Haviland's Chum Part 20

Then it was seen that a crowd of blacks was stealing up from another side, taking advantage of every unevenness in the ground--of shrubs, stones, everything. At the same time the Arabs from their position poured in another volley. It was rather better aimed than the first, but, beyond slightly wounding two men, took no effect. But with a wild, blood-curdling scream, the dark horde which threatened their rear charged forward, and gained a position yet nearer. Then the shooting began. Haviland and Oakley, leaving the other side to the doctor and Somala, had sprung to confront this new peril. Their rifles spoke, and two of the advancing savages pitched forward on their faces. Then k.u.mbelwa's turn came, and k.u.mbelwa was one of the few Zulus who could shoot. Lying full length behind the breastwork, he had got his rifle sighted on to a black head which kept appearing and disappearing behind a shrub. Up it came again, and this time k.u.mbelwa loosed _off_. The black head sprang into the air and a huge body beneath it, which last turned a complete somersault, and lay in a huddled still heap beyond.

The Zulu's exultation took the form of a deep humming hiss.

"Well done, k.u.mbelwa!" cried Oakley in glee. "Three shots, three birds."

It was no part of our friends' plan to waste ammunition; besides, they were aware of the effect a sparing fire, and nearly every shot telling, would have, as distinct from a general bout of wild and wide blazing.

The black horde which had drawn so near them was evidently impressed, for it lay as though not daring to move.

Then from a new quarter fire was opened upon them. Two porters were struck and killed, and another badly wounded. This one began to screech l.u.s.tily. In the tumult, unseen by the white leaders, one of the Arabs, at a sign from Somala, stepped behind him and promptly knocked him senseless with a clubbed rifle. They did not want any unnecessary signs of distress to reach the enemy.

And now, taking advantage of this new diversion, the horde of blacks leaped from their cover, and, uttering wild yells, charged forwards.

There must have been over a couple of hundred of them, tall, ferocious-looking villains, armed with long spears and heavy axes.

Leaping, zigzagging to avoid the bullets aimed at them, they came on in the most determined manner. Haviland and Oakley could not load fast enough, and the armed porters were blazing away in the wildest fashion, and simply doing no damage whatever. k.u.mbelwa had sent two more down, but still the remnant charged on. The while, on the other side, the doctor and Somala's party had their hands full in repelling an advance on the part of the Arab section of the attacking force, and that under a hot cross fire.

"Heavens, Oakley, they'll be on us in a minute!" exclaimed Haviland in a quick whisper, as he jammed fresh cartridges into the hot and smoking breech of his Express. And, indeed, it seemed so. They could not fire fast enough, and in a great ma.s.s the savages were already against the breastwork, lunging over it with their long spears. But then came the defenders' chance. Fools as they were with firearms, even the bearers could not miss point blank, and they poured their fire right into the faces of their swarming a.s.sailants. These dropped as though mown down, but with loud yells those behind pressed the foremost on, to be mown down in their turn. The striving, struggling ma.s.s would fain have taken flight, but simply could not. And then k.u.mbelwa, seeing it was time to effect a diversion, concluded to adopt the offensive.

Leaping over the breastwork, covered by his great war-shield, he made for a tall ruffian, whose head was streaming with long black feathers, and who seemed to be directing the charge. Like lightning he was upon him, and beneath the shearing flash of the great a.s.segai, down went the man, his trunk wellnigh ripped in twain.

"_Usutu! 'Sutu_!" roared the Zulu, as, whirling round, he struck another to the heart with his reeking spear, at the same time bringing another to the earth with a mighty slap of his great shield. Like lightning he moved. Never still for a second, he avoided the lunges made at him, always to strike fatally in his turn, and soon a ring of a.s.sailants round him was a ring of ripped and struggling corpses deluging the earth in torrents of blood. Whirling here, darting there, and ever roaring the war-cry of his late king, the towering Zulu was to these dismayed savages the very embodiment of irresistible destruction.

With yells of dismay they fled before him in a broken, demoralised crowd, and into their front the fire of those behind the breastwork played upon their thickest ma.s.ses.

"Come back, k.u.mbelwa," commanded Haviland, in Zulu.

Like magic the trained and disciplined warrior halted at the word of his chief. In a second he was within the breastwork again.

