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<h2> CHAPTER VII<br/> THE RUSH OF THE SLAVES </h2>
<p>Well, we did all that we could in the way of making ready. After we had
strengthened the thorn fence of our <i>boma</i> as much as possible and
lit several large fires outside of it to give us light, I allotted his
place to each of the hunters and saw that their rifles were in order and
that they had plenty of ammunition. Then I made Stephen lie down to sleep,
telling him that I would wake him to watch later on. This, however, I had
no intention of doing as I wanted him to rise fresh and with a steady
nerve on the occasion of his first fight.</p>
<p>As soon as I saw that his eyes were shut I sat down on a box to think. To
tell the truth, I was not altogether happy in my mind. To begin with I did
not know how the twenty bearers would behave under fire. They might be
seized with panic and rush about, in which case I determined to let them
out of the <i>boma</i> to take their chance, for panic is a catching
thing.</p>
<p>A worse matter was our rather awkward position. There were a good many
trees round the camp among which an attacking force could take cover. But
what I feared much more than this, or even than the reedy banks of the
stream along which they could creep out of reach of our bullets, was a
sloping stretch of land behind us, covered with thick grass and scrub and
rising to a crest about two hundred yards away. Now if the Arabs got round
to this crest they would fire straight into our <i>boma</i> and make it
untenable. Also if the wind were in their favour, they might burn us out
or attack under the clouds of smoke. As a matter of fact, by the special
mercy of Providence, none of these things happened, for a reason which I
will explain presently.</p>
<p>In the case of a night, or rather a dawn attack, I have always found that
hour before the sky begins to lighten very trying indeed. As a rule
everything that can be done is done, so that one must sit idle. Also it is
then that both the physical and the moral qualities are at their lowest
ebb, as is the mercury in the thermometer. The night is dying, the day is
not yet born. All nature feels the influence of that hour. Then bad dreams
come, then infants wake and call, then memories of those who are lost to
us arise, then the hesitating soul often takes its plunge into the depths
of the Unknown. It is not wonderful, therefore, that on this occasion the
wheels of Time drave heavily for me. I knew that the morning was at hand
by many signs. The sleeping bearers turned and muttered in their sleep, a
distant lion ceased its roaring and departed to its own place, an
alert-minded cock crew somewhere, and our donkeys rose and began to pull
at their tether-ropes. As yet, however, it was quite dark. Hans crept up
to me; I saw his wrinkled, yellow face in the light of the watch-fire.</p>
<p>“I smell the dawn,” he said and vanished again.</p>
<p>Mavovo appeared, his massive frame silhouetted against the blackness.</p>
<p>“Watcher-by-Night, the night is done,” he said. “If they come at all, the
enemy should soon be here.”</p>
<p>Saluting, he too passed away into the dark, and presently I heard the
sounds of spear-blades striking together and of rifles being cocked.</p>
<p>I went to Stephen and woke him. He sat up yawning, muttered something
about greenhouses; then remembering, said:</p>
<p>“Are those Arabs coming? We are in for a fight at last. Jolly, old fellow,
isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“You are a jolly old fool!” I answered inconsequently; and marched off in
a rage.</p>
<p>My mind was uneasy about this inexperienced young man. If anything should
happen to him, what should I say to his father? Well, in that event, it
was probable that something would happen to me too. Very possibly we
should both be dead in an hour. Certainly I had no intention of allowing
myself to be taken alive by those slaving devils. Hassan’s remarks about
fires and ant-heaps and the sun were too vividly impressed upon my memory.</p>
<p>In another five minutes everybody was up, though it required kicks to
rouse most of the bearers from their slumbers. They, poor men, were
accustomed to the presence of Death and did not suffer him to disturb
their sleep. Still I noted that they muttered together and seemed alarmed.</p>
<p>“If they show signs of treachery, you must kill them,” I said to Mavovo,
who nodded in his grave, silent fashion.</p>
<p>Only we left the rescued slave-woman and her child plunged in the stupor
of exhaustion in a corner of the camp. What was the use of disturbing her?</p>
<p>Sammy, who seemed far from comfortable, brought two pannikins of coffee to
Stephen and myself.</p>
<p>“This is a momentous occasion, Messrs. Quatermain and Somers,” he said as
he gave us the coffee, and I noted that his hand shook and his teeth
chattered. “The cold is extreme,” he went on in his copybook English by
way of explaining these physical symptoms which he saw I had observed.
