This Sifadu saw, and leaping up, his countenance ablaze with fury, he came at me, his great spear aloft. So quickly was it done that I had barely time to throw up my shield. So powerful the blow that the blade pierced the tough bull-hide and stuck fast. Then Sifadu, following up his attack in swift fury, struck over my shield with his knob-stick. It was a terrible blow, and partly reached me. I felt half stunned, but infuriate with the pain. So, with a shout, I quit defence and went at Sifadu with a will.
A frightful commotion now arose. The friends of Sifadu would have rushed to his aid, but that they saw that those favourable to me were more numerous. These sprung to meet them, and all being fully armed it looked as though a bloody battle was about to be fought. But some cried aloud against interference, saying that the two of as should strive for the mastery, and to this counsel I added my voice. Sifadu, though, had no voice save to growl and grind his teeth like a maddened beast.
So we fought, we two—none hindering. Our shields flapped together, and for a moment we were immovable—pressing each other equally hard—each striving to run in under the guard of the other. Then the spear-blades—Sifadu having disentangled his—would flash and glance like threads of fire as we leaped and feinted—yet neither of us able to drive home either stroke or stab. A silence had fallen upon the onlookers now, and every head was bent eagerly forward. All this I could see, while never taking my gaze from my enemy.
At last my chance came. Pretending to stumble, I threw myself forward, and with one swift sweep of my assegai I sheared through Sifadu’s leg, gashing the thigh to the bone. He sank to the earth uttering a terrible howl. All the muscles were divided—from the principal blood-vessels red jets were spurting. Whau! He was in a sea of it. But even then, weakening each moment, he gathered strength to hurl his great knobstick at my face. I was prepared for this, however, and caught it on my shield; nor did I hurry to run in and finish him, knowing that while he could move a finger he would still gather himself together for one last desperate slash at me.
“Hamba-gahle, Sifadu,” I said—not mocking him. “This quarrel was not of my seeking, but the son of Ntelani never yet refused a fight.”
He made no reply, glaring at me in hate until very soon he sank down into unconsciousness and death. And all the warriors shouted in assent of my words, save some few—near friends of Sifadu; but for them I cared nothing. And presently some of the older among them came to me, and we talked. We agreed to carry out my plan of returning to the nation, and that at once.
“Whau, Untúswa! Thou hast commanded men from thy youth; it is fitting that thou shouldst be our leader now,” said one of them, after he had talked. “Say I not well, brothers?” turning to the rest.
“E-hé! Siyavuma!” (“We consent”) they cried as one man. Thus, Nkose, I became chief of the Bapongqolo, the tribe of the Wanderers; but, in truth, the honour might be brief, indeed, for it might please the King to make a quick end both of chief and tribe.
Now that we had thus decided, we sent out men to find out how things were going between Dingane and the enemy, and from their report we judged that the time had arrived to come in and lie beneath the foot of the Elephant. The Bapongqolo women were left in concealment in the recesses of the Ngome forests, while we, to the number of several hundreds, marched forth.
Before we crossed the White Umfolosi, I and other of the principal of the refugees climbed to the heights overlooking the Mahlabatini plain. It was somewhat early in the morning, but the brightness of the new day was dimmed—dimmed by a great cloud. Far away to the southward it rose, that cloud—thicker and thicker, higher and higher—a great dull pillar of smoke. Nkunkundhlovu was in flames.