CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
THE LONG NIGHT THROUGH.
"Stand by, now. Here they come," warned Jekyll. "Not too soon, andfire low."
For the line of bush was alive with gleaming forms, as fully a hundredwarriors darted out, making straight for the store; not in a compactbody, but in a scattered line; not erect and in bounds and leaps, butbent low and crouching behind their shields. The while those in thebackground now opened a tremendous fire upon the building. Fortunately,however, most of the missiles flew high.
Those within, crouching too, with their heads just above the sills ofthe windows, waited a moment, then, partly rising, fired upon theadvancing shields at a hundred yards' distance. Several were seen to godown. Crash! a second volley, then a third. The magazine rifles weredoing their duty right nobly. At the fourth volley the chargingwarriors, dividing into two sections, sheered off at a tangent, and,dropping down in the grass, crawled away with the silence and rapidityof snakes, offering no mark to draw the defenders' fire.
"Quick! To the back!" cried Jekyll. "Not all, though."
With instinctive unanimity the little garrison divided itself. Thosetold off to the back of the store arrived there in time to see theirenemies swarming up among the low rocky ridge which overlooked theirposition from the rear.
"By George! that was real strategy, covering the advance of the stormingparty," said one man, who was an ex-soldier. "Looks as if there werewhites among them. Dutch perhaps."
"No fear," returned Jekyll. "The most English-hating Dutchman thiscountry ever produced wouldn't turn niggers on to white men. We'd bemuch more likely to do it ourselves. Hallo, Selwyn! Not hurt?"
This anxiously, as the young fellow, who had been peering forth watchinghis chance of a shot, staggered back from the window holding his handsto his head. Then it was seen that his face was streaming with blood.
"N-no; I don't think so," was the answer. "A splinter, I think it is."
"Let's see," said Jekyll. "Ah yes. Here you are"--exhibiting an uglysplinter of wood, which he had simultaneously extracted from the other'sforehead. "Only a skin-wound. You're in luck."
"There's some fellow who can shoot, at any rate," remarked Tarrant, asanother bullet pinged in through the window. "Oh, I say! Here, quick,some one! Lend me a rifle, for God's sake"--almost snatching one fromthe hand of his neighbour, who yielded, too astonished to demur--andblazed at the point from which the last shot had come, just missing. Ashout of laughter was the reply, together with a puff of smoke, and abullet so near as to make Tarrant duck--of course, after it had passed.He again returned this, again missing, but narrowly.
"Here, try, one of you chaps; I'm no shot. For Heaven's sake drop theyoung beast! It's my infernal boy--Mafuta."
A roar from his auditors greeted this intelligence, once its tenor wasgrasped.
"Your boy! But you said he was a reliable boy?" cried Jekyll.
"So he is, damn him. You may rely upon him doing for one of us yet,"answered Tarrant. "He can shoot, can Mafuta. And the infernal youngscoundrel's practising at me with my own gun and cartridges." And theyall roared louder than ever, the besieging Matabele the while decidingthat Makiwa was a madder beast than even they had reckoned him.
"Now's your chance, Dibs!" cried Moseley.
For Mafuta it was, sure enough; and now he had sprung up, and whirlingand zigzagging to dodge his former master's aim, the young rascal,brandishing the stolen rifle over his head in derision, bounded away tobetter cover, and gained it too.
"Drinks all round to `the reliable boy's' health!" shouted some one.
"Right. Help yourselves," answered Jekyll. "Free drinks now, andeverything else any one wants. This garrison's in a state of siege.Only, don't overdo it, for we'll need plenty of straight shooting beforewe get out of this."
"Good owld Jekyll!" sung out the Cockney prospector, who, to do himjustice, was not deficient in pluck. "I always said 'e was one of theraht sort. 'E's a reel owld corf-drop, 'e is--now mistike abart it."
There had been a lull in the firing so far, but now the Matabele on therock ridge began to open on the house from that side. The besieged werebetween two fires. Chary of throwing away even one shot, they forboreto reply, carefully watching their chance, however. Then it was amusingto see them stealing by twos and threes to the bar, avoiding the line offire--laughing, as one would dodge to avoid an imaginary bullet. But asthe sublime and the ridiculous invariably go hand in hand, so it was inthis case. One man, incautiously exposing himself, fell. The heavy,log-like fall told its own tale even before they could spring to hisaid. He was stone dead.
