Urging their horses to the utmost speed, they broke their way through some scattered groups of combatants, and had got clear of the camp among some bushes, when they came upon two horsemen riding, at the top of their speed, in the opposite direction. George recognised them as Ernest Baylen and Matamo.
“Stop, Ernest!” he shouted; “do not make for the camp. The Zulus have broken in there. Where are our fellows? Where is Lord Chelmsford?”
Baylen reined in his horse. “Broken into the camp!” he exclaimed; “the Zulus! Then all is lost! Dartnell’s men are dispersed or killed. Moritz has been assegayed. I was riding to bring help.”
“Where is Lord Chelmsford?” interposed Hardy. “Is he anywhere near at hand?”
“No, miles off, I believe, but I can’t say where.”
“Then there is nothing for it but to make for Rorke’s Drift. We may warn them in time to prepare for attack.”
He was just turning his horse when half a dozen Zulus came rushing up, hurling their assegays as they advanced. One of these grazed George’s cheek. Another pierced Ernest in the chest, who fell on the instant; while a third mortally wounded Matamo’s horse. The Bechuana leaped from his saddle, and was instantly struck down by a blow from a club. George cut down the man whose assegay had narrowly missed him, and Hardy shot two more with his revolver. The others drew back for the moment; and the two Englishmen, taking advantage of their hesitation, galloped off.
“To the left, to the left!” shouted Hardy; “make for the thicket there. I know a path through it that runs down to the Buffalo. The pursuit is, fortunately, in another direction.”
In a few minutes they reached the cover of the trees, followed only by the three or four Zulus from whom they had just escaped.
Once inside the wood they were tolerably secure. Elated by the signal success they had obtained, the news of which spread like wildfire in all directions, the Zulus were hurrying to witness the overthrow and slaughter of the white men, and get their share of the spoil, and the fugitives did not encounter a single enemy, while their pursuers were a long way in the rear. Hurrying along a path, which Hardy had often traversed when a resident of the country, in half an hour’s time they found themselves on the banks of the Buffalo, at a part which was entirely out of sight of either friends or enemies.