Chapter Twenty Two.
The Dividing of the Nation.
The time had been well chosen for the return of the Bapongqolo to the heart of the nation, for now the Amabuna were advancing upon us, and with them Nongalaza at the head of a strong army, made up of the rebel traitors whom he had induced to desert their true king. The killing of Tambusa while on a message of peace had infuriated Dingane. He ordered Nkunkundhlovu to be burnt, vowing to rebuild it no more until he had driven the rebels and their white friends from the land, and exacted a fearful vengeance for the slaughter of his faithful induna. So the izanusi were called up, and we were doctored for battle, and Lalusini, or Mahlula, as she was known here, together with her band of girls decked out in their richest dresses, stood forth and heartened the warriors by their songs of battle and victory; even as she had once heartened us to defeating, under the shadow of my white shield, these very warriors with whom I now fought, and a section of whom I was now leading. Yes, these hundreds of men, the Bapongqolo, were worth much to Dingane now.
The day had come at last, and the nation was divided. And now, with the one great struggle for the very life of the nation at our gates, Dingane showed himself, as he never had so shown himself before, as a noble and worthy warrior-king of a mighty warrior people.
It was the morning of the battle, that great struggle which should mean, to him and his, all or nothing. Ha! he was great, he was majestic, that warrior King, as he came forth to address his children—to hearten us for what lay before us. Not that we needed burning words of encouragement, for of all that dense array crouching there behind their shields, not one at that moment but longed for the gleam of the spears of Nongalaza to come into view.
Then the King stood forth arrayed in full war dress, his great form towering to the height of the waving ostrich plumes which rose above his head-ring—his head thrown back in royal pride as his eyes swept proudly over the dense ranks of those who adhered to him—and his words rolled like thunder upon the still air:
“My children, the day is upon us at last when the might of the People of the Heavens is to be put upon its sorest trial; the day which is to decide whether the name of Zulu is to blaze forth again in all its brightness, to strike terror once more upon the world, or to become a forgotten thing. For a space it has been hidden, but only that it might blaze forth again the more brightly. Yonder there come against us enemies. There are those who came among us with false words—calling themselves a holy people—and striving, with fair words, to wrest from us the lands which, bit by bit, we have added to the greatness of our nation—a people which knows not how to keep faith—a people which, in its greed, knows not how to observe its own agreements—a nation which slays ambassadors bearing a peace message. But worse. With that people, who comes? Who but they who would divide the nation—who, to do this, have not scrupled to place their neck beneath the foot of this other race—of these Amabuna, the scum and refuse of all white peoples—they of our own blood—they who have grown great under the shadow of the House of Senzangakona. These indeed are worse than dogs, for even a dog will not bite the hand that fattens him. Ha! and with them is one of the House of Senzangakona—yet not, for it cannot be that a real bough of that great and royal tree can have joined with the refuse of all the white races, to turn and destroy his father’s house. Some bastard must it be—changed at birth—some low, base bastard, foisted by fraud upon the House of Senzangakona. And he, he who would, by the favour of the Amabuna, call himself King, where is he? Not among those who come against us. He is not even a leader of men. See him skulk behind the guns of the Amabuna while my dog, Nongalaza, leads his army for him. His army! Hau! a pack of cur dogs whom the lion-cubs of Zulu shall disperse howling, for how shall so base and traitorous a band of runaways face and stand against the might of these?”
And as Dingane waved his hand over the assembled army a sound went up like the sullen roar of a sea-wave that curls and breaks. The King went on:
“My children! this is a time, not for talking, but for doing. I, your father, am here with you—I, your leader. Let the lion-cubs of Zulu fall on bravely under the eye of the lion. Lo! those who direct you are men to follow. Where is Umhlela? where is Silwane? where Nomapela and Untúswa?” And with each name a storm of applause rolled from the warriors. “Where they are, there follow. Lo! I see the enemy. Lo! there are they who come against us. In perfect order, rank upon rank, go now to meet them. Fall on and strike—and strike hard. Strike until not one of them is left. Go, my children! Go, lion-cubs of Zulu!”
Away in the distance a dust-cloud was advancing, and through it the sheen and flash of spears. With a great roar the whole army sprang to its feet and saluted the King, who stood, with head thrown back and outstretched arm, pointing with his spear towards the approaching host; and as the regiments formed up in columns and began their march, moving out over the plain like huge black serpents, the war-song of Dingane rolled forth like thunder upon the still and brooding air:
“Us’eziténi!
Asiyikuza sababona.”
(“Thou art in among the enemy.
We shall never get a right of him.”)
Louder and louder it swelled, uttered in fierce, jerky roars, as the roars of ravening beasts who can no longer be restrained from their prey. Then the red mist was before all eyes. The host of Nongalaza was singing, too; but for that we had no ears, only eyes for the body of our foe. Our warriors now swung forward at a run, the ranks steadied and kept in line by the warning word of an induna, or a sub-captain. Otherwise none spoke.
