Kitabı oku: «The White Shield», sayfa 14
“I think, on such a day, thy place is among these, rather than acting as induna to a king of peace, Ngubazana,” I said, somewhat mockingly.
“Whau! You are my father, Untúswa!” cried the Gaza, in a quick, eager, suppressed voice, as though fearful of being overheard by some one. “Give me a shield – give me a broad spear, that I may join them.”
A great shout of laughter, of delight, broke from the warriors; and, at a sign from me, some ran to the shield-house, so that in a moment Ngubazana was fully armed.
“Thy follower is going to help us against Dingane, father,” I cried aloud to the white isanusi, who had just appeared. “Whau! This is no time for thoughts of peace, but for deeds of war!”
“Yeh-bo! Yeh-bo!” chorused the regiment.
“Well, let him go,” said the white priest, quite tranquilly, noting his follower’s hesitation. “Go, now, Ngubazana, and fight like a brave soldier for the King who has sheltered and favoured us. Yet, shed no more blood than is necessary, and slay none when already defenceless. Show mercy, and spare. So, take my blessing with thee.”
Now the first words filled all with great delight, but for the last, au! We, who when we “see red” spare nothing that has life, how should such words commend themselves to us? But we remembered that this was a man whose business was peace.
So Ngubazana bent before the white isanusi, who blessed him with one of his strange signs. Then he leaped with joy into the ranks of The Scorpions, clutching his weapons, and humming to himself the war-song.
Chapter Twenty Four.
The Song of the Shield
The regiments, organised and armed, and decorated for war, filed through the great entrance of the kraal Kwa’zingwenya, and formed up in a vast half-circle upon the plain outside, whither the King had already proceeded, and the Bayéte was roared forth in tremendous volume as the Great Great One stalked majestically into the open formation thus left. His words were few:
“Warriors,” he said, “yonder is a nation’s death or a nation’s life.” Then he gave the signal for the war-dance to begin.
This was short, for we had no time to spare for ornamental ceremonies. When the dance and the song were at their height, they ceased suddenly, and there was dead silence.
Umzilikazi was standing in the midst, clad in his full war costume of white flowing hair and leopard-skin and beadwork, his head crowned with nodding ostrich plumes of black and white. In his left hand he held his lion-skin shield, tufted with the tail of the beast, and a light casting spear.
Now, as we waited, breathless, he took the little assegai in his right hand, and, poising it for a moment with a quivering motion, he hurled it from him – hurled it fast and far – in the direction of the Pass of the Inkume, in the direction of Dingane’s impi, and, as it fell to earth, he pronounced in a loud voice —
“Go, children of Matyobane!”
A great and mighty shout rent the air, and, falling into marching rank, my own company of The Scorpions leading, our impi set forth. In strength we numbered about seven thousand, of whom between two or three thousand were those who had been enrolled from among conquered peoples, and, of course, not equal to those of pure Zulu blood. The strength of Mhlangana’s impi I could only guess, but estimated it to be about ten thousand strong. Wherefore, you see, Nkose, our chances were not great, and depended almost entirely upon our being able to strike the enemy unexpectedly, and roll up his battle rank in the panic of surprise.
While these preparations were going forward, the white isanusi, sad and troubled at heart, in the course of his wanderings ran against Lalusini, who gave him greeting.
“Will your múti avail to bring victory to yon host, my father?” she said, with her sweet smile.
“I know not. If it is the will of the Great Great One who sent me, I have no fear,” he answered.
“Is your power, then, so doubtful, O maker of strange ceremonies?” she went on.
“I pretend to no magic; on the contrary, I reprobate such,” said the white priest, shaking his head, for he distrusted and disliked the beautiful sorceress. “It is not given to us to pry into the future, which is in the sight of One alone.”
“Why, then is my múti greater than yours, white stranger,” she replied. “For I can look into the future, and I foresee that this nation shall win the battle. Yea, I know this.”
“I hope it may be so, Lalusini,” said the white man, still sadly. But the other women who stood by, hearing this presage, cried aloud in astonishment and delight, repeating Lalusini’s words again and again, till they had turned them into something of a song.
