Chapter Nineteen.
A Forced March.
After arranging with the old Mormon to start out with Grenville and a scouting party of Zulus at dawn of day, Kenyon turned into the room jointly occupied by himself and Grenville; but, both being overwrought by the events of the day, entirely failed to find the sleep they sought, and finally rose and strolled outside for a moonlight smoke, carefully taking with them their restored and treasured rifles. Both felt relatively happy, for the fear of death—and, however brave a man may be, a violent death is still a fearsome thing—the fear of death, I say, no longer weighed upon them; and the fact that Leigh had that night taken a favourable turn, which placed him out of danger, had also lifted a load of sorrow from the heart of each; and as they strolled quietly along, the pair talked pleasantly of home and friends, and of an early start for England.
Just as the twain reached the limits of their stroll, and were about to turn back and have another try to sleep, Grenville’s keen eye detected a movement in the long grass at his right hand. Throwing forward his rifle, he was about to fire, when a shrill, peculiar whistle broke upon the night air, and, dropping the butt of his rifle upon the ground, he stood expectant, whilst Amaxosa coolly stalked forth from his lair, and, advancing to where they stood, gravely saluted them.
“Greeting, Inkoosis, greeting,” said the great Zulu; “it does my heart good to see ye free again, and gun in hand. And now, my brothers, lead me, I pray ye, to the ancient man of this people of many women and three kings, for I have news to tell him—news which will not wait; and ye must be my mouth to him, O chiefs!”
“My brother,” answered Grenville, laying a hand kindly on the shoulder of his stalwart friend, “knowest thou that, because of thy departure, he has sentenced thee to death; ay, thee, and Barad the Hailstorm with thee.”
“Nay, my father,” replied the Zulu, “I knew it not, nor do I care whether I live or die; yet do I think the ancient one will gladly hear my words.”
Quickly returning to the public hall, Kenyon sent in word to the old Prophet that the Zulu chief had returned of his own accord, and had news of much importance for his private ear.
A few minutes elapsed, and then all were ushered into the united presence of the Holy Three, where, utterly disregarding the frowning looks cast upon him, the great Zulu thus commenced his stirring tale:—
“Hear my words, O ye ancient ones, and let the message of the child of the Zulu sink down into your ears; for his words are heavy words to hear, yet come they from a straight and friendly tongue.”
Then addressing himself to Grenville, “Yesternight, my father,” he began, speaking rapidly and forcibly in Zulu—“yesternight I had it in my mind that Zero, the Black One, would escape and break his bonds, and in the same mind was also the Chieftain of the Stick; he knew no speech of mine, nor knew I aught of his, my father, yet eye looked into eye, and each knew well the secret thought of each.
“We soon slipped past the sleepy guards and out into the night, but naught had we in our hands, my father, and so we left behind the ruined kraals, and hid us in the bushes by the well.
“Long did we wait, but yet we had no doubt, and, so when half the night was gone, there came to us the ghost of him, the ancient one, who dwells in yon lonely grave upon the northern hills—alas! my father, that I let him pass me by, but empty hands are evil things wherewith to face a well-armed spook, and in his grasp he swung a mighty axe, dripping with human blood.
“And so we waited, and when the Father of the Spooks had left us half-an-hour, then my thought changed, and I knew it was no spook that passed us by, but the black one, Zero himself, escaped in Muzi Zimba’s dress, and so I beckoned to Barad, my father, and down the well we went to follow on his trail; but when we reached the narrow mountain pass, we found it all blocked up with mighty rocks rolled from above, so that we could not move them. Then climbed we forth again, and, skirting round the mountain, we filled our ready hands with arms from the dead who lie out yonder; and so sped we onwards through the night running our utmost speed, but naught did we see, my father, until at dawn we struck the Black One’s footsteps crossing the western veldt, and these we followed till the sun grew hot at noon, and so we tracked him to the thorn-girt kraal of a mighty host of low black fellows; those men, they were, my father, whose king was here when first we hither came.
“Lying hid, O chief, we watched, as well we might, and when the sun went down, the host set out, led forward by the Black One, and the track they took, my father, was the track of the women and the children who have gone towards the sea.
“And then, my father, did I leave the Chieftain of the Stick to mark the trail, and follow on their rear, whilst I returned at speed to tell thee all.
“And now, O chiefs, think wisely and think quickly what ye do. There is no time to waste—your army, split in twain by thrice a thousand men, must travel like the wind if ye would happen on the spot, ere Zero eats your friends and stamps them flat.”
