الفصل الفصل 14 · THE LAST STAND OF THE GREYS

. THE LAST STAND OF THE GREYS

In a few more minutes the regiments destined to carry out the flanking

movements had tramped off in silence, keeping carefully to the lee of

the rising ground in order to conceal their advance from the keen eyes

of Twala’s scouts.

Half an hour or more was allowed to elapse between the setting out of

the horns or wings of the army before any stir was made by the Greys

and their supporting regiment, known as the Buffaloes, which formed its

chest, and were destined to bear the brunt of the battle.

Both of these regiments were almost perfectly fresh, and of full

strength, the Greys having been in reserve in the morning, and having

lost but a small number of men in sweeping back that part of the attack

which had proved successful in breaking the line of defence, on the

occasion when I charged with them and was stunned for my pains. As for

the Buffaloes, they had formed the third line of defence on the left,

and since the attacking force at that point had not succeeded in

breaking through the second, they had scarcely come into action at all.

Infadoos, who was a wary old general, and knew the absolute importance

of keeping up the spirits of his men on the eve of such a desperate

encounter, employed the pause in addressing his own regiment, the

Greys, in poetical language: explaining to them the honour that they

were receiving in being put thus in the forefront of the battle, and in

having the great white warrior from the Stars to fight with them in

their ranks; and promising large rewards of cattle and promotion to all

who survived in the event of Ignosi’s arms being successful.

I looked down the long lines of waving black plumes and stern faces

beneath them, and sighed to think that within one short hour most, if

not all, of those magnificent veteran warriors, not a man of whom was

under forty years of age, would be laid dead or dying in the dust. It

could not be otherwise; they were being condemned, with that wise

recklessness of human life which marks the great general, and often

saves his forces and attains his ends, to certain slaughter, in order

to give their cause and the remainder of the army a chance of success.

They were foredoomed to die, and they knew the truth. It was to be

their task to engage regiment after regiment of Twala’s army on the

narrow strip of green beneath us, till they were exterminated or till

the wings found a favourable opportunity for their onslaught. And yet

they never hesitated, nor could I detect a sign of fear upon the face

of a single warrior. There they were—going to certain death, about to

quit the blessed light of day for ever, and yet able to contemplate

their doom without a tremor. Even at that moment I could not help

contrasting their state of mind with my own, which was far from

comfortable, and breathing a sigh of envy and admiration. Never before

had I seen such an absolute devotion to the idea of duty, and such a

complete indifference to its bitter fruits.

“Behold your king!” ended old Infadoos, pointing to Ignosi; “go fight

and fall for him, as is the duty of brave men, and cursed and shameful

for ever be the name of him who shrinks from death for his king, or who

turns his back to the foe. Behold your king, chiefs, captains, and

soldiers! Now do your homage to the sacred Snake, and then follow on,

that Incubu and I may show you a road to the heart of Twala’s host.”

There was a moment’s pause, then suddenly a murmur arose from the

serried phalanxes before us, a sound like the distant whisper of the

sea, caused by the gentle tapping of the handles of six thousand spears

against their holders’ shields. Slowly it swelled, till its growing

volume deepened and widened into a roar of rolling noise, that echoed

like thunder against the mountains, and filled the air with heavy waves

of sound. Then it decreased, and by faint degrees died away into

nothing, and suddenly out crashed the royal salute.

Ignosi, I thought to myself, might well be a proud man that day, for no

Roman emperor ever had such a salutation from gladiators “about to

die.”

Ignosi acknowledged this magnificent act of homage by lifting his

battle-axe, and then the Greys filed off in a triple-line formation,

each line containing about one thousand fighting men, exclusive of

officers. When the last companies had advanced some five hundred yards,

Ignosi put himself at the head of the Buffaloes, which regiment was

drawn up in a similar three-fold formation, and gave the word to march,

and off we went, I, needless to say, uttering the most heartfelt

prayers that I might emerge from that entertainment with a whole skin.

Many a queer position have I found myself in, but never before in one

quite so unpleasant as the present, or one in which my chance of coming

off safe was smaller.

By the time that we reached the edge of the plateau the Greys were

already half-way down the slope ending in the tongue of grass land that

ran up into the bend of the mountain, something as the frog of a

horse’s foot runs up into the shoe. The excitement in Twala’s camp on

the plain beyond was very great, and regiment after regiment was

starting forward at a long swinging trot in order to reach the root of

the tongue of land before the attacking force could emerge into the

plain of Loo.