As we marched forth thus to war the sky was by degrees blackening up for rain, and a deep, distant roll of thunder was heard from time to time creeping over the ridge of the world. The old women, whose furrowed faces and ragged top-knots stuck over the kraal palisades as they watched us deploy into rank, were dumb and shaking with apathy and fear, for in them still lived an ingrained terror of the might of Tshaka, whereas we young people had almost forgotten it, and with us it was a mere tradition. Of young women and girls there seemed to be none in the kraal, or if there were they were keeping in hiding. And though my thoughts now were all of war, I could not refrain from looking backward to try and obtain a glimpse of Lalusini. But in vain.
Not backward should I have looked, however, but forward; for now, as we turned the corner of a hill, a sound as of singing was heard in front. Whau! There on a little rise stood Lalusini herself. She was arrayed in her beautiful beaded dress, and wore her heavy golden ornaments. Behind her came a great number of girls, all carrying green boughs in their hands and singing songs of war and of victory, as was their wont to hearten us when we set out upon any expedition of weight and importance.
As we came near, Lalusini drew a little apart from the rest, and standing thus upon the summit of the rise, in full view of the whole army, her proudly-reared head and splendid form thrown out by the livid thundercloud behind the hill, she lifted up her voice and sang, this time not in the dark tongue of the Bakoni, but in pure Zulu. And the wild sweetness of her voice was of the sort which renders warriors mad.
“A song of the Shield,
In the battle’s ring!
A droop of the Shield
Guards the life of a King.
“Proud tuft, proud hide,
Which the White Bull gave!
Now the White Bull’s pride
Shall a nation save.
“Burnt kraal, stamped field —
Thick the vultures soar,
And laugh o’er the Shield
In the van of war.
“Rolls the battle song
On the war-wave’s crest,
Bringing might to the strong,
To the weak ones – rest.
“Great is small,
Little is great.
Who may fall
In the coming Fate.
“Who may fear
On the death-soaked field?
None who hear
The Song of The Shield!”
Now the last words were taken up by her band of attendant girls, but the voices of these were soon lost in the great rolling volume of the warriors’ chorus, which was caught up and tossed along the ranks as the roaring of a mighty ocean —
“Who may fear
On the death-soaked field?
None who hear
The Song of The Shield.”
As they marched past, a quick, keen flash darted down from heaven immediately upon the singer, whom all men thought was stricken – yet not; for in the sudden silence that followed, and the muttering rumble of the thunder-tone, she still stood – that splendid daughter of a race of kings – her eyes still turned skyward, her form outlined in its beautiful curves against the livid blue of the storm-cloud.
After this we marched in silence, no more singing or noise of any kind being allowed. But as we held on swiftly through the night, this great array of armed men, like a destroying flight of locusts in its straight, fell course, the echo of that wonderful song was still in every ear, its burden in every heart; and it seemed to each warrior that he had the strength of ten; for the Song of the Shield was surely the song of victory.
To us came from time to time runners, bearing tidings from Mgwali. No move forward had been made by the impi from Zululand, yet now and again, far below upon the plain, our outpost, which had taken the place of that of Mhlangana, could discern a point of white, which was the swift signal of those who had been posted at intervals to watch, and pass along word to Dingane’s leaders.
“Whau! We will give them a brave good-morning, Untúswa,” said the King, as, having gained our position along the ridges of Inkume, shortly after midnight, the Great Great One and I had crept carefully up to Mgwali’s outlook. “See, now, I desire not to hurry the battle, yet the sun will not be very high before we shall whisper them to come on. Thy strategy has been good, Untúswa, yet perchance they will remember the pass in the Kwahlamba and fear to enter this. Ah! would that we could roll down the mountain itself upon them here as there. It would save us many men.”
This we could not do, for the straight cliffs shooting up from, the defile were smooth and firm. No loose rocks were here, hardly a few small stones, so firm were the iron crests of the mountain.
Now I had endeavoured to dissuade the King from accompanying us, pointing out that in the event of our destruction he could, on receiving tidings thereof, safely fall back upon Kalipe’s impi and thus retreat, building up the nation afresh. But my words were laughed at.
“What, Untúswa? Shall I show my back to an enemy because he is strong?” had said Umzilikazi. “Have the horns of the Bull been cut off that he can no longer gore? Whau! thou art brave, son of Ntelani – braver there is none – but young. The generalship that rolled back the impi of Tshaka shall roll back that of Dingane, or —Whau! I would rather die with a great nation than live to reign over a small one.”
