Chapter Ten.
“No Quarter.”
Hardly had our friends perfected the details of their scheme for surprising the slavers, than darkness rushed upon them like a tangible thing. All, however, were much too excited to sleep, and, as soon as the rising moon gave sufficient light, the whole party removed itself beyond the steep crest of the northern hill, and impatiently awaited developments, or, as the Zulus have it, “fought the fight of sit down.”
It had been agreed amongst them, that the slavers were to have a clear hour allowed them from the time of entering the pass, to permit of their settling down quietly for the night, and this hour would of course, be employed to advantage by the men in charge of the “water department,” whilst the defenders of the hill had of necessity to take their cue from the movements of the enemy as occasion might arise.
For once in a way, matters fell out even better than the most sanguine had dared to hope. The slavers trooped quietly in, the dogs failing to show the slightest sign of uneasiness, and as soon as the slaves had been watered at the spring, the wretched creatures, to the number of about three hundred, all carefully manacled, were mercilessly driven on towards Equatoria, guarded by half a score of heavily-armed and powerful-looking ruffians, whilst Zero and the rest of his following encamped for the night beside the spring, taking no precautions whatever against surprise, and obviously considering themselves perfectly safe in their own happy hunting-grounds, relying, no doubt, upon the dogs to give them timely notice of any hostile approach. Nothing could have been better than this arrangement; for had the miserable slaves been detained in the hollow of the pass, it would have caused our friends very considerable difficulty to separate the poor unoffending creatures, from their sworn vengeance upon Zero and his host of scoundrels, whereas now, every shot would have a definite and decided aim.
After the dismal procession had filed out of sight, the time hung very heavily on the hands of the anxious watchers on the hill, and none seemed to feel it more keenly than did Leigh. He fidgeted first with his rifle, and then with his revolvers, until Grenville and Kenyon made sure that one or other of the weapons would explode, and prematurely unmask the whole affair, when matters would in all likelihood get uncomfortably warm for their little party.
Leigh was possessed of but one desire, and that was to get sight of Zero, when none who watched his face as Grenville did, could doubt that there would be bloodshed.
Slowly an hour dragged out its weary length. Below all was still as death, the slavers were fast asleep round their fire, and as a gentle zephyr was breezing in from the south, there was no scent to disturb the repose of the great dogs, who seemed to appreciate the warmth of the fire, equally with their tired masters.
All at once the death-like silence was rent by a thundering explosion, which seemed to fairly shake the mighty fabric of the mountain, and to rend the very vault of heaven itself, whilst in the twinkling of an eye, every man amongst the slavers was on his feet, gun in hand, and gazing inquiringly at his nearest comrade.
Hardly had the Titanic echoes ceased to answer one another amongst the mountain fastnesses, than a wild cry went up from the wretched men beside the spring, as they saw the angry river come foaming and dancing towards them—a frothing, bubbling sea of glancing foam—as it flew along down the narrow pass under the weird rays of the ivory moonlight.
But a single look the slavers gave; then, turning as one man, the whole band rushed blindly for the hill, but scarcely had they commenced to climb, when the crown of the ascent seemed to fairly open before their astonished eyes in a glancing sheet of flame, as Grenville gave the word, and two score angry rifles poured their deadly contents into the surging mob of humanity but fifty yards below, whilst a chorus of shrieks and imprecations went up to heaven, and men rolled over in every direction, dead and dying, thus testifying to the fatal results of the discharge.
The slavers paused aghast; but, with a wild, deep-throated bay, the noble hounds sprang forward, undaunted by the presence of the foe—useless bravery, for Grenville kept his word: the moonlight was good enough to shoot by, and three shots from his Winchester accounted for the three great dogs in much less time than it takes to tell.