This tongue, which was some four hundred yards in depth, even at its

root or widest part was not more than six hundred and fifty paces

across, while at its tip it scarcely measured ninety. The Greys, who,

in passing down the side of the hill and on to the tip of the tongue,

had formed into a column, on reaching the spot where it broadened out

again, reassumed their triple-line formation, and halted dead.

Then we—that is, the Buffaloes—moved down the tip of the tongue and

took our stand in reserve, about one hundred yards behind the last line

of the Greys, and on slightly higher ground. Meanwhile we had leisure

to observe Twala’s entire force, which evidently had been reinforced

since the morning attack, and could not now, notwithstanding their

losses, number less than forty thousand, moving swiftly up towards us.

But as they drew near the root of the tongue they hesitated, having

discovered that only one regiment could advance into the gorge at a

time, and that there, some seventy yards from the mouth of it,

unassailable except in front, on account of the high walls of

boulder-strewn ground on each side, stood the famous regiment of Greys,

the pride and glory of the Kukuana army, ready to hold the way against

their power as the three Romans once held the bridge against thousands.

They hesitated, and finally stopped their advance; there was no

eagerness to cross spears with these three grim ranks of warriors who

stood so firm and ready. Presently, however, a tall general, wearing

the customary head-dress of nodding ostrich plumes, appeared, attended

by a group of chiefs and orderlies, being, I thought, none other than

Twala himself. He gave an order, and the first regiment, raising a

shout, charged up towards the Greys, who remained perfectly still and

silent till the attacking troops were within forty yards, and a volley

of _tollas_, or throwing-knives, came rattling among their ranks.

Then suddenly with a bound and a roar, they sprang forward with

uplifted spears, and the regiment met in deadly strife. Next second the

roll of the meeting shields came to our ears like the sound of thunder,

and the plain seemed to be alive with flashes of light reflected from

the shimmering spears. To and fro swung the surging mass of struggling,

stabbing humanity, but not for long. Suddenly the attacking lines began

to grow thinner, and then with a slow, long heave the Greys passed over

them, just as a great wave heaves up its bulk and passes over a sunken

ridge. It was done; that regiment was completely destroyed, but the

Greys had but two lines left now; a third of their number were dead.

Closing up shoulder to shoulder, once more they halted in silence and

awaited attack; and I was rejoiced to catch sight of Sir Henry’s yellow

beard as he moved to and fro arranging the ranks. So he was yet alive!

Meanwhile we moved on to the ground of the encounter, which was

cumbered by about four thousand prostrate human beings, dead, dying,

and wounded, and literally stained red with blood. Ignosi issued an

order, which was rapidly passed down the ranks, to the effect that none

of the enemy’s wounded were to be killed, and so far as we could see

this command was scrupulously carried out. It would have been a

shocking sight, if we had found time to think of such things.

But now a second regiment, distinguished by white plumes, kilts, and

shields, was moving to the attack of the two thousand remaining Greys,

who stood waiting in the same ominous silence as before, till the foe

was within forty yards or so, when they hurled themselves with

irresistible force upon them. Again there came the awful roll of the

meeting shields, and as we watched the tragedy repeated itself.

But this time the issue was left longer in doubt; indeed, it seemed for

awhile almost impossible that the Greys should again prevail. The

attacking regiment, which was formed of young men, fought with the

utmost fury, and at first seemed by sheer weight to be driving the

veterans back. The slaughter was truly awful, hundreds falling every

minute; and from among the shouts of the warriors and the groans of the

dying, set to the music of clashing spears, came a continuous hissing

undertone of “_S’gee, s’gee_,” the note of triumph of each victor as he

passed his assegai through and through the body of his fallen foe.

But perfect discipline and steady and unchanging valour can do wonders,

and one veteran soldier is worth two young ones, as soon became

apparent in the present case. For just when we thought that it was all

over with the Greys, and were preparing to take their place so soon as

they made room by being destroyed, I heard Sir Henry’s deep voice

ringing out through the din, and caught a glimpse of his circling

battle-axe as he waved it high above his plumes. Then came a change;

the Greys ceased to give; they stood still as a rock, against which the

furious waves of spearmen broke again and again, only to recoil.