“Mr. Quatermain, it is all very well for you to paw the ground and smell
the battle from afar, as is written in the Book of Job. But I was not
brought up to the trade and take it otherwise. Indeed I wish I was back at
the Cape, yes, even within the whitewashed walls of the Place of
Detention.”</p>
<p>“So do I,” I muttered, keeping my right foot on the ground with
difficulty.</p>
<p>But Stephen laughed outright and asked:</p>
<p>“What will you do, Sammy, when the fighting begins?”</p>
<p>“Mr. Somers,” he answered, “I have employed some wakeful hours in making a
hole behind that tree-trunk, through which I hope bullets will not pass.
There, being a man of peace, I shall pray for our success.”</p>
<p>“And if the Arabs get in, Sammy?”</p>
<p>“Then, sir, under Heaven, I shall trust to the fleetness of my legs.”</p>
<p>I could stand it no longer, my right foot flew up and caught Sammy in the
place at which I had aimed. He vanished, casting a reproachful look behind
him.</p>
<p>Just then a terrible clamour arose in the slavers’ camp which hitherto had
been very silent, and just then also the first light of dawn glinted on
the barrels of our guns.</p>
<p>“Look out!” I cried, as I gulped down the last of my coffee, “there’s
something going on there.”</p>
<p>The clamour grew louder and louder till it seemed to fill the skies with a
concentrated noise of curses and shrieking. Distinct from it, as it were,
I heard shouts of alarm and rage, and then came the sounds of gunshots,
yells of agony and the thud of many running feet. By now the light was
growing fast, as it does when once it comes in these latitudes. Three more
minutes, and through the grey mist of the dawn we saw dozens of black
figures struggling up the slope towards us. Some seemed to have logs of
wood tied behind them, others crawled along on all fours, others dragged
children by the hand, and all yelled at the top of their voices.</p>
<p>“The slaves are attacking us,” said Stephen, lifting his rifle.</p>
<p>“Don’t shoot,” I cried. “I think they have broken loose and are taking
refuge with us.”</p>
<p>I was right. These unfortunates had used the two knives which our men
smuggled to them to good purpose. Having cut their bonds during the night
they were running to seek the protection of the Englishmen and their flag.
On they surged, a hideous mob, the slave-sticks still fast to the necks of
many of them, for they had not found time or opportunity to loose them
all, while behind came the Arabs firing. The position was clearly very
serious, for if they burst into our camp, we should be overwhelmed by
their rush and fall victims to the bullets of their captors.</p>
<p>“Hans,” I cried, “take the men who were with you last night and try to
lead those slaves round behind us. Quick! Quick now before we are stamped
flat.”</p>
<p>Hans darted away, and presently I saw him and the two other men running
towards the approaching crowd, Hans waving a shirt or some other white
object to attract their attention. At the time the foremost of them had
halted and were screaming, “Mercy, English! Save us, English!” having
caught sight of the muzzles of our guns.</p>
<p>This was a fortunate occurrence indeed, for otherwise Hans and his
companions could never have stopped them. The next thing I saw was the
white shirt bearing away to the left on a line which led past the fence of
our <i>boma</i> into the scrub and high grass behind the camp. After it
struggled and scrambled the crowd of slaves like a flock of sheep after
the bell-wether. To them Hans’s shirt was a kind of “white helmet of
Navarre.”</p>
<p>So that danger passed by. Some of the slaves had been struck by the Arab
bullets or trodden down in the rush or collapsed from weakness, and at
those of them who still lived the pursuers were firing. One woman, who had
fallen under the weight of the great slave-stick which was fastened about
her throat, was crawling forward on her hands and knees. An Arab fired at
her and the bullet struck the ground under her stomach but without hurting
her, for she wriggled forward more quickly. I was sure that he would shoot
again, and watched. Presently, for by now the light was good, I saw him, a
tall fellow in a white robe, step from behind the shelter of a banana-tree
about a hundred and fifty yards away, and take a careful aim at the woman.
