Nothing could be more gallant than the conduct of assailants and defenders. The Kaffirs, fierce, warlike, and constitutionally brave, rushed to the attack with wild war cries, hurling their assagais as they advanced; and when they came to close quarters, breaking their last weapon, and using it as a dagger. The defenders on the other hand contended with disciplined steadiness against such fearful odds, but the battle might have gone against them had it not been for a timely succor. Finding that the place could not be taken by a direct assault, Makanna detached several columns to attack it both in flank and rear, while he kept the garrison fully employed by assailing it in front. Just at that moment, an old experienced Hottentot captain, named Boezak, happened to arrive at Grahamstown with a party of his men. Without hesitation he led his little force against the enemy, and, being familiar with Kaffir warfare, and also practised marksmen, he and his followers neglected the rank and file of the enemy, and directed their fire upon the leaders who were conducting the final charge. In a few seconds a number of the most distinguished chiefs were shot down, and the onset received a sudden check.
The Amakosa warriors soon recovered themselves and returned to the charge, but the English had taken advantage of the brief respite, and brought their field-guns to bear. Volley after volley of grape-shot was poured into the thickest columns of the enemy, and the front ranks fell like grass before the mower’s scythe. Still, the courage of the Kaffirs, stimulated by the mystic utterances of their prophet-general, was not quelled, and the undaunted warriors charged up to the very mouths of the guns, stabbing with their last spears at the artillerymen. But brave as they might be, they could not contend against the deadly hail of grape-shot and musketry that ceaselessly poured into their ranks, while as soon as a leader made himself conspicuous, he was shot by Boezak and his little body of marksmen. Makanna rallied his forces several times, but at last they were put to flight, and he was obliged to accompany his discomfited soldiers.
Short as was this battle, it was a terrible one for the Kaffirs. Fourteen hundred bodies were found dead on the field, while at least as many more died of their wounds. After this decisive repulse, Makanna surrendered himself to the English, and was sent as a prisoner to Robben Island. Here he remained for a year, with a few followers and slaves whom he was permitted to retain. One day he disarmed the guard, and tried to escape in a boat, but was drowned in the attempt.
The subjoined spirited rendering of Makanna’s gathering song is by Mr. Pringle, the poet-traveller in Southern Africa.
MAKANNA’S GATHERING.
“Wake! Amakosa, wake!
And arm yourselves for war,
As coming winds the forest shake,
I hear a sound from far:
It is not thunder in the sky.
Nor lion’s roar upon the hill,
But the voice of him who sits on high,
And bids me speak his will!
“He bids me call you forth,
Bold sons of Kahabee,
To sweep the White Man from the earth,
And drive them to the sea:
The sea, which heaved them up at first,
For Amakosa’s curse and bane,
Howls for the progeny she nursed,
To swallow them again.
“Then come, ye chieftains bold,
With war-plumes waving high;
Come, every warrior young and old,
With club and assagai.
Remember how the spoiler’s host
Did through the land like locusts range!
Your herds, your wives, your comrades lost,—
Remember, and revenge!
“Fling your broad shields away,
Bootless against such foes;
But hand to hand we’ll fight to-day,
And with the bayonets close.
Grasp each man short his stabbing spear,
And, when to battle’s edge we come,
Rush on their ranks in full career,
And to their hearts strike home!
“Wake! Amakosa, wake!
And muster for the war:
The wizard-wolves from Keisi’s brake,
The vultures from afar,
Are gathering at Uhlanga’s call,
And follow fast our westward way—
For well they know, ere evening fall,
They shall have glorious prey!”