Presently they began to move once more—forward this time; as they had

no firearms there was no smoke, so we could see it all. Another minute

and the onslaught grew fainter.

“Ah, these are _men_, indeed; they will conquer again,” called out

Ignosi, who was grinding his teeth with excitement at my side. “See, it

is done!”

Suddenly, like puffs of smoke from the mouth of a cannon, the attacking

regiment broke away in flying groups, their white head-dresses

streaming behind them in the wind, and left their opponents victors,

indeed, but, alas! no more a regiment. Of the gallant triple line,

which forty minutes before had gone into action three thousand strong,

there remained at most some six hundred blood-spattered men; the rest

were under foot. And yet they cheered and waved their spears in

triumph, and then, instead of falling back upon us as we expected, they

ran forward, for a hundred yards or so, after the flying groups of

foemen, took possession of a rising knoll of ground, and, resuming

their triple formation, formed a threefold ring around its base. And

there, thanks be to Heaven, standing on the top of the mound for a

minute, I saw Sir Henry, apparently unharmed, and with him our old

friend Infadoos. Then Twala’s regiments rolled down upon the doomed

band, and once more the battle closed in.

As those who read this history will probably long ago have gathered, I

am, to be honest, a bit of a coward, and certainly in no way given to

fighting, though somehow it has often been my lot to get into

unpleasant positions, and to be obliged to shed man’s blood. But I have

always hated it, and kept my own blood as undiminished in quantity as

possible, sometimes by a judicious use of my heels. At this moment,

however, for the first time in my life, I felt my bosom burn with

martial ardour. Warlike fragments from the “Ingoldsby Legends,”

together with numbers of sanguinary verses in the Old Testament, sprang

up in my brain like mushrooms in the dark; my blood, which hitherto had

been half-frozen with horror, went beating through my veins, and there

came upon me a savage desire to kill and spare not. I glanced round at

the serried ranks of warriors behind us, and somehow, all in an

instant, I began to wonder if my face looked like theirs. There they

stood, the hands twitching, the lips apart, the fierce features

instinct with the hungry lust of battle, and in the eyes a look like

the glare of a bloodhound when after long pursuit he sights his quarry.

Only Ignosi’s heart, to judge from his comparative self-possession,

seemed, to all appearances, to beat as calmly as ever beneath his

leopard-skin cloak, though even _he_ still ground his teeth. I could

bear it no longer.

“Are we to stand here till we put out roots, Umbopa—Ignosi, I

mean—while Twala swallows our brothers yonder?” I asked.

“Nay, Macumazahn,” was the answer; “see, now is the ripe moment: let us

pluck it.”

As he spoke a fresh regiment rushed past the ring upon the little

mound, and wheeling round, attacked it from the hither side.

Then, lifting his battle-axe, Ignosi gave the signal to advance, and,

screaming the wild Kukuana war-cry, the Buffaloes charged home with a

rush like the rush of the sea.

What followed immediately on this it is out of my power to tell. All I

can remember is an irregular yet ordered advance, that seemed to shake

the ground; a sudden change of front and forming up on the part of the

regiment against which the charge was directed; then an awful shock, a

dull roar of voices, and a continuous flashing of spears, seen through

a red mist of blood.

When my mind cleared I found myself standing inside the remnant of the

Greys near the top of the mound, and just behind no less a person than

Sir Henry himself. How I got there I had at the moment no idea, but Sir

Henry afterwards told me that I was borne up by the first furious

charge of the Buffaloes almost to his feet, and then left, as they in

turn were pressed back. Thereon he dashed out of the circle and dragged

me into shelter.

As for the fight that followed, who can describe it? Again and again

the multitudes surged against our momentarily lessening circle, and

again and again we beat them back.

“The stubborn spearmen still made good

The dark impenetrable wood,

Each stepping where his comrade stood

The instant that he fell,”

as someone or other beautifully says.

It was a splendid thing to see those brave battalions come on time

after time over the barriers of their dead, sometimes lifting corpses

before them to receive our spear-thrusts, only to leave their own

corpses to swell the rising piles. It was a gallant sight to see that

old warrior, Infadoos, as cool as though he were on parade, shouting

out orders, taunts, and even jests, to keep up the spirit of his few

remaining men, and then, as each charge rolled on, stepping forward to

wherever the fighting was thickest, to bear his share in its repulse.

