Chapter Twenty Four.
The Attack.
“They are coming this way,” said Miss Anstrade.
“Open fire at them,” said Hume, “when they come within range,” and he stooped his back to widen the trench around the little camp.
Webster drove in his pick, and looked sidelong at Laura, who stood with her rifle in her hand, staring blankly at Hume.
“I may hit them,” she said falteringly.
“So much the better,” was the grim response.
The sod wall rose higher against the outside wheels of the waggon, and the Gaika had already lopped off a large number of branches from the mimosa-trees, together with some stunted wacht-en-beetje bushes.
“We must close up the ends with bags and boxes. Let us have them out.”
“I can see the colour of their shields now, and some of the men are springing into the air.”
“They mean to attack, then,” said Hume, pausing a moment to glance down the hill. “Put up the five hundred yards’ sight.”
“Hark, I hear them shouting.”
Klaas heard, too, and as he swung the axe, he answered with a deep-chested war-cry.
A moment later there was a dull report, and a bullet whistled overhead.
“By Jove, they have rifles, and there can be no mistake about their intention. Shoot, Laura.”
The little rifle came to the shoulder, and her white cheek was pressed to the butt, but the barrel shook, and she lowered it. She looked round at the two men, and seeing the look of anxiety on their faces as they hurried on with their work, she threw the rifle up again and pressed the trigger.
A deep, booming shout replied.
“I hope I have not hit anyone,” she said anxiously.
Webster laughed; but Klaas, in his excitement at the first shot, bounded forward, swinging his axe and hurling insults at the foe.
“Come back, you fool!” shouted Hume hoarsely.
The Gaika danced back on his toes, and at his curious antics Miss Anstrade laughed; but at the sight of the passion in his face the laugh ended hysterically.
“Come behind the boxes, Laura,” cried Webster.
“I would rather stand here until you are ready,” she said proudly, while with trembling fingers she extracted the empty cartridge and inserted another. The sharp crack of her rifle rang out again, and then she began to fire rapidly.
At last the barricade was finished, and the little laager was complete, flanked on one side by the huge tree, on the left by the waggon and bank of turf, at the ends by boxes and bags.
“Now for the outer fence,” said Hume; and climbing over the boxes they began quickly to draw the thorn branches, with the stems in. This outer fence left a clear space of about fifteen feet.
“Pass up, sieur,” cried Klaas, as Hume walked out to cut down another tree; “there are men creeping round.”
“Get my gun!”
Klaas sprang for the heavy weapon; and Hume stood on an ant-hill to take a look at the foe. They appeared halting about three hundred yards off, with their shields before them, and their waving plumes nodding above, while their assegai blades threw off the sunlight in sparks.
“They have not moved,” said Miss Anstrade, “since I fired.”
But Klaas knew differently, and his keen eyes had seen a few men glide into the long grass, to show themselves momentarily at lessening intervals, and when he judged they were too near to be pleasant he cried out:
“There, baas! there, my good baas, by the round bush!” indicating a spot about one hundred yards away.
As Hume raised his Express a bullet struck the ant-hill beneath him, while a cloud of smoke drifted away from a rock to the right of the bush. At this there was a shout from the main body, and the enemy dashed forward.
The Express covered the bush, and as the leaves shook it cracked, then, swinging his gun round, he covered one of the advancing troop and fired again.
“Hit!” said Webster.
“To the laager!” shouted Hume; and the little party clambered into the enclosure.
“Lie down, Laura, there, under the waggon.”
“Will they get in?” she asked.
Hume fired twice.
“Too high, Jim; aim at their feet. No, they won’t come within sixty yards;” and he fired again.
The shouts of the Zulus rose hoarse and terrible, mingled with shrill whistling. On they rushed, right up to the outer barricade, and then, as they were brought up, and the terrible Express bullets tore through them, they hurled their throwing assegais, then scattered and fled for shelter. Some of the assegais entered the little fort and were embedded in the earth, their hafts quivering; others glanced along the branches, and many stuck into the waggon.
“That was a warm rush,” said Webster; “and if it had not been for the mercy of that fence we would have been speared to a certainty.”
Hume was passing a cleaner through the barrels of his Express, and looking over the box barricade at the enemy, or, rather, for a sign of them, for they had apparently sunk into the earth. He did not reply, but turned presently and looked at Miss Anstrade.
“Well?” she questioned.
“If they make another rush, having now warmed to it, two rifles will not keep them back, and then—”
“Yes.”
“There can only be one end,” he looked at her with sad eyes, and then added, “for us.”
“And for me?” she asked.
He turned away.
She came from under the waggon.