Meantime the water was rushing forward like a living thing, and the slavers, forced onwards by it, dashed up the hill in a positive frenzy of fear, paying no attention to their leader, who vainly shouted to them to keep their heads, as the water would take some time to rise the height of the steep ascent. On they came in spite of another blinding discharge, which absolutely singed their faces and thinned their ranks by quite one-half, and then, hand to hand, the combatants met with a mighty roar. Hither and thither swung the fight in all its ghastly details, the crash of the axes, and the rapid detonations of the revolver-pistols, almost drowning the war-cries of the Zulus as they wreaked their righteous vengeance upon their late tormentors. Soon, however, friend and foe were so closely blent together that even Grenville—who kept out of a scrimmage in which he was yet too weak to take his accustomed part—found it extremely difficult work to get in a single shot without danger to his own people.
The Slaver-Chief was unquestionably a brave man, and in his fighting cry there was inspiration for his band; but what could he do when three such men as Leigh, Kenyon, and Amaxosa would, if they could help it, fight neither with small nor great but with himself only; whilst Grenville, meantime, watched, lynx-eyed, for a chance of putting a bullet through him?
Four times did this determined trio charge the slavers, axe in hand, and Zero himself at last fell upon a heap of his companions, whose living bodies had lately been his only rampart against these vindictive and invincible foes.
Upon the fall of the Slaver-Chief a mighty shout went up from the little band of friends, and the few remaining slavers immediately threw down their arms and begged for mercy. Mercy! Fools! What could they expect? A Zulu shows no mercy to a beaten foe, and if beaten himself he asks none. Moreover, the foe in this case richly deserved all he got, for he had been guilty of every species of senseless and abominable cruelty under heaven, and merited to the full a far more dreadfully retributive justice than the sudden and almost painless death which he received at the hands of his relentless executioners.
So much for one side, now for the other. Four of the white men rescued from the Mormons by Leigh and Kenyon, were stone dead, as were three Zanzibaris, who had stayed on the spot in an unaccustomed and ill-fated excess of valour or curiosity. The remaining white man, a sturdy young Highlander, named Duncan Ewan, had received a nasty scalp wound, whilst five of the Zulus were lying about very severely cut up, though all would recover with careful treatment. Of the three champions, Amaxosa was the only one who had received any hurt, and that was superficial, a bullet having grazed and laid open one side of his face. Hastily our friends shook hands with one another—and with themselves, so to speak—and then Leigh and Amaxosa, supported by all the available Zulus, started off at speed upon the trail of the departed slave-gang, leaving Grenville and Kenyon (together with the frightened Zanzibaris, who were cautiously returning by twos and threes from the four winds of heaven, whither they had fled when the first shot was fired) to get the wounded into a place of safety; for the water was still rapidly rising, and once over the crest of the hill, it would simply sweep the whole plain towards the north, unless something could be done to stop its wild career. Quickly getting the wounded men out of the pass, and some little way up the mountain side, Grenville and Kenyon next made a careful examination of the old course, of the river beyond the pass, and found that if they could blow up one mighty piece of rock, the river would immediately descend through the medium of a waterfall into its own original bed. The pair, accordingly, returned to the scene of the fight in order to collect all the gunpowder belonging to the deceased slavers; but hardly had they reached the spot than Kenyon, to Grenville’s utter astonishment, let out a bitter curse. “Fooled,” he cried, “as I’m a living sinner—fooled again by that cursed fox!” and turning quickly, as a mocking laugh grated upon their ears, Zero was seen by the pair standing upon a rock at the northern outlet of the pass, perhaps a hundred yards away, and taking aim at them with his rifle. Grenville’s Winchester went up like a flash, and the two reports blended into one. The slaver’s bullet whistled harmlessly past their ears, and at the same instant he was seen to drop his gun, and clap his hand upon his left shoulder, and then, shaking his fist angrily at Grenville, he hurled a vile curse at the two friends, and, springing down from the rock, was at once lost to view amidst the gloomy shadows of the mountain.
Whilst Grenville collected the powder, Kenyon promptly set out in pursuit of the slaver, but could find no trace of his whereabouts. The fellow’s claws were, however, cut for the nonce, as there was blood upon the rock where he had been standing, and his rifle was still lying there, the hammer having been cut clean away by Grenville’s bullet. So that wounded, unarmed, and unsupported, it was a shrewd count that they would easily get him when daylight came, and get him they must, for he clearly was a dangerous, as well as a very slippery, villain.