And yet more gallant was the vision of Sir Henry, whose ostrich plumes

had been shorn off by a spear thrust, so that his long yellow hair

streamed out in the breeze behind him. There he stood, the great Dane,

for he was nothing else, his hands, his axe, and his armour all red

with blood, and none could live before his stroke. Time after time I

saw it sweeping down, as some great warrior ventured to give him

battle, and as he struck he shouted “_O-hoy! O-hoy!_” like his

Berserkir forefathers, and the blow went crashing through shield and

spear, through head-dress, hair, and skull, till at last none would of

their own will come near the great white “_umtagati_,” the wizard, who

killed and failed not.

But suddenly there rose a cry of “_Twala, y’ Twala_,” and out of the

press sprang forward none other than the gigantic one-eyed king

himself, also armed with battle-axe and shield, and clad in chain

armour.

“Where art thou, Incubu, thou white man, who slewest Scragga my son—see

if thou canst slay me!” he shouted, and at the same time hurled a

_tolla_ straight at Sir Henry, who fortunately saw it coming, and

caught it on his shield, which it transfixed, remaining wedged in the

iron plate behind the hide.

Then, with a cry, Twala sprang forward straight at him, and with his

battle-axe struck him such a blow upon the shield that the mere force

and shock of it brought Sir Henry, strong man as he is, down upon his

knees.

But at this time the matter went no further, for that instant there

rose from the regiments pressing round us something like a shout of

dismay, and on looking up I saw the cause.

To the right and to the left the plain was alive with the plumes of

charging warriors. The outflanking squadrons had come to our relief.

The time could not have been better chosen. All Twala’s army, as Ignosi

predicted would be the case, had fixed their attention on the bloody

struggle which was raging round the remnant of the Greys and that of

the Buffaloes, who were now carrying on a battle of their own at a

little distance, which two regiments had formed the chest of our army.

It was not until our horns were about to close upon them that they had

dreamed of their approach, for they believed these forces to be hidden

in reserve upon the crest of the moon-shaped hill. And now, before they

could even assume a proper formation for defence, the outflanking

_Impis_ had leapt, like greyhounds, on their flanks.

In five minutes the fate of the battle was decided. Taken on both

flanks, and dismayed at the awful slaughter inflicted upon them by the

Greys and Buffaloes, Twala’s regiments broke into flight, and soon the

whole plain between us and Loo was scattered with groups of running

soldiers making good their retreat. As for the hosts that had so

recently surrounded us and the Buffaloes, they melted away as though by

magic, and presently we were left standing there like a rock from which

the sea has retreated. But what a sight it was! Around us the dead and

dying lay in heaped-up masses, and of the gallant Greys there remained

but ninety-five men upon their feet. More than three thousand four

hundred had fallen in this one regiment, most of them never to rise

again.

“Men,” said Infadoos calmly, as between the intervals of binding a

wound on his arm he surveyed what remained to him of his corps, “ye

have kept up the reputation of your regiment, and this day’s fighting

will be well spoken of by your children’s children.” Then he turned

round and shook Sir Henry Curtis by the hand. “Thou art a great

captain, Incubu,” he said simply; “I have lived a long life among

warriors, and have known many a brave one, yet have I never seen a man

like unto thee.”

At this moment the Buffaloes began to march past our position on the

road to Loo, and as they went a message was brought to us from Ignosi

requesting Infadoos, Sir Henry, and myself to join them. Accordingly,

orders having been issued to the remaining ninety men of the Greys to

employ themselves in collecting the wounded, we joined Ignosi, who

informed us that he was pressing on to Loo to complete the victory by

capturing Twala, if that should be possible. Before we had gone far,

suddenly we discovered the figure of Good sitting on an ant-heap about

one hundred paces from us. Close beside him was the body of a Kukuana.

“He must be wounded,” said Sir Henry anxiously. As he made the remark,

an untoward thing happened. The dead body of the Kukuana soldier, or

rather what had appeared to be his dead body, suddenly sprang up,

knocked Good head over heels off the ant-heap, and began to spear him.

We rushed forward in terror, and as we drew near we saw the brawny

warrior making dig after dig at the prostrate Good, who at each prod

jerked all his limbs into the air. Seeing us coming, the Kukuana gave

one final and most vicious dig, and with a shout of “Take that,

wizard!” bolted away. Good did not move, and we concluded that our poor

comrade was done for. Sadly we came towards him, and were astonished to

find him pale and faint indeed, but with a serene smile upon his face,

and his eyeglass still fixed in his eye.