An awed silence fell upon the witnesses, broken at length by fierceaspirations for vengeance upon the barbarous foe; not so easy offulfilment, though, for the latter was not in the least eager to takeany of the open chances of war. His game was a waiting one, and he knewit. By keeping up a continuous fire upon the exposed points of thedefence, he forced the besieged to remain ever on the alert.
The sun went down, and now the savages began to shout tauntingly.
"Look at it, Amakiwa! You will never see another. Look at it well.Look your last on it. You will not see it rise. There are no whitesleft in the land."
"There are enough left to make jackal meat of you all," shouted backJekyll in Sindabele. "_Au_! We shall see many more suns rise, and manyshadows against them--the shadows of hung Amandabele." But a greatjeering laugh was all the answer vouchsafed.
With the darkness the firing ceased, but those watching at the windowsredoubled their vigilance, every sense on the alert lest the enemyshould steal up under its cover and rush the position. Enraged andgloomy at so little opportunity being given them of avenging theircomrade's death, those within almost wished they would. One of thewounded men--the police trooper, to wit--was groaning piteously. Bothhad been made as comfortable as was practicable, but it was painful tolisten to the poor fellow's pleadings in the darkness, for, of course,they dared not strike a light. Would they not shoot him at once and puthim out of his agony, he begged.
"Poor old chap! We'll see you through all right. You'll live to talkover all this again and again," was the pitying reply of a comrade.
"I don't want to; I want to be dead. Oh, it's awful--awful!"
His kneebone had been shattered by a bullet, and he was enduringterrible agony. To listen to his pitiful writhings and groans wasenough to take the heart out of the most daredevil glutton for fighting.
"Here, have a drink, old man. It'll buck you up a bit," said another,groping towards him with a whisky bottle.
"Yes. Give it here. Where is it?" And the sufferer's groans weresilenced in a gasping gurgle.
"Worst thing possible for him, I believe," whispered Moseley.
"Shouldn't wonder," replied Tarrant also in a whisper. "Doesn't muchmatter, though, the poor devil! He's a `goner' anyhow. A knock likethat means mortification, and there's no doctor here to take his legoff, nor could it be done under the circumstances if there was."
"By the Lord, Moseley," he resumed, a moment later, "I wonder if there'sanything in what Jekyll said the niggers were saying just now--thatthere are no whites left in the land. If this is a general outbreak,what of Hollingworth and his crowd?"
An exclamation of dismay escaped the other. Their own position was soessentially one of action that they had had little or no time to takethought for any but themselves. Now it came home to them. But for thetimely warning brought by the police trooper, they themselves would havebeen treacherously set upon and massacred; how, then, should those whohad not been so warned escape?
"Heavens! it won't bear thinking about," he replied. "Formerly, in theCape wars; the Kafirs didn't kill women; at least, so I've often heard.Perhaps these don't either. Dibs, it's too awful. Let's put it toJekyll."
But the opinion of that worthy, and of two others with experience, wasnot cheering either. It was impossible to say what these might do.Most of the younger men of the
Matabele nation were a mongrel lot, and aruffianly withal One resolve, however, was arrived at--that if theysucceeded in beating off their present assailants, they would hurry overto the aid of the Hollingworths.
The night wore on, and still the enemy gave no sign of his presence.Had he cleared out, they speculated? No, that was not likely, either.The odds were too great in his favour. It was far more likely that hewas waiting his chance, either that they might strive to break throughhis cordon and get away in the darkness--and there were some who but forthe fact of having wounded men to look after would have favoured thiscourse--or that he would make a determined rush on the position with thefirst glimmer of dawn.
In the small hours of the morning the man with the shattered kneebonesank and died. He knew he was doomed, and declared that he welcomed aspeedy release. Had he any message? asked the others, awed, now thetime for action was in abeyance, at this pitiful passing away in theirmidst. If so, they pledged themselves solemnly to attend to his wishes.No, not he, was the answer. Anybody belonging to him would be only tooglad to be rid of him, and to such the news of his death would benothing but good news. He had never done any good for himself oranybody else, or he supposed he wouldn't be where he was.
"Don't say that, old chap," said Jekyll. "Every man Jack of us who getsaway from here without having his throat cut owes it to you. If thatisn't doing any good for anybody else I'd like to know what is."
"Hear, hear!" came in emphatic chorus.
"Oh well, then perhaps a fellow has done something," was the feeblerejoinder. And so the poor fellow passed away.
But they were not to be suffered to give way to the sad impressivenessof the moment, for a quick whisper from those at the back window warnedthat something was taking place. At the same time those watching thefront of the house gave the alarm. Straining their sight in the dimnessof the approaching dawn, the besiegers made out a number of dark formscrawling up from all sides. The Matabele were renewing the attack.