But I too took aim and—well, I am not bad at this kind of
snap-shooting when I try. That Arab’s gun never went off. Only he went up
two feet or more into the air and fell backwards, shot through the head
which was the part of his person that I had covered.</p>
<p>The hunters uttered a low “<i>Ow!</i>” of approval, while Stephen, in a
sort of ecstasy, exclaimed:</p>
<p>“Oh! what a heavenly shot!”</p>
<p>“Not bad, but I shouldn’t have fired it,” I answered, “for they haven’t
attacked us yet. It is a kind of declaration of war, and,” I added, as
Stephen’s sun-helmet leapt from his head, “there’s the answer. Down, all
of you, and fire through the loopholes.”</p>
<p>Then the fight began. Except for its grand finale it wasn’t really much of
a fight when compared with one or two we had afterwards on this
expedition. But, on the other hand, its character was extremely awkward
for us. The Arabs made one rush at the beginning, shouting on Allah as
they came. But though they were plucky villains they did not repeat that
experiment. Either by good luck or good management Stephen knocked over
two of them with his double-barrelled rifle, and I also emptied my
large-bore breech-loader—the first I ever owned—among them,
not without results, while the hunters made a hit or two.</p>
<p>After this the Arabs took cover, getting behind trees and, as I had
feared, hiding in the reeds on the banks of the stream. Thence they
harassed us a great deal, for amongst them were some very decent shots.
Indeed, had we not taken the precaution of lining the thorn fence with a
thick bank of earth and sods, we should have fared badly. As it was, one
of the hunters was killed, the bullet passing through the loophole and
striking him in the throat as he was about to fire, while the unfortunate
bearers who were on rather higher ground, suffered a good deal, two of
them being dispatched outright and four wounded. After this I made the
rest of them lie flat on the ground close against the fence, in such a
fashion that we could fire over their bodies.</p>
<p>Soon it became evident that there were more of these Arabs than we had
thought, for quite fifty of them were firing from different places.
Moreover, by slow degrees they were advancing with the evident object of
outflanking us and gaining the high ground behind. Some of them, of
course, we stopped as they rushed from cover to cover, but this kind of
shooting was as difficult as that at bolting rabbits across a woodland
ride, and to be honest, I must say that I alone was much good at the game,
for here my quick eye and long practice told.</p>
<p>Within an hour the position had grown very serious indeed, so much so that
we found it necessary to consider what should be done. I pointed out that
with our small number a charge against the scattered riflemen, who were
gradually surrounding us, would be worse than useless, while it was almost
hopeless to expect to hold the <i>boma</i> till nightfall. Once the Arabs
got behind us, they could rake us from the higher ground. Indeed, for the
last half-hour we had directed all our efforts to preventing them from
passing this <i>boma</i>, which, fortunately, the stream on the one side
and a stretch of quite open land on the other made it very difficult for
them to do without more loss than they cared to face.</p>
<p>“I fear there is only one thing for it,” I said at length, during a pause
in the attack while the Arabs were either taking counsel or waiting for
more ammunition, “to abandon the camp and everything and bolt up the hill.