"Thou wert being led on too far, my friend," said Haviland, all aglow with admiration. "In a moment yon dogs would have turned upon thee, and even a lion cannot stand against a hundred dogs."

"_Nkose_! Yet had I but half the Umbonambi regiment here with me, we would eat the whole of these jackals at one bite!" exclaimed k.u.mbelwa, his great chest heaving with excitement and his recent exertions.

"By Jove! I never saw such a sight as that! Magnificent!" cried Oakley, who was taking advantage of the lull to light his pipe.

On the other side, too, hostilities seemed to have slackened, but here, whatever damage had been inflicted by the defenders they were unable to estimate with any certainty. It was evident that Mushad had chosen that the least esteemed of his followers--the black savages, to wit--should bear the brunt of the first attack, not from any lack of courage, but from sheer cold calculating economy. Their lives were worth the least to him, therefore let them bear the lion's share of the risk. And this they had a.s.suredly done, if the black bodies which strewed the earth on their side of the breastwork were any criterion. Within, one of Somala's clansmen had been shot dead; while another, whose hand hung limp and useless, was setting his teeth as Dr Ahern was hastily bandaging the shattered wrist.

"What think you, Somala?" said the doctor, looking up from this operation. "Will they leave us alone now?"

"Not yet, Sidi. The best of Mushad's fighters are yonder. They have not done much fighting as yet."

"If they take it into their heads to invest us, we are done for," said Haviland, "unless we can break through in the dark. Why, we have hardly enough water to last till then."

"The battle will be finished before to-night," said the Arab, decidedly.

"Well, when we have given Mushad as much fighting as he wants, then I suppose he'll draw off," said Oakley. "So the sooner he comes on again the better."

"You cannot know much about Mushad, Sidi. He never leaves an enemy once blows have been exchanged," replied the Arab, darkly. "The battle will be decided before night. But Mushad will be slain--or--"

"Or we shall. So be it, Somala. We'll do our best."

There followed a lull; ominous, oppressive. Hostilities seemed entirely to have ceased, but they had implicit belief in Somala's sagacity, and his forecast was not exactly encouraging. They were striving against enormous odds, and, although thus far they had triumphed, the pick of the hostile force had not yet been used against them, even as the Arab had said. The enforced stillness was not good for their nerves. A reaction had set in. The dead and dying within their circle--for three more of the porters had been killed and several of the refugees badly wounded--were groaning in pain; the acrid stench of blood arising on the steamy tropical heat had a tendency to throw a gloom over, at any rate, the white members of the expedition. It was as well, perhaps, that a diversion should occur, and this was supplied by k.u.mbelwa. A vast and cavernous snore fell upon their ears, then another and another. His great frame stretched at full length upon the ground, his broad blade still sticky with half-dried blood, together with his rifle lying upon his war-shield beside him, the Zulu warrior was fast asleep, slumbering as peacefully and as unconcernedly as though in his own kraal at home, in that crater-like hollow beneath the towering round-topped cone of Ibabanango. Oakley and Haviland burst out laughing.

"Well, he is a cool customer, and no mistake!" cried the former. "I've a jolly good mind to follow his example, though. It's tiring work this holding the fort, with nothing to drink, either."

"Better have some skoff first," said Haviland, "such as it is. That hippo-shoot we were going to have to-morrow won't come off now, however things go."

But little appet.i.te had any of them for their wretched grain diet. A long hot hour dragged its weary length, then another. The three white men were dozing. The Arabs, their squares of praying carpets spread, and with shoes off, were salaaming in the direction of Mecca, as devoutly as their brethren in the faith and foes in arms were, or should have been doing, out yonder in the opposing lines. Then suddenly the alarm was given. A peril, imminent and wholly unlooked-for, had risen up to confront them. In a moment every man was at his station, wide awake now, alert, expectant.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE LAST SHOT.

Alarm quickly gave way to amazement. What did this mean? Approaching in a half-circle came a great crowd of natives--miserable, woe begone-looking objects, and entirely unarmed. There were women and children among them too, and as they drew nearer, they uttered the most doleful lamentations, in several different dialects, beseeching pity both by word and gesture.

"What on earth's the meaning of this?" cried Haviland, fairly puzzled.

"Somala, tell them to go away. Tell them we don't want them. We've no use for them."

Somala's tone was quick and fierce as he ordered them to halt. But without avail. On they came, howling piteously. Immediately the Arab raised his rifle, and shot down one of the foremost, wounding another.

