At a signal from de Morin, away flew the arrows, and a simultaneous report of fire-arms was heard.
The Domondoos were completely routed; some ran in terror across the plain, others sought a refuge in the tall grass, whilst very many were so paralyzed by fright that they lay down flat on their faces, or went on their knees and held out their arms to implore our pity. We should have been well pleased to pardon them, and we would have given much to have been able to tell them to lay down their arms, and return in peace to their homes. But how were we to stop Munza's army, how could we prevent his people pursuing the fugitives, making some prisoners, and killing the remainder?
We contrived, nevertheless, to save a portion of our foes by giving them time to save themselves. By our orders, and still under the impression that they were doing wonders, the Nubians continued their fire, and the Monbuttoos, quite as much frightened as their enemies were by the noise, dared not set off in pursuit. Posted between the two armies, we thus managed, for a short time, to set up a kind of barrier between the victors and the vanquished. But our soldiers, as I have already said, had only ten rounds each, and these were soon expended.
The plain thus became the scene of a horrible mêlée; lances, axes, knives and teeth took the place of arrows. Hand to hand they fought, and bled, and bit, and ate. It was a sight worthy of the infernal regions, a loathsome, revolting spectacle. In one place a group of soldiers might be seen to suddenly cease to fight, and take to dancing round their victims; some would seize on a corpse and cut the flesh to ribands, and others, for the purpose of rendering themselves invulnerable, as Munza had told us, would hack the bodies of their foes to get at the fat. All these scenes were revolting to a degree, but we should have been wrong in shrinking from them and giving way to our feelings of disgust. On the contrary, we rushed from group to group, intent on rescuing same victims, at all events, from the knives of their butchers.
Munza did his best to help us. At the urgent entreaty of Madame de Guéran, who, accompanied by the Arab interpreters, had courageously made her way to the King, he gave orders for the massacre to cease, telling his men to give quarter and make prisoners only. He himself saw that his orders were obeyed; preceded by his musicians, and borne on a shield by six runners, he went all over the battle field as we were doing. As for the prisoners, we obtained permission to place our Nubians on guard over them, together with the Monbuttoos. By this time we had served out ball cartridge to our men, and we knew well that they would not allow the prisoners to be beheaded, so long as they were there to prevent it, the tribes to which they belong having a superstitious horror of decapitation.
We had thus done our very best to mitigate the horrors of this annual massacre, in no way provoked by our presence amongst the Monbuttoos. But, when evening arrived, we were powerless to prevent fire and plunder. A large village was situated hard by the field of battle, and it was to protect the place that the Domondoos had massed their forces in the plain, Munza's troops, when the battle was over, rushed headlong into this important hamlet, and, after having sacked the huts, set fire to them.
Delange, de Morin and I followed close upon their heels, in the hope of saving the aged, the children and such sick people as might have been left to their fate in the huts. We succeeded, indeed, in taking a few under our protection, and we were just about to withdraw with them and rescue them from the flames, when piercing shrieks fell upon our ears.
They proceeded from a hut not yet attacked by the flames. I was the first to enter, and I found a poor, sick man who, unable to get out, was calling for assistance, to save himself from being burnt alive. Just as I was taking him up in my arms, the lurid glare of the flames lit up the interior of the hut, and a species of placard, suspended from the wall, caught my eye.
I went up to it. On a large sheet of paper, evidently torn out of a book, were about a hundred lines of writing, and underneath them we read, in large letters, this signature— BARON DE GUÉRAN.