As those fellows must be tired and we are all good runners, we may save
our lives in that way.”</p>
<p>“How about the wounded,” asked Stephen, “and the slave-woman and child?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” I answered, looking down.</p>
<p>Of course I did know very well, but here, in an acute form, arose the
ancient question: Were we to perish for the sake of certain individuals in
whom we had no great interest and whom we could not save by remaining with
them? If we stayed where we were our end seemed fairly certain, whereas if
we ran for it, we had a good chance of escape. But this involved the
desertion of several injured bearers and a woman and child whom we had
picked up starving, all of whom would certainly be massacred, save perhaps
the woman and child.</p>
<p>As these reflections flitted through my brain I remembered that a drunken
Frenchman named Leblanc, whom I had known in my youth and who had been a
friend of Napoleon, or so he said, told me that the great emperor when he
was besieging Acre in the Holy Land, was forced to retreat. Being unable
to carry off his wounded men, he left them in a monastery on Mount Carmel,
each with a dose of poison by his side. Apparently they did not take the
poison, for according to Leblanc, who said he was present there (not as a
wounded man), the Turks came and butchered them. So Napoleon chose to save
his own life and that of his army at the expense of his wounded. But,
after all, I reflected, he was no shining example to Christian men and I
hadn’t time to find any poison. In a few words I explained the situation
to Mavovo, leaving out the story of Napoleon, and asked his advice.</p>
<p>“We must run,” he answered. “Although I do not like running, life is more
than stores, and he who lives may one day pay his debts.”</p>
<p>“But the wounded, Mavovo; we cannot carry them.”</p>
<p>“I will see to them, Macumazana; it is the fortune of war. Or if they
prefer it, we can leave them—to be nursed by the Arabs,” which of
course was just Napoleon and his poison over again.</p>
<p>I confess that I was about to assent, not wishing that I and Stephen,
especially Stephen, should be potted in an obscure engagement with some
miserable slave-traders, when something happened.</p>
<p>It will be remembered that shortly after dawn Hans, using a shirt for a
flag, had led the fugitive slaves past the camp up to the hill behind.
There he and they had vanished, and from that moment to this we had seen
nothing of him or them. Now of a sudden he reappeared still waving the
shirt. After him rushed a great mob of naked men, two hundred of them
perhaps, brandishing slave-sticks, stones and the boughs of trees. When
they had almost reached the <i>boma</i> whence we watched them amazed,
they split into two bodies, half of them passing to our left, apparently
under the command of the Mazitu who had accompanied Hans to the
slave-camp, and the other half to the right following the old Hottentot
himself. I stared at Mavovo, for I was too thunderstruck to speak.</p>
<p>“Ah!” said Mavovo, “that Spotted Snake of yours” (he referred to Hans),
“is great in his own way, for he has even been able to put courage into
the hearts of slaves. Do you not understand, my father, that they are
about to attack those Arabs, yes, and to pull them down, as wild dogs do a
buffalo calf?”</p>
<p>It was true: this was the Hottentot’s superb design. Moreover, it
succeeded. Up on the hillside he had watched the progress of the fight and
seen how it must end. Then, through the interpreter who was with him, he
harangued those slaves, pointing out to them that we, their white friends,
were about to be overwhelmed, and that they must either strike for
themselves, or return to the yoke. Among them were some who had been
warriors in their own tribes, and through these he stirred the others.
They seized the slave-sticks from which they had been freed, pieces of
rock, anything that came to their hands, and at a given signal charged,
leaving only the women and children behind them.</p>
<p>Seeing them come the scattered Arabs began to fire at them, killing some,
but thereby revealing their own hiding-places. At these the slaves rushed.
They hurled themselves upon the Arabs; they tore them, they dashed out
their brains in such fashion that within another five minutes quite
two-thirds of them were dead; and the rest, of whom we took some toll with
our rifles as they bolted from cover, were in full flight.</p>
<p>It was a terrible vengeance. Never did I witness a more savage scene than
that of these outraged men wreaking their wrongs upon their tormentors. I
remember that when most of the Arabs had been killed and a few were
escaped, the slaves found one, I think it was the captain of the gang, who
had hidden himself in a little patch of dead reeds washed up by the
stream. Somehow they managed to fire these; I expect that Hans, who had
remained discreetly in the background after the fighting began, emerged
when it was over and gave them a match. In due course out came the
wretched Arab. Then they flung themselves on him as marching ants do upon
a caterpillar, and despite his cries for mercy, tore him to fragments,
literally to fragments. Being what they were, it was hard to blame them.