Thus spake Umzilikazi, and I think, Nkose, he knew that the life of our nation was an uncertain thing that day, for he took in all the lay of the ground, every stone, every rock, every place or point that could offer us the smallest advantage, with the eye of the great leader he was. Yet with my generalship he interfered not one jot, thoroughly approving it.
Beneath us lay the entrance to the pass, where I had beheld the huge ghost-animal squatted howling, and this widened out into a broad hollow, opening on the outer side, as it were, through great gates between slanting ridges or spurs, rocky and steep; and on the nearer side of these ridges ran up the two great rifts: one on the right hand, the other on the left.
Our force was divided into three. Under cover of the darkness, as the moon sank low, we disposed companies of warriors in each of these side rifts, while, some little way back, within the pass, and where the rocks narrowed, so that but a few men could hold it against an army, were posted picked fighters, including a section of my regiment, The Scorpions. These were to hold the passage against the invaders, while we, swooping down upon them from either side, would have them in a trap.
The party within the pass was under one Gasibona, a brother of that Gungana who had held the command which was now mine, and a brave and skilful fighter. The bulk of The Scorpions were under the second chief, Xulawayo, for the King had ordered me to remain with him during the earlier part of the battle.
“The white shield will be needed later, son of Ntelani,” he said. And I understood.
The sun rose in a ball of flame, and the world grew light. Faraway over the plain beneath us we could see the dewdrops sparkling on the grass and in the bush sprays; but there was no game in sight, not even a small buck. It had fled from the disturbing presence of the Zulu host. Fair and bright now seemed this place, which seen by night was awesome and ghostly. Time went by. Our warriors, rank upon rank, squatted behind their shields eager for the moment, for here, indeed, was an enemy worthy of our strength. No miserable Bapedi or skulking Barutsi these, but men of our own blood, the disciplined troops of mighty Zulu-land.
Now the word was given to show the signal. Three times it waved – the white blanket – and, immediately after, we beheld a white spot showing far away on the plain beneath; then another beyond this. The word was being passed along the line of sentinels that the impi might now advance in safety.
The King, with Mcumbete and two or three more of the izinduna, lay hidden among the crags at the highest point overlooking the pass, hence he might direct our operations by signal, which we then and there arranged. My plan was simple – namely, to draw the host of Mhlangana into the hollow formed by the Place of the Three Rifts, and, at the moment they were about to enter the pass, to fall upon them flank and rear. By this means I hoped to strike terror and confusion among them, so completely would they be taken by surprise. I reckoned that we should slay a great number in the first moments of panic, and, by reducing the odds against us, could, without difficulty, defeat them with enormous slaughter. Au but I reckoned without the generalship of Silwane.
“They come, Great Great One,” I whispered.
Now we could see the sheen of spears, as the impi, looking like an immense mass of black ants, appeared in the far distance. We watched it draw near, and it seemed that our victory was assured. It was advancing in loose order, having no fear or thought of surprise, as indeed why should it have, seeing that its own outpost had signalled the road clear? Ah, they little knew, those warriors of Dingane, that ours was the outpost – ours the signal – luring them to destruction and defeat.
“By the head-ring of my father, but yonder are splendid soldiers!” said the King as we watched the impi draw near. “Yet had we but Kalipe’s force not one of them should be left alive to return and tell Dingane of the strength or weakness of the Amandebeli. Say now, Untúswa. Which is Mhlangana?”
“I see him not, Black Elephant. Perhaps he lingers in rear of the march, fearing no attack.”
“Ha! It may be so. Go now, son of Ntelani, for the hunting dogs of Dingane draw very near. They shall soon feel the horns of the Bull.”
As I started off to join my division, which was halted in the great rift beneath, which ran up from the hollow on the left of the King as he faced it, I could see that the impi was still quite unsuspicious. I saw, too, that in numbers it was slightly inferior to ourselves; but then, against that, our force comprised about two regiments of enrolled slaves, who could not altogether be depended upon, even to save themselves from the assegai. Excepting the few warriors left to guard the pass, our entire force was massed in these two rifts, half in each, and we lay facing each other, awaiting the signal of the King.
But the strategy of Silwane baffled us. Instead of approaching in the same loose and open order to thread the defile, he sent forward an advance guard of about four hundred men.
