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<h2> CHAPTER IV </h2>
<h3> THE ZULU IMPI </h3>
<p>After burying the elephant tusks, and having taken careful notes of the
bearings and peculiarities of the country so that I might be able to find
the spot again, we proceeded on our journey. For a month or more I trekked
along the line which now divides the Orange Free State from Griqualand
West, and the Transvaal from Bechuanaland. The only difficulties met with
were such as are still common to African travellers—occasional want
of water and troubles about crossing sluits and rivers. I remember that I
outspanned on the spot where Kimberley now stands, and had to press on
again in a hurry because there was no water. I little dreamed then that I
should live to see Kimberley a great city producing millions of pounds
worth of diamonds annually, and old Indaba-zimbi's magic cannot have been
worth so much after all, or he would have told me.</p>
<p>I found the country almost entirely depopulated. Not very long before
Mosilikatze the Lion, Chaka's General had swept across it in his progress
towards what is now Matabeleland. His footsteps were evident enough. Time
upon time I trekked up to what had evidently been the sites of Kaffir
kraals. Now the kraals were ashes and piles of tumbled stones, and strewn
about among the rank grass were the bones of hundreds of men, women, and
children, all of whom had kissed the Zulu assegai. I remember that in one
of these desolate places I found the skull of a child in which a
ground-lark had built its nest. It was the twittering of the young birds
inside that first called my attention to it. Shortly after this we met
with our second great adventure, a much more serious and tragic one than
the first.</p>
<p>We were trekking parallel with the Kolong river when a herd of blesbock
crossed the track. I fired at one of them and hit it behind. It galloped
about a hundred yards with the rest of the herd, then lay down. As we were
in want of meat, not having met with any game for a few days past, I
jumped on to my horse, and, telling Indaba-zimbi that I would overtake the
waggons or meet them on the further side of a rise about an hour's trek
away, I started after the wounded buck. As soon as I came within a hundred
yards of it, however, it jumped up and ran away as fast as though it were
untouched, only to lie down again at a distance. I followed, thinking that
strength would soon fail it. This happened three times. On the third
occasion it vanished behind a ridge, and, though by now I was out of both
temper and patience, I thought I might as well ride to the crest and see
if I could get a shot at it on the further side.</p>
<p>I reached the ridge, which was strewn with stones, looked over it, and saw—a
Zulu Impi!</p>
<p>I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Yes, there was no doubt of it. They
were halted about a thousand yards away, by the water; some were lying
down, some were cooking at fires, others were stalking about with spears
and shields in their hands; there might have been two thousand or more of
them in all. While I was wondering—and that with no little
uneasiness—what on earth they could be doing there, suddenly I heard
a wild cry to the right and left of me. I glanced first one way, then the
other. From either side a great Zulu was bearing down on me, their broad
stabbing assegais aloft, and black shields in their left hands. The man to
the right was about fifteen yards away, he to the left was not more than
ten. On they came, their fierce eyes almost starting out of their heads,
and I felt, with a cold thrill of fear, that in another three seconds
those broad "bangwans" might be buried in my vitals. On such occasions we
act, I suppose, more from instinct than from anything else—there is
no time for thought. At any rate, I dropped the reins and, raising my gun,
fired point blank at the left-hand man. The bullet struck him in the
middle of his shield, pierced it, and passed through him, and over he
rolled upon the veldt. I swung round in the saddle; most happily my horse
was accustomed to standing still when I fired from his back, also he was
so surprised that he did not know which way to shy. The other savage was
almost on me; his outstretched shield reached the muzzle of my gun as I
pulled the trigger of the left barrel. It exploded, the warrior sprung
high into the air, and fell against my horse dead, his spear passing just
