“Turn, Great Great One, brother of Dingane!” I cried.
Mhlangana turned; and, as he did so, zip! went my casting spear. Then he laughed. It was quivering in his shield—the great white shield which was like my own.
“Take back thy spear, thou whom I know not!” he cried; and I, it was all I could do to catch the assegai as he had done, or, rather, to turn it off.
“Ha! bearer of the other white shield!” I cried. “It may be that my day is done, but so is thine.” And I hurled at him another assegai. This struck him in the side, wounding him, for I saw the blood flow.
“Bayéte, brother King!” he called out mockingly. And then I knew that he mistook me for Umzilikazi.
We got within striking distance, but he was a little above me, and, covered by his shield, I could hardly reach him. I sprang upward, driving at him with a long-handled spear, and our shields clashed, as we met in full shock. Whau! they crashed together, the two white shields, but I felt I had wounded him again, and he began to totter. A moment more, and Dingane would have reigned sole King, when, I know not how it came about, but the whole crowd of Mhlangana’s picked men swept furiously down upon us, rolling us back, themselves pressed down by the other half of my regiment of Scorpions driving them from above. Then I could no longer see Mhlangana, for the gully was filled with men, fighting, struggling, stabbing, and the air was resonant with groans and hissing, and the slapping of the hide shields together, as warriors met in mortal shock, each fighting now to his own hand.
But the pursuers had by this time become the pursued; for, in turn, a great body of the Zulu force had surged up the ridge, and was driving The Scorpions before it. We were hemmed in completely now. We were cut off from the pass, through which the bulk of us might have escaped—others covering the retreat—for below, the other horn of Mhlangana’s force had closed in, and was merely waiting—waiting grimly until we should be driven down upon its spears. Then the Amandebeli would be no longer a nation.
In despair, still keeping our ranks close, we retreated slowly, fighting our way step by step, up the outermost of the three rifts. We could not escape, for now were we hemmed in on either side by rocks. Our tongues were swollen by thirst, and we panted like dogs. Many of us were gashed with wounds, and streaming with blood; but those who fell were immediately speared and ripped by the men of Mhlangana. Our shields were hacked and bent and our weapons dripping. Still the Zulu host seemed to hesitate, and now a voice cried from its ranks—
“Ho! leopards who are securely trapped! Come forth! Yield now to the mercy of the Great Great One! Come forth, thou Umzilikazi, who callest thyself King, and place thy neck beneath the paw of the Lion of Zulu!”
I can recall the thrill of delight which ran through me, even in that moment of death, Nkose on being again hailed as King; for it was clear that Mhlangana, seeing me in the forefront of the battle, waving the pure white shield, had mistaken me for Umzilikazi, though the Great Great One himself was far above us on the mountain crest, waiting and watching. But I answered fiercely defiant—