In order that Keown and his assistant should have time to collect the few articles which had been unloaded from the carts (the Major was not the man to abandon any of his impedimenta) and inspan, it was necessary to meet the enemy in the open and take up a position between them and the carts. This of course somewhat exposed the little party; but Major Flinders was pretty well sure that his assailants belonged to a roving tribe—half Bosjesmans, half Korannas—more renowned for thievish propensities than for valour or warlike qualities; and he felt satisfied that if he and his friends received them boldly they would beat a hasty retreat. These dusky warriors were indeed but sorry specimens of their race; they were short, narrow-chested, and hippy, whilst their faces were of a very low type, with thick projecting lips, small depressed noses, and roguish shifting eyes. Their weapons consisted of rough, ill-made assegais, iron-wood clubs, or knobkerries, and small oval, hide-covered shields. However, seeing how small a force they had to contend with, and animated by the hope of plunder, the dingy troop advanced with more confidence and élan than might have been expected.
“Give them one barrel first,” said Major Flinders, bringing his rifle to the “present.” “Take a steady aim, and low. Now—fire!” The four rifles rang out nearly together, and three of the enemy rolled over and over, but their fall did not stop the rush of the others; on they came, bent on the destruction of the little band of white men.
“Fire again!” shouted the Major as he discharged his second barrel.
This time every bullet found its billet, and four Caffres bit the dust; whereupon their comrades pulled up, sent a few assegais whistling harmlessly through the air, and then went to the right-about and bolted. In the excitement of this, their first fight, Tom and George would have followed up the flying enemy had not the Major restrained them, saying:
“I have no wish to kill those poor benighted creatures save in self-defence. Go and help Patrick to inspan, and let us be off as quickly as possible.”
“They’re not gone yet!” exclaimed Mr Weston, seeing several woolly heads pop up amongst the shrubs and bushes to the left of the donga.
“No, indeed! And unless I’m greatly mistaken they intend to renew their attack,” rejoined his friend. “They’ve more pluck and determination than I thought for! Get the carts and mules under cover of the trees!”
Patrick Keown at once dragged the carts into the centre of the tope, whilst the boys and Black William drove in the mules and tethered them between the carts, forming a sort of laager, into which the Major and Mr Weston retired. They all took up their rifles and opened fire upon the advancing enemy, who showed no lack of courage, and sent their assegais hurtling amongst the trees in a style that would have done credit to Zulu warriors.
But they did not attempt to come to close quarters, their sole object being to carry off their dead and wounded, not to renew their attack on the white men, whose terrible rifles had already done to death so many of their company. Had they been able to explain their intentions they might have done this without let or hindrance; as it was, they lost three more of their number.
At last Black William divined what they were about, and begged his master to cease firing for a minute or two. The savages then rushed forward, caught up their unfortunate comrades, and bolted back in double-quick time.