Briefly and succinctly, Grenville gave the Mormons the substance of the Zulu’s thrilling news, adding that, from his own knowledge, he could tell them that this king was a very great warrior and the most notorious slave-dealer in all the country side, with a fighting band of quite three thousand men, who were experts in the use of both bow and spear.
Replying, the old Prophet said that he and his colleagues freely pardoned the Zulu and his sable friend, and also thanked them for their zeal, and would now ask further what course Grenville, who knew the country so well, would advise them all to follow. Knowing, however, that Amaxosa must have fully thought out his plan of action, Grenville informed him that the ancient ones had pardoned his escape, and that of Barad, and would wish to hear his plan for eating up the foe.
The great Zulu had quietly sat him down, and taken snuff to his heart’s content, but now he rose to his feet, and drawing himself up to his full height, addressed himself to Grenville.
“O my father,” said he, “think ye these people here can fight, think ye that they can travel on a long, weary road? For thus shall the matter go:—Seest thou, my father, that yonder comes the dawn. At dawn, next day but one, will the evil Black One, backed by all his wicked host, fall on the white men as they sleep close by the burning mountain; and it shall be, my father, that while the Black One sets a snare for the white men, we ourselves will set a snare for him. Thus, when he rises to fire upon our friends, will we fire on him and his, and take him by surprise. Then will our friends upon the mountain wake and shoot their shots. So shall the Black One find himself between two heavy fires. But think upon the weary way, my father, for much I doubt that few will win it, and therein lies my fear; for, spread out wide upon the veldt and weakened, Zero will eat us up, and stamp us flat for ever. Well, even so, my father, we can but try, and if we die ’twill be a brave man’s death, facing a savage foe.”
Grenville detailed the whole scheme to the Mormons, urging its adoption without a moment’s delay, in view of the tremendous journey—quite a hundred English miles—which must be accomplished at high pressure if they would save the first detachment, and, indeed, themselves; for, if Zero once disposed of half their army, with the enormous force at his back, he would very soon render an account of the remainder.
Our friend recommended that the entire band should start at once, and push on at top speed until the sun was too hot to allow of further progress; then, after resting in the heat of the day—the moon being, fortunately, at the full—they must go for their lives throughout the summer night, until the advent of the sun again drove them from the road, resuming their journey with the cool of evening, and so go ever forward, and hope to be in time. Clearly, there was nothing else for it, and the Mormons rapidly assented to the plan, and all filed out of the room, leaving the Zulu where he sat, for exhausted nature had asserted her rights, and the man was fast asleep.
The Mormon force could not leave the place under an hour, and from long experience of the ways of these active children of the veldt, Grenville well knew that that precious hour would give back to the great Zulu all his magnificent powers, and enable him to lead the party until noon, faster than most of them would care to go.
The sun was already high in the heavens by the time that Grenville and Kenyon had succeeded in getting the Mormons under weigh, and their own breakfast being then ready, Grenville waked Amaxosa, and all three partook of a hearty meal, feeling quite sure that they would soon overtake the main body.
Leigh, with his wife and child, all the wounded, and a guard, which consisted of the few remaining “People of the Stick,” were left behind in Equatoria, there being no other course open to our friends, as it was obviously impossible to carry the sick and wounded with them on a forced march, and probably into the very teeth of a desperate and extremely doubtful battle.
Grenville, however, took two carrier pigeons with him, telling Dora that if the fight was going against their party he would send her word by one of these, when she must depart at once from Equatoria with her party, cross the chasm by means of the traversing cage, must cut the rope behind her, and by causing her men to again turn the course of the mountain stream into the northern marsh, lay bare the rocky pathway down the kloof.
When her party reached the veldt it would at once strike out due east and travel night and day until some of the wandering Arab slavers were met with, when Grenville considered it likely that the promise of large rewards would induce these men to afford her safe escort to some seaport town. The plan did not, of course, promise particularly well; but, on the other hand, it was infinitely better than sitting still and waiting for Zero to return and torture everyone to death, and Grenville well knew that the gallant “warriors of the Stick” would fight for “their sister,” if need arose, as long as they had a leg left to stand on.
And so the trio bade farewell to the tearful Dora, begging her to be of good comfort, as if they could but arrive in time there would be little fear of the result; and so they passed away and left her once again, alone in this hated Mormon town—yet not alone, for she had now her husband and her child, and these two needed all her loving care.