CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
THE FIGHT OUTSIDE.
MacFurdon's troop, about two hundred strong, was sweeping up the longslope which ran northward from the township of Bulawayo, and the line itwas taking would bring it out a little to the right of Government Houseand the site of the old kraal.
It was bitterly cold, for the dawn had not yet risen. The insurgentshad waxed bolder and yet more bold. They were holding the ridge, andwere in calm possession of Government House itself, and now the idea wasto teach them that the time had come when they could no longer haveeverything their own way. To this end it had been decided to get wellwithin striking distance of them at break of day.
MacFurdon's troop was rather a scratch concern, got together in a hurry,but consisting of good material. With it went many volunteers. It was,however, in this instance, as much a reconnoitring party as one forfighting purposes. On its right flank moved a contingent of the CapeBoy corps, feeling the ground towards the Umguza. This, too, was rathera scratch force, composed of every conceivable kind of South Africannative, but, like the other, of excellent fighting material.
"Say, Ames--what sort of show you think we got?" whispered one of thevolunteers aforesaid, as they drew near the crest of the rise. "Now, ifthey was Indians, I guess we'd boost them out of yon White House ofyours in no time, striking them in the dark so."
The speaker was an American, by name Shackleton, commonly called "TheMajor," by virtue of his having claimed to hold that rank in Uncle Sam'sregular army. He likewise claimed to have seen service in the Indianwars on the Plains. In more peaceful times he was a prospector byoccupation.
"Show? Oh, the usual thing," answered John Ames. "We shall get intouch with each other, and there'll be a big swap in bullets, and ageneral hooroosh. They'll all sneak away in the grass, and we shall getback into camp feeling as if our clothes all wanted letting out. Ifthere are more of them than we can take care of all at once, why, weshan't be feeling so vast."
"That so? You ever fight Matabele before?"
"Yes. I was up here with the column in '93. That used to be theprogramme then."
The wind was singing in frosty puffs through the grass, bitterly cold.Riding along in the darkness, the numbed feet of most there advancingcould hardly feel the stirrups. Then upon the raw air arose a sound--astrange, long-drawn wailing sound, not devoid of rhythm, andinterspersed every now and then with a kind of humming hiss.
"They are holding a war-dance, so there must be plenty of them there,"whispered John Ames. "Listen! I can hear the words now."
It was even as he said. They were near enough for that. Louder andlouder the war-song of Lobengula swelled forth upon the darkness, comingfrom just beyond the rise--
"Woz 'ubone! Woz 'ubone, kiti kwazula! Woz 'ubone! Nants 'indaba. Indaba yemkonto--Jji-jji! Jji-jji!
"Nants 'indaba. Indaba yezizwe. Akwazimuntu. Jji-jji! Jji-jji! Woz 'ubone! Nants 'indaba. Indaba kwa Matyobane. Jji-jji! Jji-jji!"
["Jji-jji" is the cry on striking a foe.]
A translation of the war-song:
"Come behold, come behold, at the High Place! Come behold. That is the tale--the tale of the spear. That is the tale--the tale of the nation. Nobody knows. Come behold. That is the tale--the tale of Matyobane."
The barbaric strophes rolled in a wave of sound, rising higher with eachrepetition, and to the measured accompaniment of the dull thunder ofstamping feet, the effect was weirdly grand in the darkness.
"It makes something very like nonsense if turned into English,"whispered John Ames, in reply to his comrade's query, "but it containsallusions well understood by themselves. There isn't anythingparticularly bloodthirsty about it, either. That sort of hiss, everynow and then, is what we shall hear if we get to close quarters."
"Their kind of war-whoop, maybe. I recollect at Wounded Knee Creek,when Big Foot's band made believe to come in--"
But what the speaker recollected at Wounded Knee Creek was destinednever to be imparted to John Ames, for at that juncture a peremptoryword was passed for silence in the ranks.
Now the dawn was beginning to show, revealing eager faces, set and grim,and rifles were grasped anew. Then what happened nobody seemed to knowindividually. A straggling volley was poured into the advancing troopfrom the crest of the rise, and the bugle rang out the order to charge.As John Ames had described it, there followed a sort of "hooroosh" inwhich each man was acting very much to his own hand, as, the troophaving whirled over the ridge, the order was given to dismount, and themen stood pouring volley upon volley after the loose masses of flyingsavages.
This, however, was not destined to last. The first shock over ofsurprise and dismay, the Matabele dropped down into cover and began toreturn the fire with considerable spirit. They were in some force, too,and it behoved the attacking whites to seize what shelter they could,each man taking advantage of whatever lay to his hand, whether stone orbush or ant heap, or even a depression in the ground.
Then, for a space, things grew very lively. The sharp spit of rifleswas never silent, with the singing of missiles overhead. The enemy hadthe advantage in the matter of cover, and now and then a dark form,gliding like a snake among the grass and thorns, would be seen to make aconvulsive spring and fall over kicking. One trooper was shot dead, andmore than one wounded, and meanwhile masses of the enemy could bedescried working up to the south-west. Reinforcements? It looked likeit, remembering that the force at first engaged was not inconsiderable.The word went forth to retreat.
This was done in good order--at first. But now appeared a greatoutflanking mass, pouring up from the northern side, and its object wasclear. A long wire fence ran down from the apex of the rise. It wasnecessary to retreat round the upper end of this. Did this outflankingmass reach it first, the white force would probably be destroyed, forthey could not get their horses through the wire, and would havecrushing odds to overwhelm them. It became a race for the end of thefence, which, however, the cool intrepidity and sound judgment of theleaders prevented from being a helter-skelter one.
