Chapter Sixteen.
Faithful unto Death.
And now night once more descended upon East Utah, and the prisoner knew that he had one day less to live. Still, he kept up heart and remained on the qui vive for any opportunity of escape; and this at last presented itself, as he had feared and yet hoped, through the medium of his friend the officer.
The Mormons had again withdrawn the night guard, taking only the precaution of leaving Grenville’s irons on him even while in prison, and the officer, having said good-night and locked him in, quietly took his way home; but he never reached it, for in another ten seconds his brains were strewn about the roadway, his corpse thrown into the river, and Amaxosa, possessed of the key, had opened the prison and was shaking hands with his chief. He was, however, much taken aback at finding his friend in chains; still, neither hesitated to plunge into the water, which of course drowned the clanking of the irons, and both were soon outside the walls, receiving the suppressed congratulations of Myzukulwa.
Progress now proved very slow indeed, owing to our hero’s fettered state, and after a mile had been compassed in the water, unavailing efforts were made to break or loosen the chains; then, seeing that much valuable time was being lost, Amaxosa went ahead at a run to fetch the quagga, whilst his brother assisted Grenville in his slow progress towards liberty.
Never before had restraint appeared so irksome to our friend. It was certainly probable that he was considered safe in his prison for the night; but, on the other hand, should the prophet wish to talk with him—a not unusual occurrence, as we have seen—at night, or should the officer be missed by his friends, a search would of course be instituted, the hue and cry raised, and knowing that he would strike out for the plateau, the Mormons would immediately pursue him at speed. Grenville fairly groaned at the thought of being again recaught in consequence of their miserable and cowardly cunning in keeping him so heavily ironed.
In East Utah it fell out precisely as the fugitive had feared; the officer was wanted, searched for, and, as he could not be found, his prisoner was next looked up; then finding the bird flown, the community at once determined that treachery had been at work, and an hour after Grenville’s escape fifty men were on his trail, vowing deadly vengeance upon their recreant officer, whilst he, poor soul!—or, rather, all that remained of him—was bobbing up and down in the River of Death as it glided sullenly along its course, carrying to the vast and wandering ocean the message of the peaceful sky. When not quite half-way to the plateau, and just as the fugitive pair reached a narrow forest track where bush and timber was piled up like an enormous tangled wall on either side, the Mormons overtook them, and Myzukulwa faced round as a noble stag turns at bay, and determined to “die in silence, biting hard amidst the dying hounds.”
The moon streamed in at the entrance to the forest path and shone full on his magnificent warlike figure, his stern forbidding face, and his glittering spear, and for a moment the Mormons, being without fire-arms, hung in the wind. Seeing this, the Zulu shook hands with Grenville. “Let my father escape,” he said; “he cannot fight with his hands tied, and his faithful son, the child of the Undi, will stop this path—ay, and pile it up with the dead bodies of these evil dogs, even as my father slew them in hundreds by the dark River of Death; and when the whole nation of these cunning witch-finders is dead, and my father is free to come and go as he will, then let him think of his son Myzukulwa, the son of Isanusi, and take away his body from these low people, and bury him with his face towards the land of the people of the Undi. I have spoken;” and giving Grenville a long and yearning look, which made the tears start to his eyes, the Zulu turned to face the foe, and, uttering his awful war-cry, struck down two of the Mormons who had approached within reach of his spear.
Man after man went down, but coming at the splendid fellow so many at the time with their long spears, the cowards continually wounded him, and Grenville, who stood by, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, at last had the pain of seeing his faithful friend borne to the ground, fairly overpowered by numbers. Again springing to his feet, however, the Zulu dashed up to the leader of the party, who was none other than the last remaining member of the Holy Trinity, stabbed him to the heart, and with a cry of victory fell dead across the corpse of the foe, his life-blood welling out through a hundred gaping wounds, and the dead bodies of upwards of a dozen Mormons bearing ghastly testimony to the fact that Myzukulwa, the son of Undi, had died even as he had lived, as a warrior, magnificently brave and fearless, as a friend faithful unto death. Peace be with him!
The Mormons, having disposed of Myzukulwa, ordered Grenville to follow them back to East Utah, which he did, first kneeling down and taking from round the dead chief’s neck a curious amulet which he always wore, and which Grenville transferred to his own.
One of the guards, more inquisitive than the rest, asked why he did this, and our friend boldly answered, “I’m not dead yet, you know; and if I do get away, I swear to you I will kill a man of you for every drop of blood that it has taken fifty of you cowards to draw from yonder brave and true-hearted man.”
For a time his captors preserved impassive silence, only hurrying him along as fast as he could move whilst hampered by his fetters, and then at length he was asked “what had become of the traitor.”
“What traitor?” asked Grenville.
“What traitor? why, your late guard of course.”
“Mormon,” was the stern answer, “I might by admitting the truth of your suspicion strengthen the position of my friends in your eyes, but I cannot dishonour the memory of the brave and upright dead. Your officer’s corpse will be found in the River of Death, whither the hand of the Zulu sent him. He was far and away the best man you had, and his loss is an infinitely greater one to your community than that of the wretched Prophet, as you call him, whose corpse you are at so much trouble to carry now.”
When at length the party reached East Utah, Grenville was at once re-introduced to his prison, which was guarded by a patrol of ten men, who were kept on duty for the remainder of the time of his imprisonment, with drawn swords in their hands—such terror had the warlike address of the little party at the plateau struck into the craven souls of the Mormons; indeed, so much afraid were they of losing their prisoner that a grave consultation was held as to whether he should not be killed at once, to prevent any further risk arising from his escape. This, however, they dared not do without the consent of the whole nation, the Trinity having ceased to exist; and for the sake of saving one day it was of course foolish to think of convoking a general assembly of the Saints.