If we had seen our parents shot, our infants pitilessly butchered, our
homes destroyed and our women and children marched off in the slave-sticks
to be sold into bondage, should we not have done the same? I think so,
although we are not ignorant savages.</p>
<p>Thus our lives were saved by those whom we had tried to save, and for once
justice was done even in those dark parts of Africa, for in that time they
were dark indeed. Had it not been for Hans and the courage which he
managed to inspire into the hearts of these crushed blacks, I have little
doubt but that before nightfall we should have been dead, for I do not
think that any attempt at retreat would have proved successful. And if it
had, what would have happened to us in that wild country surrounded by
enemies and with only the few rounds of ammunition that we could have
carried in our flight?</p>
<p>“Ah! Baas,” said the Hottentot a little while later, squinting at me with
his bead-like eyes, “after all you did well to listen to my prayer and
bring me with you. Old Hans is a drunkard, yes, or at least he used to be,
and old Hans gambles, yes, and perhaps old Hans will go to hell. But
meanwhile old Hans can think, as he thought one day before the attack on
Maraisfontein, as he thought one day on the Hill of Slaughter by Dingaan’s
kraal, and as he thought this morning up there among the bushes. Oh! he
knew how it must end. He saw that those dogs of Arabs were cutting down a
tree to make a bridge across that deep stream and get round to the high
ground at the back of you, whence they would have shot you all in five
minutes. And now, Baas, my stomach feels very queer. There was no
breakfast on the hillside and the sun was very hot. I think that just one
tot of brandy—oh! I know, I promised not to drink, but if <i>you</i>
give it me the sin is yours, not mine.”</p>
<p>Well, I gave him the tot, a stiff one, which he drank quite neat, although
it was against my principles, and locked up the bottle afterwards. Also I
shook the old fellow’s hand and thanked him, which seemed to please him
very much, for he muttered something to the effect that it was nothing,
since if I had died he would have died too, and therefore he was thinking
of himself, not of me. Also two big tears trickled down his snub nose, but
these may have been produced by the brandy.</p>
<p>Well, we were the victors and elated as may be imagined, for we knew that
the few slavers who had escaped would not attack us again. Our first
thought was for food, for it was now past midday and we were starving. But
dinner presupposed a cook, which reminded us of Sammy. Stephen, who was in
such a state of jubilation that he danced rather than walked, the helmet
with a bullet-hole through it stuck ludicrously upon the back of his head,
started to look for him, and presently called to me in an alarmed voice. I
went to the back of the camp and, staring into a hole like a small grave,
that had been hollowed behind a solitary thorn tree, at the bottom of
which lay a huddled heap, I found him. It was Sammy to all appearance. We
got hold of him, and up he came, limp, senseless, but still holding in his
hand a large, thick Bible, bound in boards. Moreover, in the exact centre
of this Bible was a bullet-hole, or rather a bullet which had passed
through the stout cover and buried itself in the paper behind. I remember
that the point of it reached to the First Book of Samuel.</p>
<p>As for Sammy himself, he seemed to be quite uninjured, and indeed after we
had poured some water on him—he was never fond of water—he
revived quickly enough. Then we found out what had happened.</p>
<p>“Gentlemen,” he said, “I was seated in my place of refuge, being as I have
told you a man of peace, enjoying the consolation of religion”—he
was very pious in times of trouble. “At length the firing slackened, and I
ventured to peep out, thinking that perhaps the foe had fled, holding the
Book in front of my face in case of accidents. After that I remember no
more.”</p>
<p>“No,” said Stephen, “for the bullet hit the Bible and the Bible hit your
head and knocked you silly.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” said Sammy, “how true is what I was taught that the Book shall be a
shield of defence to the righteous. Now I understand why I was moved to
bring the thick old Bible that belonged to my mother in heaven, and not
the little thin one given to me by the Sunday school teacher, through
which the ball of the enemy would have passed.”</p>
<p>Then he went off to cook the dinner.</p>
<p>Certainly it was a wonderful escape, though whether this was a direct
reward of his piety, as he thought, is another matter.</p>
<p>As soon as we had eaten, we set to work to consider our position, of which
the crux was what to do with the slaves. There they sat in groups outside
the fence, many of them showing traces of the recent conflict, and stared
at us stupidly. Then of a sudden, as though with one voice, they began to
clamour for food.</p>
<p>“How are we to feed several hundred people?” asked Stephen.</p>
<p>“The slavers must have done it somehow,” I answered. “Let’s go and search
their camp.”</p>
<p>So we went, followed by our hungry clients, and, in addition to many more
things, to our delight found a great store of rice, mealies and other
grain, some of which was ground into meal. Of this we served out an ample
supply together with salt, and soon the cooking pots were full of
porridge. My word! how those poor creatures did eat, nor, although it was
necessary to be careful, could we find it in our hearts to stint them of
the first full meal that had passed their lips after weeks of starvation.