They passed our hiding-place, for we lay securely concealed. But when they came opposite the mouth of the other rift, they somehow discovered the presence of warriors – armed and lurking. Then Xulawayo, who was in command on that side, ordered a charge, hoping to fall on these men and slay them before they could convey the alarm to the rest. It was a vain thought, however, for these soldiers of Dingane, so far from giving way, raised their war-cry, and stood awaiting the attack.
Further concealment was useless. The whole impi came pouring into the hollow, fearless, but widely alert.
Kept well in hand by their sub-chiefs, they fought splendidly at first. Directly they came in touch with our lines they charged, and charged straight. Whau! We had not reckoned upon this, and soon our regiments of slaves gave way and began to flee, throwing us back in confusion.
Ha! Then followed a wild din. The hollow was a mass of broad shields and fighting forms, surging wildly hither and thither, and the rocks rang with the clash of wood and hard hide; the thunder of the war-shout, the wild death-yell, and the choking groans of the wounded, smitten unto death. Ha! we “saw red”; our one thought was – blood – blood – ah! and it flowed – yes, it flowed! Hau! that fight was short and sharp. Nearly half our strength lay slain or sorely wounded, and the men of Dingane had lost nearly as many. Yet we had been stamped flat that day but for a rumour that spread among our enemies that a large force was advancing to cut them off on their rear. That saved us. They began to retreat, yet not hurriedly and in rout, but facing us and fighting their way. We, for our part, made no pursuit —au! we were glad to let them go – and after making a show of pursuit we retreated, battered, wearied, and utterly disheartened, to the heights above the rift, where we had lain concealed at first. Some there were among us who declared we ought to rejoice, for that, great as had been our losses, still we had beaten back the might of Dingane, who in future would leave us in peace. But I knew better than that, wherefore I would not withdraw the remnant of our forces from that position, but watched and waited.
Now when the retreat began, Ngubazana the Gaza, deeming it a rout, had called a number of young warriors of The Scorpions to follow him, and this band of hotheads had plunged into the thickest of the Zulu ranks. But these turned. Whau! That was no rout, and in a moment there was not one of those young fools left standing. But Ngubazana, who was much older and should have known better, was the last to fall, and he fell fighting, for quite a ring of Silwane’s people went down before his spear. At last they threw a heavy knobstick at him, which felled him, so that he dropped upon the slain which he had heaped up there, and they made an end of him.
Thus he died the death of a warrior, fighting bravely to the last; and it was a strange death for one who had left his country to become the follower and servant of a teacher of peace.
Chapter Twenty Five.
The Battle of the Three Rifts
With gloom around our hearts, and mightily discouraged, we lay and rested, and soon there came down to us a runner from Mgwali’s outpost to tell that an immense impi was advancing from the direction in which the defeated and retreating Zulu force was last seen, and then we knew, if we had not known before, that, as we rested there with our shattered and broken remnant, it was but for a breathing space before renewing a most desperate conflict which could have but one ending. Beneath, the hollow was heaped up with corpses – the hillsides, too. There they lay, the fiercest, bravest of our warriors, and of those of Dingane, likewise of ours the poorest; for our regiments of incorporated slaves could not stand before the stern might of Zulu, but were swept away like sheep, lying as they had fallen, in a fleeing attitude. Disheartened, dispirited now, we waited for the end. Even Kalipe’s impi, did it arrive, could hardly avail to turn the fortune of war now; yet we were resolved, determined as ever, that if a new nation were to die that day it should die hard.
While we lay thus thinking there came about a strange thing. Over the heavens a lurid cloud had been spreading, and it might have been this which had brought the matter back to men’s recollection. For in the air there thrilled the notes of that sweet, strange song – the Song of the Shield. Did it spring out of the very heavens? None could tell. All gazed eagerly up, for all heard it. Those who were weary and resting sprang to their feet, filled with fresh life. Those who were binding up wounds let that be, and, staring around, uttered ejaculations of awe and surprise. It seemed to spring from beneath the brow of the great iron-faced cliff, and to soar out thence in wreaths of sound. Could the singer be there hidden? No; that was impossible. But we – we listened, and it seemed that life lay outspread anew before our eyes.