“Capital armour this,” he murmured, on catching sight of our faces

bending over him. “How sold that beggar must have been,” and then he

fainted. On examination we discovered that he had been seriously

wounded in the leg by a _tolla_ in the course of the pursuit, but that

the chain armour had prevented his last assailant’s spear from doing

anything more than bruise him badly. It was a merciful escape. As

nothing could be done for him at the moment, he was placed on one of

the wicker shields used for the wounded, and carried along with us.

On arriving before the nearest gate of Loo we found one of our

regiments watching it in obedience to orders received from Ignosi. The

other regiments were in the same way guarding the different exits to

the town. The officer in command of this regiment saluted Ignosi as

king, and informed him that Twala’s army had taken refuge in the town,

whither Twala himself had also escaped, but he thought that they were

thoroughly demoralised, and would surrender. Thereupon Ignosi, after

taking counsel with us, sent forward heralds to each gate ordering the

defenders to open, and promising on his royal word life and forgiveness

to every soldier who laid down his arms, but saying that if they did

not do so before nightfall he would certainly burn the town and all

within its gates. This message was not without its effect. Half an hour

later, amid the shouts and cheers of the Buffaloes, the bridge was

dropped across the fosse, and the gates upon the further side were

flung open.

Taking due precautions against treachery, we marched on into the town.

All along the roadways stood thousands of dejected warriors, their

heads drooping, and their shields and spears at their feet, who, headed

by their officers, saluted Ignosi as king as he passed. On we marched,

straight to Twala’s kraal. When we reached the great space, where a day

or two previously we had seen the review and the witch hunt, we found

it deserted. No, not quite deserted, for there, on the further side, in

front of his hut, sat Twala himself, with but one attendant—Gagool.

It was a melancholy sight to see him seated, his battle-axe and shield

by his side, his chin upon his mailed breast, with but one old crone

for companion, and notwithstanding his crimes and misdeeds, a pang of

compassion shot through me as I looked upon Twala thus “fallen from his

high estate.” Not a soldier of all his armies, not a courtier out of

the hundreds who had cringed round him, not even a solitary wife,

remained to share his fate or halve the bitterness of his fall. Poor

savage! he was learning the lesson which Fate teaches to most of us who

live long enough, that the eyes of mankind are blind to the

discredited, and that he who is defenceless and fallen finds few

friends and little mercy. Nor, indeed, in this case did he deserve any.

Filing through the kraal gate, we marched across the open space to

where the ex-king sat. When within about fifty yards of him the

regiment was halted, and accompanied only by a small guard we advanced

towards him, Gagool reviling us bitterly as we came. As we drew near,

Twala, for the first time, lifted his plumed head, and fixed his one

eye, which seemed to flash with suppressed fury almost as brightly as

the great diamond bound round his forehead, upon his successful

rival—Ignosi.

“Hail, O king!” he said, with bitter mockery; “thou who hast eaten of

my bread, and now by the aid of the white man’s magic hast seduced my

regiments and defeated mine army, hail! What fate hast thou in store

for me, O king?”

“The fate thou gavest to my father, whose throne thou hast sat on these

many years!” was the stern answer.

“It is good. I will show thee how to die, that thou mayest remember it

against thine own time. See, the sun sinks in blood,” and he pointed

with his battle-axe towards the setting orb; “it is well that my sun

should go down in its company. And now, O king! I am ready to die, but

I crave the boon of the Kukuana royal House[9] to die fighting. Thou

canst not refuse it, or even those cowards who fled to-day will hold

thee shamed.”

[9] It is a law amongst the Kukuanas that no man of the direct royal

blood can be put to death, unless by his own consent, which is,

however, never refused. He is allowed to choose a succession of

antagonists, to be approved by the king, with whom he fights, till one

of them kills him.—A.Q.

“It is granted. Choose—with whom wilt thou fight? Myself I cannot fight

with thee, for the king fights not except in war.”