When at length they were satisfied we addressed them, thanking them for
their bravery, telling them that they were free and asking what they meant
to do.</p>
<p>Upon this point they seemed to have but one idea. They said that they
would come with us who were their protectors. Then followed a great <i>indaba</i>,
or consultation, which really I have not time to set out. The end of it
was that we agreed that so many of them as wished should accompany us till
they reached country that they knew, when they would be at liberty to
depart to their own homes. Meanwhile we divided up the blankets and other
stores of the Arabs, such as trade goods and beads, among them, and then
left them to their own devices, after placing a guard over the foodstuffs.
For my part I hoped devoutly that in the morning we should find them gone.</p>
<p>After this we returned to our <i>boma</i> just in time to assist at a sad
ceremony, that of the burial of my hunter who had been shot through the
head. His companions had dug a deep hole outside the fence and within a
few yards of where he fell. In this they placed him in a sitting position
with his face turned towards Zululand, setting by his side two gourds that
belonged to him, one filled with water and the other with grain. Also they
gave him a blanket and his two assegais, tearing the blanket and breaking
the handles of the spears, to “kill” them as they said. Then quietly
enough they threw in the earth about him and filled the top of the hole
with large stones to prevent the hyenas from digging him up. This done,
one by one, they walked past the grave, each man stopping to bid him
farewell by name. Mavovo, who came last, made a little speech, telling the
deceased to <i>namba kachle</i>, that is, go comfortably to the land of
ghosts, as, he added, no doubt he would do who had died as a man should.
He requested him, moreover, if he returned as a spirit, to bring good and
not ill-fortune on us, since otherwise when he, Mavovo, became a spirit in
his turn, he would have words to say to him on the matter. In conclusion,
he remarked that as his, Mavovo’s Snake, had foretold this event at
Durban, a fact with which the deceased would now be acquainted he, the
said deceased, could never complain of not having received value for the
shilling he had paid as a divining fee.</p>
<p>“Yes,” exclaimed one of the hunters with a note of anxiety in his voice,
“but your Snake mentioned six of us to you, O doctor!”</p>
<p>“It did,” replied Mavovo, drawing a pinch of snuff up his uninjured
nostril, “and our brother there was the first of the six. Be not afraid,
the other five will certainly join him in due course, for my Snake must
speak the truth. Still, if anyone is in a hurry,” and he glared round the
little circle, “let him stop and talk with me alone. Perhaps I could
arrange that his turn——” here he stopped, for they were all
gone.</p>
<p>“Glad <i>I</i> didn’t pay a shilling to have my fortune told by Mavovo,”
said Stephen, when we were back in the <i>boma</i>, “but why did they bury
his pots and spears with him?”</p>
<p>“To be used by the spirit on its journey,” I answered. “Although they do
not quite know it, these Zulus believe, like all the rest of the world,
that man lives on elsewhere.”</p>
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