“Our only difficulty,” said he, in conclusion, “will be to hold the plateau long enough to let Amaxosa execute his part of my scheme perfectly; but I could not spare him before, and he will make all the haste he can—so we must do our best.”
The men kept watch by turns until dawn, and then both slept whilst Dora kept guard for a couple of hours; and after all had breakfasted, the Mormons were seen approaching in a compact mass, which, as Grenville estimated, must contain the whole nation; and at this he, to his cousin’s surprise, expressed his satisfaction.
Our friend now descended to artifice, blackening his face and hands with burnt wood, in order to pass at a distance for one of the Zulus, as he had no wish at present to reveal his own dreaded identity to the enemy.
As soon as the masses got within a thousand yards, the repeaters opened fire, killing the Mormons at a longer range than they had ever before been treated to; still, however, the advance was steadily persevered in, and Grenville soon saw at least five hundred Mormons established within three hundred yards of his position, and almost entirely protected from his fire by immense rubber half-houses on wheels, which gradually, though continually, approached nearer and nearer to the rock. Watching these carefully, it soon appeared that the game was to get the shelter close up to the plateau and then charge up the path in an irresistible stream. The plan was well devised, but the thorn-bushes of Amaxosa ruined it, and the twenty picked Mormons who tried the first rush perished miserably to a man.
The shooting of the besieged was beautifully accurate, for, in no fear of their fire being returned, they were able to expose their persons at will, and aim with murderous precision.
Now, however, two houses were planted at one time, and as two men, even with Winchesters and posted behind a zareba, are rather short odds to cope with forty, Grenville washed his face, got ready a shell, and, as the Mormons charged, coolly stepped up to the very verge of the rock, and threw the lighted bomb amongst them. None who heard the awful yell of terror which went up from these miserable and superstitious men could ever forget it, and the whole Mormon army echoed the name of Grenville in a shout which almost drowned the thundering and deadly explosion of the first shell. For such decidedly amateur handiwork, the missile acted very well indeed and between its results and the Winchesters, which Dora and Leigh plied unceasingly, not half a dozen men survived the second charge.
A lull followed, but at three o’clock in the afternoon the foe again moved up, and fought with increased vigour and renewed cunning. A dashing charge carried three men out of ten up to the first line of thorn-bushes, into which they each slipped a lighted torch; and though all were instantly picked off by the rifles, their work was done, for in less than ten minutes the bushes were destroyed by fire, and an attempt to destroy the second line in the same way followed, but failed ignominiously, owing to the magnificent shooting of the beleaguered party.
Cunning, nevertheless, matched science, and by putting on rushes of thirty, forty, and even fifty men, the three lines of bushes were destroyed, the last charge alone costing the foe forty men, of whom more than a half were destroyed by one of Grenville’s bombs. Now, however, there was but the last line of bush which fringed the plateau, and with a terrific shout a full hundred Mormons rushed up the path and made for this, whilst the defenders rained shot and shell upon them. Still, what could two men and one woman do? Nearly forty men fell, but the bushes blazed; and now the whole Mormon army drew together at the foot of the slope, prepared to charge the moment the fire died out.
The cousins shook hands, and Grenville once again casting a longing glance down the valley, and at the now sinking sun, set his teeth, and prepared to die hard.
See, they come! Now to it, good rifles. Handsomely done, Leigh; shell after shell, brave Grenville. Ha! there goes Warden with a bullet through his brain. Well aimed, Dora Winfield! That shot has settled many an old score of thy dear father’s.