Those within had already laid their plans. There were two windows infront and one behindhand at each of these two men were on guard.Carefully aiming so as to rake the dark mass, they let gosimultaneously, then dived below the level of the sill, and not afraction of a moment too soon. A roar of red flame poured from thedarkness, both front and rear, and several bullets came humming in,burying themselves in the opposite plaster, and filling the interiorwith dust. The former tactics had been repeated--the storming partyadvancing under cover of the fire of their supports. And immediatelyupon the cessation of that fire, a mass of savages rose from the earth,and, quick as lightning, hurled themselves upon the store.
Then those within had their hands full. The magazine rifles, playingupon the advancing crowd, wrought fearful havoc at point-blank quarters,and bodies, in the struggles of death or wounds, lay heaped up under thewindows. But the assailants paused not, pressing on with greaterintrepidity than ever, seeming to laugh at death. Now their hands wereon the window-sills, but before they could effect an entrance there wasthe same crash, the same wild spring, the same fall backward without,and mingling with the din of firearms, the unearthly vibration of theMatabele battle-hum, uttered from the chest through the closed teethoutward, "Jji-jji!" rendered the scene as one of the strivings offiends. Then the set, awful faces of those within--visible in the glareand smoke of the rifles--battling for their lives against tremendousodds!
It could not last. Very few minutes would decide one way or the other.Carbutt, helping defend one of the front windows, found the magazine ofhis rifle exhausted. Dropping back to fill it, he found his ammunitionin like state--exhausted too; and at the same time the man who steppedforward to take his place received a blow with a heavy knobkerrie thatsent him down like a bullock. A big Matabele warrior was half in theroom; another, quick as thought, drove his assegai clean through theCockney prospector. The entrance was forced. The besiegers heldpossession of the interior.
Not quite, though. The last man left alive, viz. Carbutt himself,stepped back through the compartment door and slammed it in their faces.But what avail? They would soon batter it in. It was only staving offthe evil day.
The firing without was now renewed--renewed with a fury not hithertomanifested. Yet none of the missiles seemed to take effect. But aperfect uproar was taking place, wild cries, and rushings to and fro.Then the warriors who had entered the further compartment seemed to becrowding out as fast as ever they could. The dawn now was fairlybroken. The space around the house had cleared as if by magic, save forthe dead and disabled. Those within the bush were retreating, turningto fire as they did so. But--_not at the store_.
Then came a low rumbling sound, which the besieged ones, hearing, lookedat each other for a moment, and then broke into a mighty hurrah, for init they recognised the sound of hoofs, and of many hoofs.
Some two score horsemen rode up to the door, their uniforms andtrappings those of the Matabeleland Mounted Police. That this did notconstitute the whole of the force which had so effectually and in thenick of time come to their relief, a sound of brisk firing from the rockridge at the back of the store served to show. A squad, having takenpossession of the said ridge, was hastening the departure of theretreating Matabele.
As the besieged stepped forth they presented a not unimpressivespectacle. Haggard, unshorn; hands blackened and burnt from contactwith the quick-firing magazine rifles; the anxious look telling of manyhours of strained vigilance; the hard set of determined faces; and thelight of battle not yet gone out of their eyes--they were in keepingwith the background of bullet-battered wall and the foreground of darkcorpses, grim and gory, lying stark and in every variety of contortedshape, at which the Police horses were snorting and shying.
"Just in time, Overton!" said Jekyll, hailing the officer in command,who was a friend of his. "Only just in the nick of time. They hadalready got inside the further room. Five minutes more would have donefor us."
"You stood them off well," returned the other, dismounting. "I neverthought we'd have been any good at all; thought you'd have been knockedon the head long ago." Then gravely, "Any--er--losses?"
"Four. One of your men. The one who warned us."
"Robinson, wasn't it?"--turning to a trooper, who answered in theaffirmative.
"Poor chap! Hallo, Carbutt. _You_ in it, eh?"
"Glad to be out of it, too. Have a drink, Overton. I think we alldeserve one."
Now the residue of the relieving force arrived. These were alldismounted men, prospectors mostly, who had either been warned in timeor had fallen in with the Police during their flight. Nearly all wereknown to some one or other of the defenders of the store, and there wasa great interchange of greeting, and more than one story of hairbreadthescapes, told by some, who, like these, had been succoured only in thenick of time.