Now there befell that which made our ears deaf once more to the Song of the Shield. Afar on the plain beneath came into sight that which we had been expecting – the remnant of the Zulu host, and the impi which had reinforced it, spread out in half-moon formation, covering an immense distance. It swept on, black and terrible, and we could see the glittering roll of its spear-points like the breaking crest of a huge wave in the sunlight, could hear the sweep and clash of its shields like winds shaking a forest. Whau! It looked terrible, that great impi, Fresh and strong, it would eat us up easily, for it was almost double our own numbers, and we were already crushed, dispirited, and weary.
And now the foremost of this new host came beneath, marching in dense serried ranks, victory already gleaming in the eyes of the plumed warriors almost visible to us where we lay; the countless array of broad shields, and the splendid discipline of their march – all this we marked as we lay. Sweeping rapidly onward they came, company after company. Their numbers seemed to have no end, and then the war-song of Dingane came rolling up the slope:
“Us’ eziteni!
Asiyikuza sababona!”
Note:
“Thou art in among the enemy!
We shall never get to see them!”
Meaning:
“There will be none left by the time we come up!”
In fierce, long-drawn, throaty barks, the words were jerked forth, like the baying of an army of large and ferocious dogs. And we were their game. Then, as the song was hushed for a moment, there quivered forth upon the air – this time loud and clear, and strong – the melody which turned our hearts to iron once more – the Song of the Shield.
Its words were caught up by our warriors, and thundered forth in a frenzy of delight. Now we believed we should defeat that huge host. Au! and we were to them but a handful!
The song of Dingane had ceased now, and in silence the great impi was climbing the spur of the hill, which it had already shut in with the dense half-circle of its formation. Behind us was the hard, smooth cliff – the face of the mountain – before us, Mhlangana’s spears. Whau! it recalled to my mind the day we stormed the fortified hill of the Bakoni. Only to-day these should find lions – not miserable jackals – lions who knew how to die biting.
Now, looking up to the high point where the King sat and watched the battle, and at times directed it, I beheld a signal – a strange signal, whereat I marvelled greatly, for it directed me to leave the high position we were on and charge down upon the densest ranks of the Zulu “horn.” But discipline among the King’s troops was absolute, wherefore I hesitated not a moment, but crying to my “Scorpions” to follow me, I went – we all went – I waving the white shield aloft. Below we could see the astonished looks of those whose spears were upraised to receive us.
The place we were now in, Nkose, was a hollow, half way up the slope, and shut in by steep walls and terraces of rock like the stairs in a white man’s house. And now I beheld another signal – the signal to turn and stand.
Down the stair-like place a crowd of men were pouring after us. Yet their look was not that of warriors in triumphant pursuit, such as it ought to be, for these men were the men of Mhlangana and they were sure of us, had us securely trapped, we being shut in between lines of spears. They wore rather the look of men who flee, and, indeed, such it appeared was the case, for above I could see the other half of my regiment of “Scorpions” showering down assegais upon them, pressing them hard down this steep and stony path which they knew not, but which we knew.
Now as we rushed forward to make an end of them before those below could climb up, I beheld upon one of the rock stairs a man – a tall, broad man, whose back was turned to me as he gave some order to those he led. Whau! I knew that back, for I had seen it before; had seen it rise out of nowhere, the night that the moon grew black. I was about to launch a casting assegai, which could not have missed, when, hard as our case was, I remembered that it was not fitting that one of the brother Kings of Zululand should be slain from behind, pierced through the back.
“Turn, Great Great One, brother of Dingane!” I cried.
Mhlangana turned; and, as he did so, zip! went my casting spear. Then he laughed. It was quivering in his shield – the great white shield which was like my own.
“Take back thy spear, thou whom I know not!” he cried; and I, it was all I could do to catch the assegai as he had done, or, rather, to turn it off.
“Ha! bearer of the other white shield!” I cried. “It may be that my day is done, but so is thine.” And I hurled at him another assegai. This struck him in the side, wounding him, for I saw the blood flow.
“Bayéte, brother King!” he called out mockingly. And then I knew that he mistook me for Umzilikazi.
