Then for the space of six or seven minutes there ensued a regular mêlée; the troopers, urging forward their half-maddened steeds, wielded their sabres right manfully, and slashed and thrust at their opponents, who in their turn offered a stubborn resistance, striving to drag the soldiers from their saddles, and stabbing furiously at the horses’ bellies as they were ridden down; until at length the escort cut their way right through “the black shining wall of human flesh,” and rode onwards at a swinging canter.
Tom Flinders—who had borne himself in the mêlée as gallantly as any veteran sabreur—was one of the last to get clear through; and he was racing to catch up his comrades when he heard a voice shout out: “Tom! Tom Flinders! for Heaven’s sake don’t leave me!” He at once turned in his saddle, and to his horror saw Frank Jamieson standing across the body of his gallant “mooi paard,” (grey horse) and defending himself against half a dozen Caffres, who were attacking him with their assegais.
Wheeling his horse round like lightning, Tom galloped to the rescue of his friend, and swooping down upon the group rode clean over two of the Caffres, knocking them right and left like nine-pins. A third—a herculean warrior, whose leopard-skin kaross bespoke the chief—sprang at his horse’s head and clung to the bridle; but the brave lad, rising in his stirrups, threw all his strength into one downward cut, and the big chief, cloven clean through the brain-pan, fell beneath the horse’s feet.
“Well done, young Flinders!” cried a cheery voice—“well done, my boy!” And the next moment Lieutenant S— dashed up and put to flight the other Caffres, just as they were on the point of assegaiing Frank Jamieson, whose sword had broken short off at the hilt, leaving him entirely at the mercy of his assailants.
“Jump up behind me, Jamieson,” Mr S— said as the Caffres made off, “and let us get out of this before those savages come on again. I’ve had enough fighting for one day! Now, Flinders, ride for your very life!”
And Frank, being safely mounted en croupe, they rode at full speed after their comrades, who, not perceiving their absence, had galloped on and were now nearly a quarter of a mile ahead. Fortunately, however, the Caffres did not follow in pursuit; so they rejoined their friends without further misadventure.
An hour later the escort arrived safely at Burns Hill...
When the staff-officer delivered his despatch to the camp commandant he learned, to his astonishment, that the troops left behind at Burns Hill had been hotly engaged with the enemy, who early in the day had attacked the camp, and, though finally repulsed with heavy loss, had succeeded in carrying off a number of draught cattle.
In the hope of recapturing these cattle, a troop of the 7th Dragoon Guards under Captain Bambric (a fine old officer who had fought at the battle of Waterloo), and a strong party of the Cape Mounted Riflemen under Lieutenant Boyes, had followed the daring Caffres into the bush, but, being attacked at a disadvantage by a vastly superior force, they had been compelled to retire, leaving their veteran leader mort sur le champ de bataille.