Twala’s sombre eye ran up and down our ranks, and I felt, as for a

moment it rested on myself, that the position had developed a new

horror. What if he chose to begin by fighting _me_? What chance should

I have against a desperate savage six feet five high, and broad in

proportion? I might as well commit suicide at once. Hastily I made up

my mind to decline the combat, even if I were hooted out of Kukuanaland

as a consequence. It is, I think, better to be hooted than to be

quartered with a battle-axe.

Presently Twala spoke.

“Incubu, what sayest thou, shall we end what we began to-day, or shall

I call thee coward, white—even to the liver?”

“Nay,” interposed Ignosi hastily; “thou shalt not fight with Incubu.”

“Not if he is afraid,” said Twala.

Unfortunately Sir Henry understood this remark, and the blood flamed up

into his cheeks.

“I will fight him,” he said; “he shall see if I am afraid.”

“For Heaven’s sake,” I entreated, “don’t risk your life against that of

a desperate man. Anybody who saw you to-day will know that you are

brave enough.”

“I will fight him,” was the sullen answer. “No living man shall call me

a coward. I am ready now!” and he stepped forward and lifted his axe.

I wrung my hands over this absurd piece of Quixotism; but if he was

determined on this deed, of course I could not stop him.

“Fight not, my white brother,” said Ignosi, laying his hand

affectionately on Sir Henry’s arm; “thou hast fought enough, and if

aught befell thee at his hands it would cut my heart in twain.”

“I will fight, Ignosi,” was Sir Henry’s answer.

“It is well, Incubu; thou art a brave man. It will be a good fray.

Behold, Twala, the Elephant is ready for thee.”

The ex-king laughed savagely, and stepping forward faced Curtis. For a

moment they stood thus, and the light of the sinking sun caught their

stalwart frames and clothed them both in fire. They were a well-matched

pair.

Then they began to circle round each other, their battle-axes raised.

Suddenly Sir Henry sprang forward and struck a fearful blow at Twala,

who stepped to one side. So heavy was the stroke that the striker half

overbalanced himself, a circumstance of which his antagonist took a

prompt advantage. Circling his massive battle-axe round his head, he

brought it down with tremendous force. My heart jumped into my mouth; I

thought that the affair was already finished. But no; with a quick

upward movement of the left arm Sir Henry interposed his shield between

himself and the axe, with the result that its outer edge was shorn

away, the axe falling on his left shoulder, but not heavily enough to

do any serious damage. In another moment Sir Henry got in a second

blow, which was also received by Twala upon his shield.

Then followed blow upon blow, that were, in turn, either received upon

the shields or avoided. The excitement grew intense; the regiment which

was watching the encounter forgot its discipline, and, drawing near,

shouted and groaned at every stroke. Just at this time, too, Good, who

had been laid upon the ground by me, recovered from his faint, and,

sitting up, perceived what was going on. In an instant he was up, and

catching hold of my arm, hopped about from place to place on one leg,

dragging me after him, and yelling encouragements to Sir Henry—

“Go it, old fellow!” he hallooed. “That was a good one! Give it him

amidships,” and so on.

Presently Sir Henry, having caught a fresh stroke upon his shield, hit

out with all his force. The blow cut through Twala’s shield and through

the tough chain armour behind it, gashing him in the shoulder. With a

yell of pain and fury Twala returned the blow with interest, and, such

was his strength, shore right through the rhinoceros’ horn handle of

his antagonists battle-axe, strengthened as it was with bands of steel,

wounding Curtis in the face.

A cry of dismay rose from the Buffaloes as our hero’s broad axe-head

fell to the ground; and Twala, again raising his weapon, flew at him

with a shout. I shut my eyes. When I opened them again it was to see

Sir Henry’s shield lying on the ground, and Sir Henry himself with his

great arms twined round Twala’s middle. To and fro they swung, hugging

each other like bears, straining with all their mighty muscles for dear

life, and dearer honour. With a supreme effort Twala swung the

Englishman clean off his feet, and down they came together, rolling

over and over on the lime paving, Twala striking out at Curtis’ head

with the battle-axe, and Sir Henry trying to drive the _tolla_ he had

drawn from his belt through Twala’s armour.

It was a mighty struggle, and an awful thing to see.

“Get his axe!” yelled Good; and perhaps our champion heard him.

At any rate, dropping the _tolla_, he snatched at the axe, which was

fastened to Twala’s wrist by a strip of buffalo hide, and still rolling

over and over, they fought for it like wild cats, drawing their breath

in heavy gasps. Suddenly the hide string burst, and then, with a great

effort, Sir Henry freed himself, the weapon remaining in his hand.