in front of my face.</p>
<p>Without waiting to reload, or even to look if the main body of the Zulus
had seen the death of their two scouts, I turned my horse and drove my
heels into his sides. As soon as I was down the slope of the rise I pulled
a little to the right in order to intercept the waggons before the Zulus
saw them. I had not gone three hundred yards in this new direction when,
to my utter astonishment, I struck a trail marked with waggon-wheels and
the hoofs of oxen. Of waggons there must have been at least eight, and
several hundred cattle. Moreover, they had passed within twelve hours; I
could tell that by the spoor. Then I understood; the Impi was following
the track of the waggons, which, in all probability, belonged to a party
of emigrant Boers.</p>
<p>The spoor of the waggons ran in the direction I wished to go, so I
followed it. About a mile further on I came to the crest of a rise, and
there, about five furlongs away, I saw the waggons drawn up in a rough
laager upon the banks of the river. There, too, were my own waggons
trekking down the slope towards them.</p>
<p>In another five minutes I was there. The Boers—for Boers they were—were
standing about outside the little laager watching the approach of my two
waggons. I called to them, and they turned and saw me. The very first man
my eyes fell on was a Boer named Hans Botha, whom I had known well years
ago in the Cape. He was not a bad specimen of his class, but a very
restless person, with a great objection to authority, or, as he expressed
it, "a love of freedom." He had joined a party of the emigrant Boers some
years before, but, as I learned presently, had quarrelled with its leader,
and was now trekking away into the wilderness to found a little colony of
his own. Poor fellow! It was his last trek.</p>
<p>"How do you do, Meinheer Botha?" I said to him in Dutch.</p>
<p>The man looked at me, looked again, then, startled out of his Dutch
stolidity, cried to his wife, who was seated on the box of the waggon—</p>
<p>"Come here, Frau, come. Here is Allan Quatermain, the Englishman, the son
of the 'Predicant.' How goes it, Heer Quatermain, and what is the news
down in the Cape yonder?"</p>
<p>"I don't know what the news is in the Cape, Hans," I answered, solemnly;
"but the news here is that there is a Zulu Impi upon your spoor and within
two miles of the waggons. That I know, for I have just shot two of their
sentries," and I showed him my empty gun.</p>
<p>For a moment there was a silence of astonishment, and I saw the bronzed
faces of the men turn pale beneath their tan, while one or two of the
women gave a little scream, and the children crept to their sides.</p>
<p>"Almighty!" cried Hans, "that must be the Umtetwa Regiment that Dingaan
sent against the Basutus, but who could not come at them because of the
marshes, and so were afraid to return to Zululand, and struck north to
join Mosilikatze."</p>
<p>"Laager up, Carles! Laager up for your lives, and one of you jump on a
horse and drive in the cattle."</p>
<p>At this moment my own waggons came up. Indaba-zimbi was sitting on the box
of the first, wrapped in a blanket. I called him and told him the news.</p>
<p>"Ill tidings, Macumazahn," he said; "there will be dead Boers about
to-morrow morning, but they will not attack till dawn, then they will wipe
out the laager <i>so!</i>" and he passed his hand before his mouth.</p>
<p>"Stop that croaking, you white-headed crow," I said, though I knew his
words were true. What chance had a laager of ten waggons all told against
at least two thousand of the bravest savages in the world?</p>
<p>"Macumazahn, will you take my advice this time?" Indaba-zimbi said,
presently.</p>
<p>"What is it?" I asked.</p>
<p>"This. Leave your waggons here, jump on that horse, and let us two run for
it as hard as we can go. The Zulus won't follow us, they will be looking
after the Boers."</p>
<p>"I won't leave the other white men," I said; "it would be the act of a
coward. If I die, I die."</p>
<p>"Very well, Macumazahn, then stay and be killed," he answered, taking a
pinch of snuff. "Come, let us see about the waggons," and we walked
towards the laager.</p>
<p>Here everything was in confusion. However, I got hold of Hans Botha and
put it to him if it would not be best to desert the waggons and make a run
for it.</p>
<p>"How can we do it?" he answered; "two of the women are too fat to go a
mile, one is sick in childbed, and we have only six horses among us.
