VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE ATTACK ON THE "GREAT PLACE."
It is night. Night, that is to say, for all practical purposes, thoughstrict chronological accuracy might compel us to define it as morning;for nearly three hours have elapsed since midnight. But, be that as itmay, at present it is as dark as the nethermost shades, as one of thatlong, silent file of horsemen, wending its way through the gloom,remarks to a comrade.
A chill breeze stirs the raw atmosphere, and sweeps before it puffs ofmisty vapour which have been resting thickly alike upon hill-top andlow-lying bottom. Overhead a few sickly stars shine forth through theflying scud, to be quickly veiled again, and replaced by anotherspangled patch. And, advancing at a foot-pace, comes line upon line ofmounted men, moving through the darkness like the phantom horsemen ofsome eerie legend. Very little talking is there in the ranks. Muffledin their overcoats and with hats slouched over their faces the men rideon, stolid, and meditative, and little inclined for conversation in thedamp, raw air which has a corresponding effect upon their spirits, evenif orders had not been issued for quiet and caution; for it is a nightmarch in the heart of the enemy's country.
It is difficult to distinguish face or feature of any description in theprofundity of the gloom; but now and again the dull silence and the deadmonotonous tramp of hoofs is relieved by the clank of arms and thejingle of a bit; or the smothered imprecation of some one whose horsehas stumbled in the darkness, as he holds up the careless animal, whogives a snort of alarm. And the march continues on through the night,till at last the gloom shows signs of lightening, and we begin to makeout the aspect of this bellicose-looking cavalcade advancing over thehills and dales of savage Gcalekaland. We see a number of roughly-clad,bearded men, mostly attired in serviceable corduroy and with agaily-coloured handkerchief twined round their slouch hats, mounted ontough, wiry steeds. On their saddles are strapped blankets ormackintoshes and for arms each man carries a rifle of some sort--fromthe Government Snider, to the double-barrelled weapon in ordinaryfrontier use, rifled and smooth-barrel for varying distance or quarry.Not a few have revolvers also; and broad, heavy belts, holding at leasttwo hundred rounds of cartridge, are buckled round them or slung overtheir shoulders. Many of which bullets will, I trow, find their mark inthe dusky bodies of the savage enemy before the day is very faradvanced. This is a corps of Irregular Horse, frontiersmen all of them.Another side of the column we see, in the gathering dawn, is composedof mounted volunteers--townsmen--whose gay uniforms, cavalry sabres, andglittering accoutrements, show out in contrast to the more sombretrappings of the corps first noticed. Yet of the two it is notdifficult to predict which the enemy would rather meet in battle.Another ingredient in this martial array is the Frontier Armed andMounted Police, two or three troops of which useful force, looking readyand soldier-like in their helmets and sober uniforms, flank the march--these are armed with short carbine and revolver. And lo, moving along,drawn by several stout horses, black and rakish-looking in the uncertainlight, are the field-pieces, with their attendant gunners--a smart andefficient selection of men.
The object of the expedition may be divulged by a scrap of theconversation of one of its members.
"So we shall smoke the old fox out of his own earth at last," is sayinga sturdy young fellow in the ranks of the Irregular Horse.
"Ha, ha! Shall we? You don't suppose old Kreli is sitting at homewaiting for us, do you?" is his comrade's reply. "Why, he's miles off,I expect."
"Bet you he isn't," cut in a third. "Bet you one to five in half-crownswe nobble old Kreli to-day."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the first speaker. "Jack's so sure of his bet that hewants all the odds in his favour."
"Well, well, yes," rejoined the other, briskly. "We must have a bet on,you know, just as a matter of form. But you'll have to hand over,Hicks, my boy. You laid me long odds when we started that we shouldn'tburn Kreli's Great Place before Christmas, and--"
"And we haven't," interrupted Hicks. "There's many a slip, you know,and we are not there yet; and the commander may take it into his headto--"
"Ssh-h! Silence there forward, please?"