Another second and he was upon his feet, the red blood streaming from

the wound in his face, and so was Twala. Drawing the heavy _tolla_ from

his belt, he reeled straight at Curtis and struck him in the breast.

The stab came home true and strong, but whoever it was who made that

chain armour, he understood his art, for it withstood the steel. Again

Twala struck out with a savage yell, and again the sharp knife

rebounded, and Sir Henry went staggering back. Once more Twala came on,

and as he came our great Englishman gathered himself together, and

swinging the big axe round his head with both hands, hit at him with

all his force.

There was a shriek of excitement from a thousand throats, and, behold!

Twala’s head seemed to spring from his shoulders: then it fell and came

rolling and bounding along the ground towards Ignosi, stopping just at

his feet. For a second the corpse stood upright; then with a dull crash

it came to the earth, and the gold torque from its neck rolled away

across the pavement. As it did so Sir Henry, overpowered by faintness

and loss of blood, fell heavily across the body of the dead king.

In a second he was lifted up, and eager hands were pouring water on his

face. Another minute, and the grey eyes opened wide.

He was not dead.

Then I, just as the sun sank, stepping to where Twala’s head lay in the

dust, unloosed the diamond from the dead brows, and handed it to

Ignosi.

“Take it,” I said, “lawful king of the Kukuanas—king by birth and

victory.”

Ignosi bound the diadem upon his brows. Then advancing, he placed his

foot upon the broad chest of his headless foe and broke out into a

chant, or rather a pæan of triumph, so beautiful, and yet so utterly

savage, that I despair of being able to give an adequate version of his

words. Once I heard a scholar with a fine voice read aloud from the

Greek poet Homer, and I remember that the sound of the rolling lines

seemed to make my blood stand still. Ignosi’s chant, uttered as it was

in a language as beautiful and sonorous as the old Greek, produced

exactly the same effect on me, although I was exhausted with toil and

many emotions.

“Now,” he began, “now our rebellion is swallowed up in victory, and our

evil-doing is justified by strength.

“In the morning the oppressors arose and stretched themselves; they

bound on their harness and made them ready to war.

“They rose up and tossed their spears: the soldiers called to the

captains, ‘Come, lead us’—and the captains cried to the king, ‘Direct

thou the battle.’

“They laughed in their pride, twenty thousand men, and yet a twenty

thousand.

“Their plumes covered the valleys as the plumes of a bird cover her

nest; they shook their shields and shouted, yea, they shook their

shields in the sunlight; they lusted for battle and were glad.

“They came up against me; their strong ones ran swiftly to slay me;

they cried, ‘Ha! ha! he is as one already dead.’

“Then breathed I on them, and my breath was as the breath of a wind,

and lo! they were not.

“My lightnings pierced them; I licked up their strength with the

lightning of my spears; I shook them to the ground with the thunder of

my shoutings.

“They broke—they scattered—they were gone as the mists of the morning.

“They are food for the kites and the foxes, and the place of battle is

fat with their blood.

“Where are the mighty ones who rose up in the morning?

“Where are the proud ones who tossed their spears and cried, ‘He is as

a man already dead’?

“They bow their heads, but not in sleep; they are stretched out, but

not in sleep.

“They are forgotten; they have gone into the blackness; they dwell in

the dead moons; yea, others shall lead away their wives, and their

children shall remember them no more.

“And I—! the king—like an eagle I have found my eyrie.

“Behold! far have I flown in the night season, yet have I returned to

my young at the daybreak.

“Shelter ye under the shadow of my wings, O people, and I will comfort

you, and ye shall not be dismayed.

“Now is the good time, the time of spoil.

“Mine are the cattle on the mountains, mine are the virgins in the

kraals.

“The winter is overpast with storms, the summer is come with flowers.

“Now Evil shall cover up her face, now Mercy and Gladness shall dwell

in the land.

“Rejoice, rejoice, my people!

“Let all the stars rejoice in that this tyranny is trodden down, in

that I am the king.”

Ignosi ceased his song, and out of the gathering gloom came back the

deep reply—

“_Thou art the king!_”

Thus was my prophecy to the herald fulfilled, and within the

forty-eight hours Twala’s headless corpse was stiffening at Twala’s

gate.