Besides, if we did we should starve in the desert. No, Heer Allan, we must
fight it out with the savages, and God help us!"</p>
<p>"God help us, indeed. Think of the children, Hans!"</p>
<p>"I can't bear to think," he answered, in a broken voice, looking at his
own little girl, a sweet, curly-haired, blue-eyed child of six, named
Tota, whom I had often nursed as a baby. "Oh, Heer Allan, your father, the
Predicant, always warned me against trekking north, and I never would
listen to him because I thought him a cursed Englishman; now I see my
folly. Heer Allan, if you can, try to save my child from those black
devils; if you live longer than I do, or if you can't save her, kill her,"
and he clasped my hand.</p>
<p>"It hasn't come to that yet, Hans," I said.</p>
<p>Then we set to work on the laager. The waggons, of which, including my
two, there were ten, were drawn into the form of a square, and the
disselboom of each securely lashed with reims to the underworks of that in
front of it. The wheels also were locked, and the space between the ground
and the bed-planks of the waggons was stuffed with branches of the
"wait-a-bit" thorn that fortunately grew near in considerable quantities.
In this way a barrier was formed of no mean strength as against a foe
unprovided with firearms, places being left for the men to fire from. In a
little over an hour everything was done that could be done, and a
discussion arose as to the disposal of the cattle, which had been driven
up close to the camp. Some of the Boers were anxious to get them into the
laager, small as it was, or at least as many of them as it would hold. I
argued strongly against this, pointing out that the brutes would probably
be seized with panic as soon as the firing began, and trample the
defenders of the laager under foot. As an alternative plan I suggested
that some of the native servants should drive the herd along the valley of
the river till they reached a friendly tribe or some other place of
safety. Of course, if the Zulus saw them they would be taken, but the
nature of the ground was favourable, and it was possible that they might
escape if they started at once. The proposition was promptly agreed to,
and, what is more, it was settled that one Dutchman and such of the women
and children as could travel should go with them. In half an hour's time
twelve of them started with the natives, the Boer in charge, and the
cattle. Three of my own men went with the latter, the three others and
Indaba-zimbi stopped with me in the laager.</p>
<p>The parting was a heart-breaking scene, upon which I do not care to dwell.
The women wept, the men groaned, and the children looked on with scared
white faces. At length they were gone, and I for one was thankful of it.
There remained in the laager seventeen white men, four natives, the two
Boer fraus who were too stout to travel, the woman in childbed and her
baby, and Hans Bother's little daughter Tota, whom he could not make up
his mind to part with. Happily her mother was already dead. And here I may
state that ten of the women and children, together with about half of the
cattle, escaped. The Zulu Impi never saw them, and on the third day of
travel they came to the fortified place of a Griqua chief, who sheltered
them on receiving half the cattle in payment. Thence by slow degrees they
journeyed down to the Cape Colony, reaching a civilized region within a
little more than a year from the date of the attack on the laager.</p>
<p>The afternoon was now drawing towards evening, but still there were no
signs of the Impi. A wild hope struck us that they might have gone on
about their business. Ever since Indaba-zimbi had heard that the regiment
was supposed to belong to the Umtetwa tribe, he had, I noticed, been
plunged in deep thought. Presently he came to me and volunteered to go out
and spy upon their movements. At first Hans Botha was against this idea,
saying that he was a "verdomde swartzel"—an accursed black creature—and
would betray us. I pointed out that there was nothing to betray. The Zulus
must know where the waggons were, but it was important for us to gain
information of their movements. So it was agreed that Indaba-zimbi should
go. I told him this. He nodded his white lock, said "All right,
Macumazahn," and started. I noticed with some surprise, however, that
before he did so he went to the waggon and fetched his "mouti," or
medicine, which, together with his other magical apparatus, he always
carried in a skin bag. I asked him why he did this. He answered that it
was to make himself invulnerable against the spears of the Zulus. I did
not in the least believe his explanation, for in my heart I was sure that
he meant to take the opportunity to make a bolt of it, leaving me to my
fate. I did not, however, interfere to prevent this, for I had an
affection for the old fellow, and sincerely hoped that he might escape the
