“Comrades,” said the soldier, when he had recovered from his surprise, “here is the body of a murdered Englishwoman. The black demons have placed her outside here as if to mock us.”
As the men crowded round, they gave vent to muttered threats. The officer in charge of the company stepped forward, and said—
“Soldiers, ours is a war against men, not women. But these inhuman brutes slaughter our countrywomen in cold blood, and out of pure wantonness. Such deeds as these must be revenged.”
“Ay, and so they shall,” exclaimed a dozen voices.
“Vows are scarcely needed,” continued the officer, “and yet let us make a vow to avenge this poor woman’s murder, stranger though she was to us.”
As he spoke, he drew his sword from its scabbard, and, stooping down, proceeded to sever the beautiful hair from the head of Zula. When he had finished his task, he held a heavy bunch of hair in his hand. This he separated into equal lots, and, giving a lot to each soldier, said—
“Men, take your caps off. Hold your portion of hair over the body, and say after me—‘By all that is sacred on earth, and by all that is holy in Heaven, I swear most solemnly, that if I live I will have as many lives for this woman’s murder as I now hold hairs in my hand; and I further swear to count every hair, and to preserve the lot until I have fulfilled my vow.’”
Each man repeated the oath with his teeth set, and with an earnestness that was startling. Then the tresses of hair were stowed carefully away, to be counted at leisure.
The body of Zula was lifted tenderly up and carried to a little clump of bushes, where a rough grave was hastily dug; and the murdered lady was laid to rest. Scarcely was the mournful duty completed, when the officer cried—
“On your guard, men—we are surprised!”