We got within striking distance, but he was a little above me, and, covered by his shield, I could hardly reach him. I sprang upward, driving at him with a long-handled spear, and our shields clashed, as we met in full shock. Whau! they crashed together, the two white shields, but I felt I had wounded him again, and he began to totter. A moment more, and Dingane would have reigned sole King, when, I know not how it came about, but the whole crowd of Mhlangana’s picked men swept furiously down upon us, rolling us back, themselves pressed down by the other half of my regiment of Scorpions driving them from above. Then I could no longer see Mhlangana, for the gully was filled with men, fighting, struggling, stabbing, and the air was resonant with groans and hissing, and the slapping of the hide shields together, as warriors met in mortal shock, each fighting now to his own hand.
But the pursuers had by this time become the pursued; for, in turn, a great body of the Zulu force had surged up the ridge, and was driving The Scorpions before it. We were hemmed in completely now. We were cut off from the pass, through which the bulk of us might have escaped – others covering the retreat – for below, the other horn of Mhlangana’s force had closed in, and was merely waiting – waiting grimly until we should be driven down upon its spears. Then the Amandebeli would be no longer a nation.
In despair, still keeping our ranks close, we retreated slowly, fighting our way step by step, up the outermost of the three rifts. We could not escape, for now were we hemmed in on either side by rocks. Our tongues were swollen by thirst, and we panted like dogs. Many of us were gashed with wounds, and streaming with blood; but those who fell were immediately speared and ripped by the men of Mhlangana. Our shields were hacked and bent and our weapons dripping. Still the Zulu host seemed to hesitate, and now a voice cried from its ranks —
“Ho! leopards who are securely trapped! Come forth! Yield now to the mercy of the Great Great One! Come forth, thou Umzilikazi, who callest thyself King, and place thy neck beneath the paw of the Lion of Zulu!”
I can recall the thrill of delight which ran through me, even in that moment of death, Nkose on being again hailed as King; for it was clear that Mhlangana, seeing me in the forefront of the battle, waving the pure white shield, had mistaken me for Umzilikazi, though the Great Great One himself was far above us on the mountain crest, waiting and watching. But I answered fiercely defiant —
“Come, now, and place it there thyself, Mhlangana. But few of thy impi shall return to Dingane by the time that is done.”
A roar of fierce laughter went up from the bravest and staunchest of my followers. But most were silent, gloomily silent, and the silence was ominous. I even heard murmurs among some as to the uselessness of further resistance, since we and our enemies were of the same blood, and we might as well live to fight in the army of Dingane, who would spare us, as die in that of Umzilikazi, who was already a dead king.
Leaping up, I sprang upon the nearest of these, and with one blow of my broad spear – the King’s Assegai – laid him dead at my feet. Then, rolling my eyes over my dispirited remnant, I cried —
“Who is of the base blood of slaves to talk of yielding? Have The Scorpions no sting left? We will die as we have lived – stinging.”
Our enemies, thinking we were deliberating surrender, remained halted below in silence. As I finished speaking, there rang out once more, soft and clear upon the air, from the heights above, that wild, sweet voice —
“Great is small,
Little is great.
Great shall fall
In the coming Fate.
“Who may fear?
Who to-day will yield?
None who hear
The Song of the Shield!”
“Ou!” cried the warriors, their hands to their mouths. “The shield! The Song of the Shield again!”
“Hear ye what the words say?” I cried. “‘None who hear,’ Now, those hear not the sound, wherefore it is we who need not fear. Behold it, the white shield!” I cried again, in ringing tones, holding it aloft. “We will die beneath it. But we yield not!”
“The white shield! We will die beneath it!” they chorused, springing up, freshly heartened. But I restrained them, for I wished to parley with Mhlangana and his leaders, only, however, to gain time in order that, being rested, we might recommence that unequal fight with renewed vigour. And then, to my unbounded surprise, I, looking up, beheld from where the King sat on the heights above the signal to move downward – the signal to charge.
Au! I hardly knew whether I were dreaming or already dead. To charge? It was madness! Why, that host whose spears awaited us was four times as great as our own, fresh and untired, and thirsting for battle. It would eat us up in a moment. Umzilikazi’s brain must have turned at the impending fall of his power. Such an order was that of a general gone mad. Or had the enemy, unknown to us, surprised and captured the King, substituting others, even as we had done in the matter of Mhlangana’s outpost, who were signalling us to our sure and easy destruction. All these thoughts flashed through my mind like scorching fire: yet, even while this was so, I was already issuing my directions, for with ourselves in those days, Nkose, an order was given to be obeyed, not to be questioned.