The two disputants subsided. They were very near the scene ofoperations now, and almost immediately a halt was called. Beneath, in ahollow, lay the "Great Place," a large collection of huts--well placedfor convenience and comfort, but extremely badly for purposes ofdefence--on a bend of the Xora River, whose clear waters flowed gurglingpast. Overshadowing the village on the one side was a great krantz, andaround lay pleasant slopes of rolling pasture, relieved here and thereby patches of mimosa thorns. All was wrapped in the most profoundsilence as the day broke. The inhabitants of the village slumberedunsuspectingly; and if the old chief was there it was extremely likelythat the attacking column, drawing a cordon round the place, would havehim fast shut within the trap. Meanwhile the said column rested uponits oars, and grumbled.
"What the devil _are_ we waiting for?" fumed Hicks. "The niggers'll allget away before we get so much as a long shot at them. And a fellowmayn't even have a pipe while he's waiting."
"Keep cool, old man," replied Armitage. "Or ask Captain Jim."
"Captain Jim," being none other than our old friend Jim Brathwaite, who,with characteristic energy, the moment war was fairly declared, had setto work to raise a select corps of his own--not a difficult proceeding,for men flocked from all parts to take service under a leader so popularand so well known for dash and daring--and in three days he had enrollednearly a hundred picked men. This corps comprised all of our oldSeringa Vale friends, and, being mainly of local origin, its membersknew and trusted thoroughly each other and their leaders.
"Ah, now we shall hear something," went on Hicks, as a Police orderlywas seen to ride up and confer with their leader. "The advance, Iexpect."
"Or the retreat," suggested another, cynically. "Just as likely the oneas the other, from all accounts."
"Hallo. There's the enemy, by Jupiter!" cried another young fellow.
All turned. A dark column was seen rapidly advancing up the hill intheir rear, and more than one heart beat quicker as its owner watchedthe approach of this new factor in the state of affairs.
"Not it," said Naylor, quietly. "It's the Fingoes for whom we've beenwaiting all this time. Now we shall be able to go forward."
An exclamation of wrath went along the line.
"Lazy brutes!"
"Waiting for _them_, indeed!" and so on.
"Now, men," said Naylor, who was second in command, "here's theprogramme. We are to attack on the right with the Kaffrarian fellows.At the sound of the bugle we advance, in skirmishing order, according tothe number of Kafirs in the kraal, and the fight they show. Ifpossible, we are to surround them. Now--mount!"
The last order had not to be given twice, and in a moment the wholetroop was moving round behind the hills, to take up their allottedposition--where they waited, each man, rifle in hand, burning withimpatience to begin. Scarce a sound was audible in that quiet vale; nowand then a small bird fluttered up from the grass with a piping twitter,once a great black ringhals rustled away, half inflating his hood insurprised wrath at the unwonted disturbance, but even of this abhorredfoe the men took no notice. They were after heavier game to-day--theheaviest of all--human game. And the mist rolled back over the bills.
Suddenly a shot rings out on the morning air, then another and another.And now, on every face is an expression of the most eager expectancy,and every one grips his rifle. The hands of some of the younger men,who have never been in action before, begin to shake; but not with fear.There is something intensely exciting in this silent waiting, and theyare only longing to begin. Then a volume of white-blue smoke spoutsforth from a point above, a heavy boom, a hurtling rush through the air,and the shrapnel bursts with a screech and a detonation right over thenearest cluster of huts. At the same time the bugle-notes peal out fromthe hill-top loud and clear--the signal for the attack to begin.
&nb
sp; And the kraal wears the appearance of a disturbed ants' nest. Fromeverywhere and nowhere, apparently, dark forms are starting up, and thewhole place is alive with fierce warriors, and shining gun-barrels, andbristling assegais; and puffs of smoke among the thatch huts, and manyan ugly "whiz" in the ears of the attacking force, show that the Kafirshave opened a tolerably smart fire in return.