Our friends soon succeeded in blowing up the rock, and preparing a new outlet for the water, and this was not accomplished any too soon, as by the time they had collected the arms, which were everywhere strewed about the confined field of battle, the water was already lapping gently against the upper edges of the steep ascent, and in another ten minutes it was racing down the track, and shooting clear over the beetling wall of rock, thus returning to its own natural bed in the shape of a magnificent waterfall, whose enormous volume, as it fell, waked a mighty echo, which would henceforward cause a perpetual and thundering murmur amongst the rocky glens of the mountains, as if nature were herself complaining of this irremediable mischief, wrought by the puny hand of careless and unthinking man.
Hardly had Grenville and Kenyon regained the mountain side, than the report of firearms was heard away across the veldt, and the quick flashes of Leigh’s repeating-rifle could be distinctly seen. In a few short minutes all was again as quiet as death, and the twain looked anxiously at one another, yearning to know with whom the victory rested, when all at once, through the still night air, and right across the rolling veldt was wafted the wild war-cry of the children of the Undi, proclaiming the successful accomplishment of another act of retribution, and the absolutely triumphant success of Amaxosa’s daring scheme for the destruction of the foe—a success which was marred only by the single detail of the temporary escape from their vengeance, of the Slaver-Chief himself.
Grenville and Kenyon next lighted a large fire to apprise the detachment out upon the veldt, of the exact position of the party upon the mountain side; and this having been done, Kenyon, who never travelled without a complete surgeon’s “kit,” proceeded to attend to the injuries of the wounded men, and soon had the poor fellows as comfortable as circumstances permitted.
Shortly after this, the Zulu, Umbulanzi, in charge of the “water department,” and to whom belonged no small share of the credit of this successful affair, made his appearance, accompanied by all but two of the Zanzibaris, who, under his direction, had acted in the capacity of sappers.
It seemed that Amaxosa had fortunately foreseen the possibility of this detachment hitting upon a bed of rock, and thus having their work stopped, and the whole scheme completely ruined, and he had, therefore, supplied his confrère with a 56 pound keg of powder out of Leigh’s ample stores, and finding that a great slab of broken ironstone rock was spoiling his little game, this Zulu had coolly slapped the whole keg under the edge of this obstruction, and blown the entire affair sky-high, and along with it two of the Zanzibaris, whose unfortunate curiosity had prevailed over their accustomed discretion.
“Haow Inkoos,” he said, speaking rapidly to Grenville in the Zulu tongue, “it was indeed a very great sight, and never will Umbulanzi see the like again. The rock shot up to the heavens on high, and with it went the low black fellows. The great stone came down again, my father; but, though I waited long for the low fellows, they came not, and as the cowards must have run away for good, Umbulanzi did not stay.”
The moon was waning fast, but the stars still held the curtains of night over the wide-stretched whispering veldt, when the victorious party of Amaxosa, accompanied by the slave-gang, was heard approaching from the north, and upon their arrival it was found that the little band had not suffered further in any way, having satisfactorily “rushed” the remaining slavers, and disposed of them every one.
The anger of Leigh and Amaxosa, however, knew no bounds when the cunning escape of the arch-enemy was made known to them, and both bitterly repented that they had not made sure of the fox by knocking him on the head, and registered a solemn vow to commit no further mistakes of the kind, should Zero fall into their hands again. Clearly, however, nothing could be done until dawn of day, and it was decided, therefore, to let the rescued slaves sleep in their irons, and to wait for daylight, in order that their captors might gain some little insight into the character of their new charges. So, having set a watch of Zanzibaris, overlooked by Grenville himself, the tired army laid itself down, and was soon fast asleep, whilst the rescued slaves, who had been told the good news that they would be liberated in the morning, chattered to one another throughout the livelong night, like a troop of monkeys in the forest. With the first gleam of daylight, Leigh and Amaxosa were afoot, and without even staying to dispatch a mouthful of food, threw themselves upon the bloodstained trail of the Slaver-Chief, and were almost instantly lost to sight amongst the dense fog-banks which overhung the surrounding veldt in every direction.