"Stop that, Somala," commanded the doctor, who, with the other two white men, was under the brief impression that for some reason or another Mushad had abandoned his slaves and retired. "The poor devils are not fighting."

In no wise deterred by what had happened, the miserable crowd ran forward, yelling more piteously than ever. They were within a hundred yards of the defences, then seventy.

"But Mushad is," retorted Somala in a growl. "Stand back all of you, or we will kill you all," he roared, again firing into the densely packed ma.s.s of wretched humanity.

The shouts and screams which followed upon the discharge were appalling, but what happened next was more so. Like mown gra.s.s the whole crowd of the imaginary refugees fell p.r.o.ne on their faces--thus revealing the bulk and flower of the enemy's fighting line. With one mighty roar of savage triumph the ferocious Arabs, hitherto concealed behind the advancing slaves, surged over the prostrate heaps, and were up to the breastwork in a moment. The stratagem of Mushad had been a complete success. The defenders, thus surprised, were simply allowed no time.

Several of the Arabs fell before their hurried fire, but not for a second did it delay the fierce, rapid, overwhelming rush. With whirling scimitars the savage Arabs were upon them, hacking, hewing, yelling.

The native bearers, in wild panic, threw down their arms and fled out at the other side of the defences, only to be met by the spears of the black auxiliaries waiting there for just such a move, and cut to pieces to a man. The improvised fort was choked with corpses, the frenzied slayers hewing still at the quivering frames, and screaming aloud in a very transport of blood-intoxication.

Back to back in a ring, the three white men and Somala, with his two remaining clansmen, stood. But where was k.u.mbelwa? Not with them, but yet not far away. And around him, like hounds around a buffalo bull at bay, his swarming enemies, leaping, snarling, yet not able to reach him for the terrific sweeps with that dread weapon, shearing a clear s.p.a.ce on every hand.

"Yield thee, thou great fighter!" cried Mushad, in a dialect very much akin to his own. "Yield thee. Thou at any rate shalt taste our mercy, and shalt fight with us."

"_Au_! I yield not. Come, fight with me, O chief! we two alone. Thou wilt not? See, I come to seek thee--_Usutu 'Sutu_!"

And in lightning-like charge, the splendid warrior dashed through the swarming crowd, straight for Mushad, clearing his way with his broad blade and resistless rush, his great shield throwing off the blows aimed at him, like the cut.w.a.ter of a mighty ship ploughing through the waves.

The crowd closed behind him, and that was the last of him his white leaders beheld.

As for these, their doom was inevitable. Their enemies could shoot them down with ease at any moment, but refrained. It was clearly their intention to take them alive.

"The last shot for ourselves, remember," said Haviland, in his voice the hard, set tone of a brave man who has done with hope. "Remember that brute's promise if we are captured. And he'll keep it too."

"I've got three left, and here goes one," said Oakley, discharging his revolver at a prominent Arab. The latter spun round and fell. With a roar of rage, several of his comrades, unable to contain themselves, fired a volley, but with discrimination. The remainder of Somala's clansmen fell dead, leaving himself and the three white men alone.

"My last shot!" exclaimed the doctor, calmly. "G.o.d forgive us if there's sin in what we do!" And placing the muzzle of his revolver against his heart, he pressed the trigger. His body, instantaneously lifeless, sank heavily, but in doing so fell against Haviland's legs.

He, losing his balance, stumbled heavily against Oakley--upsetting him.

A wild stagger, then a fall. Before they could rise, a dozen of their enemies had flung themselves upon them with lightning-like swiftness, pinning them to the earth.

Somala, who had expended his last shot, not on himself, was laying about him vigorously with his ataghan. But, wounded in several places, weakened with loss of blood and exhaustion, he too was at last overpowered. The victory was complete.

And the scene of it had now become one or indescribable horror--a very nightmare of blood, and hacked corpses in every conceivable att.i.tude of agony and repulsion. And with it all came the convulsive shrieks and groans of a few of the miserable bearers, who had been taken alive, and whom the black contingent was amusing itself roasting to death in the open ground outside the tree belt. Within, the more civilised section of the slave-hunters was looting the stores and property of the expedition. They tore open bales, and battered in boxes and cases. But the authority of Mushad was absolute, and his commands speedily infused an element of method into the looting process.