doom which overshadowed us.</p>
<p>So Indaba-zimbi sauntered off, and as I looked at his retreating form I
thought I should never see it again. But I was mistaken, and little knew
that he was risking his life, not for the Boers whom he hated one and all,
but for me whom in his queer way he loved.</p>
<p>When he had gone we completed our preparations for defence, strengthening
the waggons and the thorns beneath with earth and stones. Then at sunset
we ate and drank as heartily as we could under the circumstances, and when
we had done, Hans Botha, as head of the party, offered up prayer to God
for our preservation. It was a touching sight to see the burly Dutchman,
his hat off, his broad face lit up by the last rays of the setting sun,
praying aloud in homely, simple language to Him who alone could save us
from the spears of a cruel foe. I remember that the last sentence of his
prayer was, "Almighty, if we must be killed, save the women and children
and my little girl Tota from the accursed Zulus, and do not let us be
tortured."</p>
<p>I echoed the request very earnestly in my own heart, that I know, for in
common with the others I was dreadfully afraid, and it must be admitted
not without reason.</p>
<p>Then the darkness came on, and we took up our appointed places each with a
rifle in his hands and peered out into the gloom in silence. Occasionally
one of the Boers would light his pipe with a brand from the smouldering
fire, and the glow of it would shine for a few moments on his pale,
anxious face.</p>
<p>Behind me one of the stout "fraus" lay upon the ground. Even the terror of
our position could not keep her heavy eyes from their accustomed sleep,
and she snored loudly. On the further side of her, just by the fire, lay
little Tota, wrapped in a kaross. She was asleep also, her thumb in her
mouth, and from time to time her father would come to look at her.</p>
<p>So the hours wore on while we waited for the Zulus. But from my intimate
knowledge of the habits of natives I had little fear that they would
attack us at night, though, had they done so, they could have compassed
our destruction with but small loss to themselves. It is not the habit of
this people, they like to fight in the light of day—at dawn for
preference.</p>
<p>About eleven o'clock, just as I was nodding a little at my post, I heard a
low whistle outside the laager. Instantly I was wide awake, and all along
the line I heard the clicking of locks as the Boers cocked their guns.</p>
<p>"Macumazahn," said a voice, the voice of Indaba-zimbi, "are you there?"</p>
<p>"Yes," I answered.</p>
<p>"Then hold a light so that I can see how to climb into the laager," he
said.</p>
<p>"Yah! yah! hold a light," put in one of the Boers. "I don't trust that
black schepsel of yours, Heer Quatermain; he may have some of his
countrymen with him." Accordingly a lantern was produced and held towards
the voice. There was Indaba-zimbi alone. We let him into the laager and
asked him the news.</p>
<p>"This is the news, white men," he said. "I waited till dark, and creeping
up to the place where the Zulus are encamped, hid myself behind a stone
and listened. They are a great regiment of Umtetwas as Baas Botha yonder
thought. They struck the spoor of the waggons three days ago and followed
it. To-night they sleep upon their spears, to-morrow at daybreak they will
attack the laager and kill everybody. They are very bitter against the
Boers, because of the battle at Blood River and the other fights, and that
is why they followed the waggons instead of going straight north after
Mosilikatze."</p>
<p>A kind of groan went up from the group of listening Dutchmen.</p>
<p>"I tell you what it is, Heeren," I said, "instead of waiting to be
butchered here like buck in a pitfall, let us go out now and fall upon the
Impi while it sleeps."</p>
<p>This proposition excited some discussion, but in the end only one man
could be found to vote for it. Boers as a rule lack that dash which makes
great soldiers; such forlorn hopes are not in their line, and rather than
embark upon them they prefer to take their chance in a laager, however
poor that chance may be. For my own part I firmly believe that had my
advice been taken we should have routed the Zulus. Seventeen desperate
white men, armed with guns, would have produced no small effect upon a
camp of sleeping savages. But it was not taken, so it is no use talking
about it.</p>
<p>After that we went back to our posts, and slowly the weary night wore on
towards the dawn. Only those who have watched under similar circumstances
while they waited the advent of almost certain and cruel death, can know
the torturing suspense of those heavy hours. But they went somehow, and at
last in the far east the sky began to lighten, while the cold breath of
dawn stirred the tilts of the waggons and chilled me to the bone. The fat