“I understand,” she said firmly; “and if they come again there will be three rifles.”
No sooner had she stood up, than an assegai, hurled from the rear, whizzed by her head and plunged into the tree. Before they could turn, Klaas with one bound sprang over the barricade, and, throwing his hand back, launched an assegai at a small bush beyond the fence, then quickly darted another; and, as the second spear rattled through the leaves, a tall Zulu sprang up. Springing over the bushes he leapt towards the fence, and, with one terrific bound cleared its bristling height, the tufted armlets and long feathers streaming behind, and as he reached the ground he thundered his war-cry. Before this magnificent rush the Gaika held his ground, his body stooping, the slender assegai quivering in his fingers as he poised it, and, as the Zulu struck the ground the weapon sped from his hand. Swift it flew, and straight, so that it seemed there could be no escape from its thirsting blade; but the Zulu’s shield met it, and with a sure turn of the wrist, sent it whirring harmlessly through the thorns.
Then the Gaika, weaponless, tore the shirt from his body, baring his naked breast, and stood with folded arms. The Zulu caught the Kaffir by his arm, and, towering up a full head taller, glared down into his eyes, and raised his stabbing assegai.
At the sight, the three spectators in the little fort stood horrified, while from behind numerous ant-hills there rose up men to watch the scene.
“Klaas,” said a quiet, authoritative voice, “fall down, and I will shoot.”
At the voice the Zulu fixed his fierce and bloodshot eyes upon the group, dwelt for a moment on the white face of the lady, then rested with a questioning look.
“Eh, Hu-em,” he cried, then drew the point of his spear across the muscular breast of the Kaffir, leaving a lone red line. His hand relaxed, and Klaas, turning, was inside the laager in a moment, where he picked up another assegai.
The Zulu stood between the fence and the barricade, calmly looking at the white men, and presenting, as he stood there, the very picture of war, with courage expressed in the poise of his head, command in the fearless glance of his eye, character and will in the clear sweep of his clean-cut jaws, strength in the broad shoulders, and activity in the straight limbs, all bone and muscle.
“Do not shoot him,” answered Miss Anstrade.
“Shoot him! Good heavens, no! Is it Sirayo?”
“Yebo!”
Hume sprang over the boxes, and ran with outstretched hands to the great warrior, who had led the last charge at the battle of Ulundi, and had distinguished himself in a hundred desperate fights.
“Why are you fighting against us, Sirayo, my friend?”
“I was told you were bad people. So I came here to kill or die. What matters it? Sirayo is no longer a chief, his assegai is at anyone’s command.”
“Come in, my friend. We are not bad; these people have three times tried to steal our cattle, now they would take our lives. We are but four, and one is a woman.”
“Tell me the story,” said the Zulu, “and I will listen.”
Hume told him all that had occurred, and when he had finished Sirayo turned once more, dragged a thorn-bush away, and stepping through, advanced into the open.
Hume stood anxiously waiting, and Webster, coming to his side, asked if he should shoot.
“Wait; I know this man well. There is no treachery in him, and he may prove our friend.” Still he waited breathlessly.
Sirayo stopped when he was near the enemy, and then, striking his assegai against his shield, he told them they had lied.
“You brought me against these people with false stories; I find they are my friends, and my shield is their shield, my assegai is their assegai. But, inasmuch as you came here thinking you had the help of Sirayo, I stand here to meet any of you hand to hand, lest you say I fled from you when there was danger.”
No one took up the challenge, which was received with a howl of rage, but presently man called to man until the news was carried to the Induna, who directed the attack from afar, and at his command there was a general movement towards that end of the laager where Sirayo stood.
At this the chief, not carrying defiance to the point of foolishness, returned into the camp, closing up the fence after him, and entered the laager. There was no time for talk, for the enemy appeared to be gathering for another rush, and fire was opened to check them, but when they altered their minds and drew off, Hume asked the chief the paramount question, whether the laager was strong enough to resist a determined attack.
Sirayo stretched his arms.
“You are in a hole; good if you can keep them out, but a death-trap if they enter, and when the night comes they will pull away the thorns. See this tree? I already had marked it, and meant in the dark to send six young men. They would have climbed secretly into its branches and dropped among you. No; if you would live you must steal away.”
“They will be on the watch.”
“No. They know you cannot attack them, and before the dawn, after they have drawn away the thorns, they will come. By that time you must be away.”