Now they are before us. Their appearance is even as that of ourselves. They have the same shields, the same broad spears, the same discipline. But their courage? Ha! We have that—we, the chosen, we, the faithful. Now we are among them; there is the slap of shield meeting shield, the tramp of struggling feet, the soft tearing of spear ripping flesh. Ha! The red blood is flowing; warriors go down by hundreds—beaten to earth—ripped as they lie—as many of ours as of theirs. The savage, gargling groan of the dying, as they strive to drag themselves upward, and, spear in hand, die fighting still—the death-hiss of their slayers—the “I-ji!” that thrilling whistle that shakes the air—the laboured panting of those who strive—the shiver and clash of hard wood and the crunch of bone, as the heavy knob-sticks meet other hard wood, or perchance a skull—these are the sounds that turn the air itself verily warring. But neither side gives way—neither side yields a foot’s breadth—or, if so, it is but for a moment, to charge again in renewed fury.
Again and again this happens. No advantage can either side gain. Both strive with equal fury; both trained in valour and discipline under the same training. Whau! there will be none left to tell of this battle, so surely shall we make an end of each other.
Now I, with the Bapongqolo, being in command of the left “horn” of our army, am striving to surround that of the enemy, though his numbers are almost as great as our own, and in this I am partially succeeding. But what is the other “horn” doing? By this time we have gained some slightly rising ground, and now I can see. Ha! Can it be? Those on that side are fighting against us—fighting against their own brethren—fighting against their King. They have gone over to the side of Nongalaza.
But, so far from disheartening our people, this traitorous defection acts differently. Umhlela, watching and partly directing the battle from a little distance off, gives the word, and himself at the head of the force he has been holding in reserve, charges furiously upon these traitors, rolling them back upon the thick of Nongalaza’s force, and throwing the latter into confusion. Umhlela is a small man and old, but never was there a braver one. He is in the hottest of the battle, and they whom he leads follow like lions. The tossing of shields, and the tramp and pushing of striving feet, shakes both earth and air. Ha! Umhlela is down. A wounded warrior, supposed to be dead, has sprung to his feet, and with last stroke has cleft the brave induna through the heart. But the rallying cry on the dying lips: “On, children of Zulu! The Lion watches you,” thrills our people with renewed strength. Now we gain. The rebels are giving way. Now is the time. We press them harder and harder. Not hundreds now, but thousands lie slain, or writhing in death-throes. They are beginning to withdraw. The day is ours.
Is it? Ha! What is that shout, gathering in volume as it rolls along behind the rebel army—heartening those in front to face us more fiercely.
“They come, the Amabuna! The Amabuna are at hand!”
We who hear it can see Nongalaza riding on horseback along his rank—he and other of Mpande’s indunas—and with shout and gesture they point behind them, then wave their men on. And in the distance can be heard the rattle of the discharge of guns.
“They come, the Amabuna!”
That cry loses us the day. The younger regiments waver, fall into confusion, and flee. The men of the Imbele-bele—a splendid ringed regiment—stand their ground. So, too, do the Bapongqolo. Then we have work to do. One glance behind us, and we can see the land covered with fleeing fugitives; but the spot whence the King watched the battle is empty. We have saved the King.
Well, we are doomed. Thick and fast our warriors fall, being hugely outnumbered, and it wants but the coming of the Amabuna to make an end of us completely.
Now Nongalaza came riding along in my direction, where I, at the head of the Bapongqolo, stood at bay, and waved on his army, crying aloud that they should make an end of us, at all events. So seeing the rebel host—which now was stronger than we—sweeping up to surround us, I gave the word to retreat, and not too soon either, for we had to fight our way through the closing “horns.” But the land on that side was broken, and seamed with dongas; and Nongalaza’s people, tumbling over each other in their hurry and confusion, were less quick than we. Yet many were slain in that rout, and ere night fell the land seemed alive with pursuers and pursued. But I set my face in the direction of the Ngome forests, where my outlawry had been spent. There, I knew, were holes and retreats wherein not all the men of Nongalaza twice over would succeed in finding me.
And, as night fell, the dull red glow of burning kraals lit up the land, and from afar you could hear the exultant war-song—the song of victory. Yet not altogether, for the song of Mpande was the song of bondage too, in that he, a prince of the House of Senzangakona, had purchased his kingship dear; for he had purchased it at the price of doing konza to the Amabuna, in order to be allowed to hold it—in order to sit in the seat of Tshaka the Mighty, and of the warrior-king Dingane, who, however, might even yet be heard of again.
The slaughter on either side that day was immense, Nkose. Yet not by might or by bravery did Nongalaza win that victory. Oh, no! He won it by a trick. Had he not cried that the Amabuna were at hand, we should not have given way. But up till then we had gained no great advantage, and the approach of these people, who could gallop into our very midst and discharge their guns without harm to themselves, took all heart out of our warriors, already hard pressed by the forces of Nongalaza, nearly equal as these were to our own. So we fled, and lost the day. Yet we need not have, for the Amabuna were not really coming. But a good general will despise no method of snatching a victory, and Nongalaza was right.