John Ames and "The Major" and a trooper were on the extreme left flank,now become the right one, all intent on a knot of savages, who werekeeping them busily employed from a thick bit of thorn bush, and did notat once become alive to the retreat. When they did, they became aliveto something else, and that was that by nothing short of a miracle couldthey gain the upper end of that fence in time.
"Your horse jump, Ames?" said the American.
"Don't know. Never tried."
"You got to try now, then, by God! Our only chance. Look!"
John Ames did look, and so did the other man. At the upper end of thefence a mass of savages were in possession, pouring a volley after theretreating troop. Below on their right the three men saw the otheroutflanking "horn" now closing in upon them, and a line of warriorscoming through the grass and thorns in front at a trot. It was a strongimpi, and a large one.
In that brief flash of time, John Ames was curiously alive to detail.He could see the ostrich-feather mutyas worn by the warriors, theparti-coloured shields and the gleam of spears, and decided this was acrack regiment. He could see, too, the township of Bulawayo lying inits basin below, and the retreating horsemen now already far away. Henoted the look of fear on the face of the trooper, and that of desperateresolve in the keen eyes of the American.
"Now for it!" he cried. "Put your horses at it here. I'll give you alead."
A wire fence is a trying thing to jump, with an uncertain steed. To hissurprise, John Ames lighted in safety on the other side. Not soShackleton. His horse's hoofs caught the top wire, and turning acomplete somersault, threw its rider heavily, but on the right side ofthe fence, while that of the trooper refused point-blank and trottedoff, snorting idiotically, right down the fence into the very teeth ofthe advancing enemy.
John Ames turned, then rode back.
"Get up, Major, for Heaven's sake!"
Shackl
eton had already been on his feet, but subsided again with agroan.
"Can't. Ankle gone. Guess my time's here--right here," he panted."You go on."
"We don't do things that way, damn it!" John Ames answered, in hisstrong excitement. "Here, get up on my horse."
He had dismounted. Shackleton's fool of an animal had already recovereditself and made itself scarce. The advancing impi was barely threehundred yards distant, pouring onward, shivering the air with its deepvibrating "Jji-jji!"
"You go on!" repeated the American. "I won't be taken alive."
John Ames _said_ no more. He _did_. Shackleton, fortunately, wasrather a small man, and light. The other seized him under theshoulders, and by dint of half lifting, half pushing, got him bodilyinto the saddle.
"Now go!" he shouted. "I'll hold on the stirrup."
All this had taken something under a minute.
They went. The impi was now pouring through the fence, whose momentaryobstruction almost made a difference of life or death to the fugitives.How they escaped John Ames never knew. Sky, earth, the distant townshipbeneath, all whirled round and round before him. Twice he nearly losthold of the stirrup-leather and would have fallen; then at last becameaware of slackening pace. Turning, dizzy and exhausted, he saw that theenemy had abandoned pursuit.
And what of the unfortunate trooper? Not much, and that soon over,luckily. Abandoning his mount, he made a rush for the fence, but toolate. A very hail of assegais was showered upon him, and he fell, halfin, half out, across the wire. With a roar of exultation the savageswere around him. Assegais gleamed in the air, first bright, then red,and in a second nothing was left but a shapeless and mangled mass.
Such tragedies, however, come but under the simple word "losses," andthese, all things considered, had not been great. On the other hand,the enemy had suffered severely, and if, by sheer force of overwhelmingnumbers, he had succeeded in driving them back, those forming thereconnaissance were not disposed to feel it acutely. They were quiteready to go in at him another day, and thus make things even.
But Shackleton, otherwise "The Major," was not going to let the thingdown so easily. His sprained ankle kept him tied by the leg for somedays, but on the subject of the fight and the retreat he became somewhatof a bore. On the subject of John Ames he became even more of one. Hewas never tired of extolling that worthy's readiness and nerve, and hisself-devotion in risking his life to save a comrade.
"You British have got a little iron notion," he would say, "a thing youcall a Victoria Cross, I reckon. Well, when you going to get it forJohn Ames? He boosted me on to his broncho like a sack right away, andrun afoot himself. But for him where'd I be now? Cut into bully beefby those treacherous savages. Yes, sir."
But as these incisive utterances were invariably accompanied by aninvitation to liquor, there were some who were not above drawing. TheMajor upon his favourite topic. To most, however, he became a bore, butto none so much as the subject thereof. Said the latter one day--
"Do you know, Major, I begin to wish I had left you where you were.It's a fact that you're making a perfect fool of me, and I wish you'ddrop it."
"Shucks! Now you quit that fool-talk, John Ames, and reach down thatwhisky over there--if you can call such drug-store mixture as yourScotch stuff by the same name as real old Kentucky. I'm going on at ituntil they give you that little nickel thing you British think such aheap of."
"But I don't want it, can't you understand?" he retorted angrily; "noranything else either. I believe I'll get out of this country mightysoon. I'm sick of the whole show."
Shackleton looked at his friend, and shook his head gravely. John Amespetulant, meant something very wrong indeed with John Ames. Then anidea struck "The Major"--a bright idea, he reckoned--and in the resulthe seized an early opportunity of making a call, and during that call heretold his favourite tale to just two persons--to one of whom it waspleasant and to one of whom it was not. You see, he was a shrewdobserver, was Shackleton, otherwise "The Major."
John Ames, Native Commissioner: A Romance of the Matabele Rising Page 27