"There's going to be the devil to pay," the police captain was saying."The rebellion's a general one, or precious nearly so; at any rate, inthis part of the country. Zazwe's people and Umlugula's have risen, andBulawayo was being laagered up for all it was worth when we left. Wecan't get any news from Sikumbutana, but Madula's a very shaky customer,and if he joins in, then I'm afraid Inglefield and Ames will be in a badway."
"Roll up, boys! Roll up!" sang out Jekyll, who had gone outside."There's free drinks all round this morning. `Skoff,' too. Help getdown some of these tins."
There was no lack of response to this appeal, and the sun rose upon abusy scene. Glasses and beakers clinked, and men sat or stood around,devouring "bully" beef or canned tongues and other provisions, some ofthe rougher sort now and then shying the empty tins in scornful hate atthe dead bodies of the fallen savages--for, after all, the corpses offour of their countrymen still lay unburied within.
"You've done for thirty-one all told, Jekyll," presently remarkedOverton, who had set some of his men to count the dead immediatelyaround the place. "Not a bad bag for seven guns. What?"
"No; but we've lost four," was the grave rep
ly.
Then, having taken in a great deal of much needed refreshment, andeffected the burial of their slain comrades--the latter, by theexigencies of the circumstances, somewhat hurriedly performed--the forcedivided, the Police moving on to warn Hollingworth. With them wentMoseley and Tarrant, while the remainder elected to stay at Jekyll'suntil they saw how things were likely to turn.
"I don't know that you're altogether wise, all of you," were the Policecaptain's parting words. "You've held your own against tremendous oddsso far; but when it's a case of the whole country being up against you,I'm afraid you'll have no show."
But to this the reply was there were plenty of them now, and they couldhold their own against every carmine-tinted nigger in Matabeleland.
It was late in the afternoon when the mounted force arrived atHollingworth's farm. There was a silence about the place, an absence oflife that struck upon them at once.
"I expect they've cleared," said Moseley. "In fact, they must have, orwe'd have heard the kids' voices in some shape or form."
"Let's hope so," replied the Police captain. Then a startled gaspescaped him. For exactly what had attracted Nidia's glance on herreturn attracted his--the broad trail in the dust and the blood-patches,now dry and black.
With sinking hearts they dismounted at the door, and Overton knocked.No answer.
Somehow several of the faces of those who stood looking at each otherhad gone white. A moment of silence, then, turning the handle, thePolice captain entered. He was followed by Moseley and Tarrant.
Almost instinctively they made a movement as though to back out again,then with set faces advanced into the room. Those horrible remains--battered, mutilated--told their own tale. They were too late--too lateby twenty-four hours.
Then Tarrant's behaviour astonished the other two. Pushing past them heentered the other rooms, casting quick searching glances into everycorner or recess. When he returned there was a look almost of reliefupon his face.
"Miss Commerell is not here," he said.
"Miss who?" asked Overton, quickly.
"Miss Commerell. A visitor. Moseley, can she have escaped?"
"I hope to Heaven she has," was the reply. "Wait. We haven't examinedthe huts or the stable."
Quickly they went round to the back, and with sinking hearts began theirsearch. In one of the huts the body of poor little Jimmie came tolight; then the lock of the store-hut was battered off--the stable--everywhere. Still, no trace of the missing girl.
"She may have escaped into the bush," suggested Tarrant, whosesuppressed excitement, even at that moment, did not escape the others."Quick, Overton! Send some of your men to scour it in every direction."
"Not so fast," said the Police captain. "Things can't be done that way.We must go to work systematically."
He called up two of his men who were born colonists and versed in themysteries of spoor. They, however, did not look hopeful. The groundaround the homestead was so tramped and withal so dry, it would bedifficult to do anything in that line. But they immediately set towork.
Meanwhile Overton, with the aid of his sergeant, was drawing up anofficial report, and making general examination. It was clear that thewhole family had been set upon and treacherously massacred.
And those who looked upon these pitiful remains--a black lust ofvengeance was set up in their hearts which was destined to burn therefor many a long day. Woe to the savage who should meet these men inbattle, or who, vanquished, should expect mercy. Such mercy they mightexpect as they had shown; and what that mercy was let the mutilatedremains of father, mother, and little children treacherously slaughteredbeneath their own roof-tree speak for themselves. "Remember theHollingworths," would henceforth be a sufficient rallying cry to thosewho had stood here, when the savage foe should stand before them.
John Ames, Native Commissioner: A Romance of the Matabele Rising Page 14