so as to
render themselves as inconspicuous a mark as possible. And aided by
the--to them--friendly mist, many escape who would otherwise have
shrilled their last battle-hiss.
"Time!" called Peters, with a grim laugh, and then a smothered cuss
word, as the hot barrel of his magazine rifle which he was reloading
came in contact with a knuckle. "Time! That's the first round, and I
guess we've knocked our friend the enemy some."
"First round!" echoed Jim Steele. "Why, we've knocked him out."
"Not yet--by any means. And when it gets quite light, and he realises
how few we are, it'll take us all our time to do it."
The excitement of the men was something indescribable, and intensified
the more by their anxiety to keep cool. It found vent in the restless
gleaming of their eyes, and a few muttered explosions of profanity.
There had been a little discontentment the evening before when Lamont
and Peters had decided that all should not only remain under arms, but
that each man should spend the night at his post; in short, that the
whole garrison should, as it were, stand on sentry-go. Surely a double
guard would be sufficient, they had argued. But the two leaders, backed
up by others equally well versed in the ways of the wily savage, had
decided otherwise. Not for nothing had that formidable impi left them
so quietly and peacefully the day before, they had pointed out. Just
such a move as this would have been intended. Now those who had been
the least contented were the first to recognise the wisdom of the plan.
But, as Peters has said, it was only the first round, for now a swarming
crowd of savages, advancing at a lightning run, hurled themselves upon
the stockade at the other side, with intent to effect an entrance in
overwhelming force before the defenders should have time to create
sufficient havoc to turn them. It was a weak point too, for the back
wall of a long, low stable constituted a break in the line of mopani
poles, and once under cover of this a considerable number of them would
be sheltered from the effects of any cross-fire, and could even set
alight the thatched roof. And as if to second their efforts an extra
dense cloud of mist, borne down by the wind, rolled right up to the
stable wall.
Here, too, the crackling volleys mowed them down, but doing nothing like
the execution that had been at first effected.
"Good Lord! here's a go," muttered the police sergeant, who with his men
formed a section of the defenders on this side. "There's quite a lot of
the cusses under here, and we can't get at 'em. Stop. I'll have a
try."
He hoisted himself up to the top of the palisade, and, reaching over,
pumped his revolver into the concentrated mass. An awful roar of rage
and dismay arose from below, raked thus at close quarters; then one
agile warrior, taking in the situation, leaped upward, and drove his
assegai clean through the throat of the unfortunate policeman, who fell
back stone dead, his vertebrae completely severed by the impact of the
stroke.
But hardly time had those around to take in this than a diversion
occurred. Grunberger appeared from within his store bearing a strange
unwieldy object, followed by Driffield's Makalaka boy armed with a
crowbar. Both entered the stable, and but for the crackle of firing and
hissing and yells of the Matabele, a sound might have been heard like
that of drilling a hole in a mud wall. A moment later a sound was
heard; a roar from within the stable like that of a discharge of cannon,
together with the squealing and stamping of mules. A crowd of savages
who had been lurking there under secure cover, as they thought, awaiting
their chance, rushed helter-skelter forth to regain the main rank--and
not all reached it. Soon after, the German reappeared, choking with
laughter.
"Dot is one goot old shspring-gun," he explained. "I fill him up mit
black powder und loopers, den I make one leetle hole, und shtick him
through, ja so, mit de muzzle pointing upwards. _Herr Gott_! but de
Matabele think dot a cannon haf gone off."
"Well done, Grunberger, well done!" cried Lamont. "You're a man of
resource. They ought to have made you a colonel in your own army before
they'd done with you."
"_Ach, so_," said the old soldier, greatly pleased. "Well, I load him
up again. Dot place behind the stable they find no longer safe."
"What's the row, Driffield? Not hit?" cried Lamont sharply. For a
sudden fusillade had opened on that side, and the chips were flying
wildly from the mopani poles.
"Oh, I don't know," answered the Native Commissioner dazedly, staggering
back from one of the improvised loopholes. "At least--no--I think not."
A bullet had struck the barrel of his rifle, and the shock had produced
a numbing sensation, causing him to drop the weapon.
"N-no. I'm all right. It's only hit the shooter, blazes take it! It's
all right, too."
"What's this?" growled Peters. "They weren't firing before. I believe
they've been reinforced; like yesterday."
And as if to bear out his words, at that moment a furious rush was made
on the palisades from all sides, to the accompaniment of a perfect hail
of missiles, all fired high, and obviously with intent to confuse the
defenders, and cover the advance of a strong storming party. At the
same time the crashing of axes was heard against the poles on the side
where stood the store and dwelling-house--the side, to wit, where the
women and wounded were sheltered.
