The Witch's Head

by H. Rider Haggard

Of course, after the banquet, Mr.—or, as he was now called, Captain—Alston’s health was drunk. But Alston was a man of few words, and had a horror of speech-making.

He contented himself with a few brief sentences of acknowledgment, and sat down. Then somebody proposed the health of the other commissioned and noncommissioned officers, and to this Ernest rose to respond, making a very good speech in reply. He rapidly sketched the state of political affairs, of which the Zulu war was the outcome, and, without expressing any opinion on the justice or wisdom of that war, of which, to speak the truth, he had grave doubts, he went on to show, in a few well-chosen, weighty words, how vital were the interests involved in its successful conclusion, now that it once had been undertaken. Finally he concluded thus:

“I am well aware, gentlemen, that with many of those who are your guests here to-night, and my own comrades, this state of affairs and the conviction of the extreme urgency of the occasion has been the cause of their enlistment. It is impossible for me to look down these tables, and see so many in our rough-and-ready uniform, whom I have known in other walks of life, as farmers, storekeepers, Government clerks, and what not, without realising most clearly the extreme necessity that can have brought these peaceable citizens together on such an errand as we are bent on. Certainly it is not the ten shillings a day, or the mere excitement of savage warfare, that has done this” (cries of ‘No, no!’);” because most of them can well afford to despise the money, and many more have seen enough of native war, and know well that few rewards and plenty of hard work fall to the lot of colonial volunteers. Then what is it? I will venture a reply. It is that sense of patriotism which is a part and parcel of the English mind” (cheers), “and which from generation to generation has been the root of England’s greatness, and, so long as the British blood remains untainted, will from unborn generation to generation be the mainspring of the greatness that is yet to be of those wider Englands, of which I hope this continent will become not the least.” (Loud cheers.)

“That, gentlemen and men of Alston’s Horse, is the bond which unites us together; it is the sense of a common duty to perform, of a common danger to combat, of a common patriotism to vindicate. And for that reason, because of the patriotism and the duty, I feel sure that when the end of this campaign comes, whatever that end may be, no one, be he imperial officer, or newspaper correspondent, or Zulu foe, will be able to say that Alston’s Horse shirked its work, or was mutinous, or proved a broken reed, piercing the side of those who leaned on it.” (Cheers.) “I feel sure, too, that, though there may be a record of brave deeds such as become brave men, there will be none of a comrade deserted in the time of need, or of a failure in the moment of emergency, however terrible that emergency may be.” (Cheers.) “Ay, my brethren in arms,” and here Ernest’s eyes flashed and his strong clear voice went ringing down the great hall, “whom England has called, and who have not failed to answer to the call, I repeat, however terrible may be that emergency, even if it should involve the certainty of death—I speak thus because I feel I am addressing brave men, who do not fear to die, when death means duty, and life means dishonour—I know well that you will rise to it, and, falling shoulder to shoulder, will pass as heroes should on to the land of shades—on to that Valhalla of which no true heart should fear to set foot upon the threshold.”

Ernest sat down amid ringing cheers. Nor did these noble words, coming as they did straight from the loyal heart of an English gentleman, fail of their effect. On the contrary, when, a fortnight later, Alston’s Horse formed that fatal ring on Isandhlwana’s bloody field, they flashed through the brain of more than one despairing man, so that he set his teeth and died the harder for them.

“Bravo, my young Viking!” said Mr. Alston to Ernest, while the roof was still echoing to the cheers evoked by his speech, “the old Bersekir spirit is cropping up, eh?” He knew that Ernest’s mother’s family, like so many of the old Eastern County stocks, were of Danish extraction.

It was a great night for Ernest.

Two days later Alston’s Horse, sixty-four strong, marched out of Pretoria with a military band playing before. Alas! they never marched back again.

At the neck of the poort or pass the band and the crowd of ladies and gentlemen who had accompanied them halted, and, having given them three cheers, turned and left them. Ernest, too, turned and gazed at the pretty town, with its white houses and rose-hedges red with bloom, nestling on the plain beneath, and wondered if he would ever see it again. He never did.

The troop was then ordered to march at ease in half-sections, and Ernest rode up to the side of Alston; on his other side was the boy Roger, now about fourteen years of age, who acted as Alston’s aide-de-camp, and was in high spirits at the prospect of the coming campaign. Presently Alston sent his son back to the other end of the line on some errand.