Hume interpreted, and it was resolved to take the chief’s advice. It was necessary, however, to get together as many necessaries as they could carry, and while Hume busied himself with this work, the others went out beyond the laager, for, as Sirayo advised, it was better to show they were not afraid. They paced round and round, longing, yet fearing, for the night to come, and frequently the glances of Miss Anstrade and Webster stole to the tall figure of the chief, half doubtful still of his intentions, while the Gaika regarded him sullenly in the light of an interloper.
Presently the two natives stood silently regarding some object on the plain, and, attracted by their attention, Miss Anstrade asked what it was they saw.
“White men,” said Klaas.
“White men! Oh, then, we need not fly from our waggon, our home.”
Klaas shook his head.
“Bad men, they.”
“How can you tell, when they are so far that I cannot even see them?”
“They bad men,” said Klaas, shaking his head, with the Kaffir’s reluctance or incapacity to explain the reasons that led up to his firm opinion.
White men they certainly were, and presently they were met by a native. Were they friends or not? Anxiously they were watched as the men leisurely approached, and when they were close enough to be distinctly seen even by the untrained eyes of the Europeans, Miss Anstrade waved her handkerchief.
“Pass op,” shouted Klaas, “he will skit,” and at the cry four men sprang before Laura, while a tiny puff of smoke rolled up above the strangers, and a bullet whizzed unpleasantly near. That was the reply to the salute!
Hume, who had come out at the news of the strangers, flung up his rifle and fired, but the heavy Express carried wide at a long range.
“They are preparing,” said Sirayo quietly, and took a pinch of snuff, while as he held the powder to his nostrils he pointed with his assegai to where the gleam of shields showed thick among the bushes.
Hume took from Miss Anstrade her light and beautifully finished rifle. Then, throwing a handful of dust into the air to get the direction of the wind, he put up the 500 yards sight.
“If I can pick that brute off I may stop the rush,” and he nodded at one of the two whites who stood upon an ant-hill.
“Three hundred yards, I think,” said Webster, measuring the distance with his eye.
“No; the clear air takes off from the distance. Now, Klaas, see where the bullet strikes. I will shoot better beyond the fence;” and pulling away a thorn, he walked out to an ant-hill.
“They come,” cried Miss Anstrade, as the nodding plumes of the Zulus moved forward.
Hume knelt down, and resting the barrel on the conical top of the ant-mound, aimed long—so long, that Webster felt tempted to rush out and pull him in. At last came the crack.
“Missed, by heavens!” shouted Webster, and he emptied his two barrels at the dark mass which was now moving on the left in a direction parallel to the camp.
“Baas shoot too strong,” cried Klaas, and Hume put up 450 yards, and inserted another cartridge.
“Come in, man, come in; they are running.”
Sirayo moved out of the fence with the Express, after motioning Miss Anstrade to the laager.
Hume aimed again—longer than before—and the beat of the bare feet over the grass rose louder and louder, like the rush of a river in flood. At last!
“Oh, ay,” shouted Klaas, “he is dead,” and the man on the ant-hill, throwing up his arms, fell forward.
Then Hume, rising, took the Express from Sirayo, and, whipping round, dropped a warrior to each barrel, and, Webster firing rapidly too, caused a check, most of the men dropping to the grass to advance with more safety. But a dozen warriors, tempted by the chance of catching Hume outside the fence, leapt on, swallowing the ground with enormous strides, and twisting whenever the deadly rifle covered one of them. On they came in silence, their shields before them, and the short assegais that won victory for the Zulus held in readiness, and now the gleam of their eyes could be seen, and now a low moan breaks from their lips as they feel their prey.
Webster gradually slipped nearer to the fence with Klaas at his side, and as the Zulus came together in the last rush, the four barrels were emptied and the revolvers drawn.
Now Sirayo’s terrible war-cry was raised as he suddenly bounded forward; in a few strides the lean Gaika was by his side with his sheaf of assegais. There was a shock of shield striking shield, and the foremost Zulu fell with a groan, while, in the same breath almost, the tough shield of the chief met the thrust of the next man, and his red blade plunged deep beneath the arm. “Eh, Zu-tu!” he shouted, springing back from another blow, while his third assailant ate the assegai of the Gaika. Then came the sharp crack-crack of heavy navy revolvers, and the five surviving Zulus turned and ran.
Then they retired into the laager, having taught the enemy a terrible lesson, and then the chief offered snuff with his red hand to the Gaika, who took this pledge of friendship.
“You are a great warrior,” said Hume to Sirayo, “and you, Klaas, have fought like a lion.”
“It is nought,” said the Zulu. “I have killed ten men of the Nkobomokase in a feud when first I got my ring as a married man, and they were warriors every one—not men of the swamps like these, who are feeble. But it is well. They will not attack again to-night, and when the jackal calls we may go safely.”