Dutchwoman behind me woke with a yawn, then, remembering all, moaned
aloud, while her teeth chattered with cold and fear. Hans Botha went to
his waggon and got a bottle of peach brandy, from which he poured into a
tin pannikin, giving us each a stiff dram, and making attempts to be
cheerful as he did so. But his affected jocularity only seemed to depress
his comrades the more. Certainly it depressed me.</p>
<p>Now the light was growing, and we could see some way into the mist which
still hung densely over the river, and now—ah! there it was. From
the other side of the hill, a thousand yards or more from the laager, came
a faint humming sound. It grew and grew till it gathered to a chant—the
awful war chant of the Zulus. Soon I could catch the words. They were
simple enough:</p>
<p>"We shall slay, we shall slay! Is it not so, my brothers? Our spears shall
blush blood-red. Is it not so, my brothers? For we are the sucklings of
Chaka, blood is our milk, my brothers. Awake, children of the Umtetwa,
awake! The vulture wheels, the jackal sniffs the air; Awake, children of
the Umtetwa—cry aloud, ye ringed men: There is the foe, we shall
slay them. Is it not so, my brothers? <i>S'gee! S'gee! S'gee!</i>"</p>
<p>Such is a rough translation of that hateful chant which to this very day I
often seem to hear. It does not look particularly imposing on paper, but
if, while he waited to be killed, the reader could have heard it as it
rolled through the still air from the throats of nearly three thousand
warriors singing all to time, he would have found it impressive enough.</p>
<p>Now the shields began to appear over the brow of the rise. They came by
companies, each company about ninety strong. Altogether there were
thirty-one companies. I counted them. When all were over they formed
themselves into a triple line, then trotted down the slope towards us. At
a distance of a hundred and fifty yards or just out of the shot of such
guns as we had in those days, they halted and began singing again—</p>
<p>"Yonder is the kraal of the white man—a little kraal, my<br/>
brothers;<br/>
We shall eat it up, we shall trample it flat, my brothers.<br/>
But where are the white man's cattle—where are his oxen, my<br/>
brothers?"<br/></p>
<p>This question seemed to puzzle them a good deal, for they sang the song
again and again. At last a herald came forward, a great man with ivory
rings about his arm, and, putting his hands to his mouth, called out to us
asking where our cattle were.</p>
<p>Hans Botha climbed on to the top of a waggon and roared out that they
might answer that question themselves.</p>
<p>Then the herald called again, saying that he saw the cattle had been sent
away.</p>
<p>"We shall go and find the cattle," he said, "then we shall come and kill
you, because without cattle you must stop where you are, but if we wait to
kill you before we get the cattle, they may have trekked too far for us to
follow. And if you try to run away we shall easily catch you white men!"</p>
<p>This struck me as a very odd speech, for the Zulus generally attack an
enemy first and take his cattle afterwards; still, there was a certain
amount of plausibility about it. While I was still wondering what it all
might mean, the Zulus began to run past us in companies towards the river.
Suddenly a shout announced that they had found the spoor of the cattle,
and the whole Impi of them started down it at a run till they vanished
over a rise about a quarter of a mile away.</p>
<p>We waited for half an hour or more, but nothing could we see of them.</p>
<p>"Now I wonder if the devils have really gone," said Hans Botha to me. "It
is very strange."</p>
<p>"I will go and see," said Indaba-zimbi, "if you will come with me,
Macumazahn. We can creep to the top of the ridge and look over."</p>
<p>At first I hesitated, but curiosity overcame me. I was young in those days
and weary with suspense.</p>
<p>"Very well," I said, "we will go."</p>
<p>So we started. I had my elephant gun and ammunition. Indaba-zimbi had his
medicine bag and an assegai. We crept to the top of the rise like
sportsmen stalking a buck. The slope on the other side was strewn with
rocks, among which grew bushes and tall grass.</p>
<p>"They must have gone down the Donga," I said to Indaba-zimbi, "I can't see
one of them."</p>
<p>As I spoke there came a roar of men all round me. From every rock, from
every tuft of grass rose a Zulu warrior. Before I could turn, before I
could lift a gun, I was seized and thrown.</p>
<p>"Hold him! Hold the White Spirit fast!" cried a voice. "Hold him, or he
will slip away like a snake. Don't hurt him, but hold him fast. Let
Indaba-zimbi walk by his side."</p>
<p>I turned on Indaba-zimbi. "You black devil, you have betrayed me!" I
cried.</p>
<p>"Wait and see, Macumazahn," he answered, coolly. "Now the fight is going
to begin."</p>
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