"Half of you here!" ordered Lamont in clear ringing tones. "Those are
no mere flimsy native choppers, but good imported axes."
They were only just in time. Demon figures, swarming out of the mist by
dozens and scores, were on the heels of those who had been told off to
cut a way in. The hissing and yells rose hideously above the terrific
roar of the volleys. And now upon the farther side the savages were
dropping down within the stockade, while the larger section of the
defenders were engaged in repelling this more serious menace.
It was of no use. At that point the defenders were helpless. The place
was divided into two enclosures, and the one in which the Matabele had
secured a footing was the cattle kraal. In less than no time they were
blazing away from the inner fence, and all on that side must perforce
take cover in the houses.
Not without loss. Several men lay dead or grievously disabled, and the
horrible death-hiss of the savages shrilled forth more demoniacally loud
as they poured their fire again and again into these.
And now, taken thus in the rear, the situation of the whites seems
hopeless. Clearly they are doomed. Those within the houses find it all
they can do to keep the assailants already within the cattle kraal from
pouring over, and rushing the position. Those on the front side are
straining every effort to hold in check the attempt to break down the
stockade; for the wily enemy had chosen a spot where the logs stand
thick, and there is scarcely a chink to fire through. And above--
around--the mist, which had lifted somewhat, descends darker than ever
in its dank, thick folds.
Every man there is a desperate and dangerous animal, for every man there
is fighting for his life, and not only for his life, for of that he has
given up all hope, but maddened by the thought of those helpless women.
What of them, when there are no more left to fight for them?
To one we may be sure this aspect of affairs is borne in upon with
searing, maddening force. Outwardly deadly calm, Lamont is
superintending, directing everything, yet when the head of a savage
shows itself above the palings it drops back, drilled by a soft-nosed
bullet from the unerring magazine rifle. His back is against the
dwelling-house of the store, as he watches and directs operations.
"What chance have we?"
The voice, firm and without a tremor, is from the window just at his
back. He cannot resist one quick turn of the head for one last look at
the pale, set, beautiful face--ah! and the anguish of that moment
renders him a hundredfold more desperate.
"My Clare! Do you want to live after capture?" and he hardly knows his
own voice.
"No."
"Quite sure?"
"Need you ask?"
"Then--when I say, `Now!' say the `_Commendo spiritum meum_' and turn
your back to me. Understand?"
"I understand."
There is no time for words. In the shadow of this grim, sudden, violent
death, the same thought is in both their minds. Would the next few
moments, the fleeting agony of one swift pang over, unite them together
for evermore, or--
Three sharp detonating explosions, one after another, staggered them,
with their vibrating shock upon the air. With howls of dismay the
swarming savages had scattered, rushing helter-skelter in all
directions. Not all, though--no not all. Many would never rush
anywhere again. The first glimmer of explanation came in the shape of
Grunberger, who stood, chuckling and choking and shaking with laughter.
The sight sobered those who beheld it, all inured as they were to
ghastly sights. Had the man's brain suddenly given way?
"_Ach, so_!" he chuckled. "_Ach, so_! De tam niggers haf got one
leetle shock this time. Here goes for another."
And with the words, he raised his arm, and seemed to hurl something he
held in his hand far out beyond the stockade. In an instant the same
vibrating roar seemed to stun the air. Then the explanation stood
revealed. The ingenious German had been turning time to account by
doing a little stroke of business on his own. He had got out some
dynamite cartridges, and, having set them with a cleverly contrived
fuse, had hurled them into the thick of the enemy where he judged they
would do most execution. His calculation was rewarded, for now,
imagining that they were being attacked in the rear, and utterly
demoralised by the havoc and concussion, the Matabele warriors stampeded
in a wild frenzy of terror, leaving the whole of that side open.
"You've saved us, Grunberger," cried Lamont. "By God! you've saved us,
man."
"_Ach, so_! Well, I think I made de tam niggers feel sick."
What is this? There is a rumbling noise, then the sharp cracking of
shots away there in the mist. It becomes a regular roll--and with it
the sound of yells and the scurry of flying feet. The frenzied
bellowing and moaning of the cattle in the kraal, rushing hither and
thither, and struck down by the assegais of the savages, blends, too,
with the roar and din and confusion. Yet--what is this? Nearer and
nearer comes that volleying roll, nearer and nearer the rumble of
unmistakable horse-hoofs, and, as with incredible swiftness the last
remaining savages flit away into the mist, such a ringing cheer goes up
from all within the stockade that hardly the hell of the recent battle
rout can have surpassed it for volume.
It is answered, and now out of the smother, other forms appear--the
forms of armed horsemen; and still the darkling mist is rent ever and
anon by a spurt of flame, as these descry a belated body of fleeing
warriors not sufficiently quick to take themselves out of sight and
range.