Chapter Eleven.
“The People of the Stick.”
First thing in the morning the slaves were unshackled, and, after all had breakfasted, they were interviewed through the medium of one of the native “guides,” and our friends found to their horror that Zero and his band of fiends had fallen upon this people, in the night, and after picking out 300 of the finest among the men, had effectually stamped out the remainder of the tribe, both root and branch, by fastening them all, young men and maidens, old men and children, in their huts, and then setting fire to the village, lining the palisades with their rifles meantime, lest any should break out and escape, to bring down upon the murderers swift and unsparing vengeance at the hands of a great and warlike native people, who lived near at hand, and who were closely related to the stricken tribe.
They seemed an intelligent and brave people, and would no doubt have given a good account of themselves if Zero had not taken them utterly unawares in their huts by night; and the men, who were as a rule fine, athletic-looking fellows, declared that they would follow the white men to the death, if they would but lead their party on and entirely eat up these slavers, whom they denounced as monsters of cruelty—one man stating that the great bloodhounds had been deliberately fed by Zero himself with the flesh of several baby boys, who had been roasted alive, and he added that, if the white men would not go with them, his own people would carry on the war, even if they had to fight with empty hands.
This was so far good, but our friends were utterly at their wits’ end regarding arms for their new allies, who clearly did not understand the use of guns, whilst the few spears and axes saved from the slavers deceased in the fight of the previous day, would not equip one-fourth of their number.
On being asked, however, what weapons they would prefer to use, the men replied proudly that they were called “Atagbondo” or “the People of the Stick,” in consequence of their habit of fighting only with long-handled clubs, which they could cut for themselves as soon as forest land, similar to their own, was reached by the party.
These clubs, it appeared, formed their sole weapon of offence, but they also used—as our friends found at a later date—an instrument of a most peculiar nature, and of which their white leaders could not at first comprehend the utility.
The instrument referred to, was a neatly-fashioned piece of extremely hard wood, from a yard to a yard and a half in length, thick in the centre, where it contained a cavity to protect the hand, and tapering to both of its slender-looking extremities. At its widest part it was but some few inches broad, was fitted with a thong in which to slip the hand, and generally gave one the idea of a modified quarter-staff with an elongated bulb in the middle. The instrument was called a “quayre;” and when this people went into battle the warriors tapped the quayre against the shaft of the club and produced a rattling volume of sound, which could be heard a mile away, and was supposed to strike terror into the heart of the foe; whilst the quayre itself, which they handled in a most expert fashion, was used not only to ward off blows struck at the persons of the men with native axes, clubs, or similar weapons, but even in parrying spear-thrusts—a difficult operation, which they performed, however, with no little dexterity, whilst the quayre was at the same time less than one-third of the weight of a very ordinary fighting shield.
On being informed that the white men were about to hold a council of war, and would like them to be represented, the chief of the Atagbondo stepped forward. Probably forty years of age, this man was a magnificent specimen of his race, who are all very much above the average height of Englishmen. He stood, probably, six feet two inches, but whilst he was not quite so tall as Amaxosa he possessed a more heavily built frame, being broader and deeper in the chest, and more massive in his appearance generally. Taken all through, he was, perhaps, the more powerful of the two men, but what the Zulu lacked in point of muscle was more than compensated for by the symmetry of his build, and his consequently superior activity; besides, this was relatively speaking, a man of peace, whilst the fierce Zulu was a man of war from his youth up, trained in every art and artifice, and inured to hardships and dangers by the experiences of many a well-fought field.
The Chieftain of the Stick had an intensely “Negro” face, but without its ordinary stolidity, and, in common with his warriors, had his head shaved with the exception of a sort of central tuft, which somewhat resembled the “scalp lock” of the North American Indians, and through this tuft was thrust, in the case of every man, a miniature quayre, beautifully carved in ivory, standing, in point of fact, for the “totem” of his tribe, and proudly indicating the race from which he sprang.
The chief—whose name, by the way, was “Barad,” or “The Hailstorm”—in a few well-chosen words, thanked the white men for releasing himself and his people, and then declared his intention of putting his party entirely into the hands of our friends, until vengeance had been taken upon the wicked men “who dwelt on the frontier of the far north, and amongst the mountains of Muzi Zimba the Ancient.” Our friends were more than surprised to find that their new allies both knew and reverenced the friendly hermit who overlooked Zero’s location, but found that beyond sending the old man a yearly “hongo,” or tribute, they knew nothing of him, but regarded him as a “very big fetish.”
Amaxosa and Leigh now returning empty-handed and disgusted from their search after Zero, a council was called to receive their report. This was as short as it was unsatisfactory. The slaver had been unquestionably wounded by Grenville’s bullet, but it was, unfortunately, one of those wounds which act upon a flying foe as they do upon a running deer, and simply make him leap the faster.
The pair had followed the track of the fugitive for close upon ten miles, beyond which it was useless to go, as they now knew positively from the “sign” that Zero had unearthed a canoe from its hiding-place amongst some rocks near the river, and had gone off down stream, and was, therefore, completely out of reach for the time being.
Smarting with fury at the crushing defeat he had sustained, and maddened by the loss of both friends and plunder, the party might safely reckon upon the slaver delivering a crushing attack upon their position at no distant date, and it only now became a question as to whether they were sufficiently strong to go out and meet him in the open, or had better choose out a likely place on the mountain side, and make it good, until the loss on the side of the foe provided them with a chance of wiping him out “one time,” as the natives say, with a well-delivered sortie.
True, the little band had now the not-to-be-despised support of three hundred able-bodied men, all thirsting for vengeance upon the common foe; but then, these men were entirely unarmed, whilst Zero, besides mustering close upon a thousand of his own rogues, well supplied with guns, would in all probability be supported by the native King already referred to, backed by several thousands of his followers, all armed with bow and spear, in the use of which they were said to be both bold and skilful.
Ultimately, therefore, our friends decided to stay where they were, or, rather, to select a strong position on the mountain capable of a sustained defence, and in the interval which they might calculate upon prior to an attack, they determined to employ themselves in an endeavour to arm, after their own peculiar fashion, the warlike People of the Stick, and to induct the most intelligent amongst them into the mysteries of the rifle. This last would necessitate some little expenditure in the way of ammunition; but, as the party had abundance of powder taken from the vanquished slavers, they were fortunately in a position to afford this outlay.
Towards evening, the indefatigable Amaxosa, who had gone out on a tour of inspection, returned with an exceptionally favourable report, and the first thing on the morrow the whole band removed to the rocky fastness selected for their occupation by the keen-eyed Zulu chief, and all hands were at once set to work to excavate, to build earthworks, and in many other ways to amplify the already considerable natural defences of the place, whilst the Atagbondo flayed every bush and tree within a scoro of miles, to furnish themselves with offensive clubs and defensive quayres.