Crack--crack--crack! echo the rifles of the assailants, as the jets offlame, which in an advancing line play upon the doomed village, drawnearer and nearer--the sharpshooters taking advantage of every bit ofcover during their approach. And over and above the rattle ofsmall-arms booms out the thunderous roar of cannon, losing itself in ahundred echoes on the wall of the great cliff opposite, and again andagain bursts the screeching shell over that swarm of human beings, andvery soon the groans of the stricken and the maimed and the dying beginto mingle with the fierce war-shouts of the Gcaleka warriors. These,indeed, are beginning to fall thick and fast, but still their bulletsand bits of potleg [Note 1] whistle about the ears of the attackingparty.
"Now, men!" cries Jim Brathwaite. "One more volley and then at them.Ready!"
A rattling crash as every rifle is emptied, and then with a wild cheerthe men, revolver in hand, are riding at a gallop upon the kraal; butfirst and foremost throughout is their undaunted leader. And theKafirs, their ranks already sadly thinned out, unable to withstand theonslaught of this mad charge, turn and fly for dear life.
"Hurrah! At them, boys!" yells Jim, discharging his revolver at theforemost of two stalwart Gcalekas, who have sprung like lightning out ofthe very ground, as it were. The savage, however, dives to avoid theshot, which hits one of his fellow-countrymen fair in the back, and,gathering himself like a panther, leaps at his assailant, assegai inhand, aiming a furious stab at his side--but too late. The impetus ofhis pace carries Jim past, and the Kafir, missing his blow and hisfooting, falls forward on his face, to be trampled into a lifeless pulpbeneath the hoofs of the horses, as the whole troop pours through thevillage, pistolling the fleeing or opposing enemy, and the ground isstrewn with human forms, dead and dying.
And now the fight has become a stampede and a rout. Shut in on threesides by the horsemen bearing down upon them, the fleeing Kafirs runlike bucks along the river bank, to make good their escape ere yon darkcloud of advancing Fingoes, sweeping steadily down to cut them off,shall get in front of them. Can they do this, they may yet hope tocount up their scattered remnant in the welcome shelter of that darkforest line a few miles off. At any rate, they will cut their waythrough the Fingo dogs, and many a fierce warrior, grinding his teeth ashe grips his assegai, starts off with renewed vigour, to pour out theheart's blood of at any rate one of his despised foes before he dies.
Suddenly the flight stops, and with a rallying cry a body of the Kafirsmake a stand. They are beyond the reach of the shells, and by this timethe rout has scattered far over the plain; and the nearest Fingoes, whohave been slowly overtaking their enemies, waver and hesitate, quailingbefore their former masters, who throw out at them threats and fiercetaunts. The fugitives have nothing but empty guns, which being mostlymuzzle-loaders, they have no time to reload. Assegais are thrown, andmore than one whooping and hitherto exultant Fingo wallows in the dust,transfixed by the deadly javelin. In another minute these cowardlyauxiliaries will turn and fly, as the Gcalekas, with clubbed guns andgripping their large stabbing assegais, furiously charge them, utteringtheir war-cry--when behold, a body of horsemen comes sweeping up, JimBrathwaite's troop leading, and the tide is turned. The Fingoes,inspired with fresh courage, stand, and sneak behind the whites, waitingfor these to disperse the enemy, and then go quietly after them andassegai the wounded lying upon the ground.
"Hallo!" cried Armitage. "Hold on; Gough's down."
"Oh, it's nothing, I'm not hurt," is the plucky reply, as the youngfellow leaps clear of his horse, which, stabbed to the heart by awounded Kafir who lay on the ground, had fallen with a crash.
"Bight you are. Better fall in with the dismounted men," and away ridesthe speaker.
Suddenly one of the Kafirs, watching his opportunity, springs like a caton to the saddle of a trooper, and gripping him round the neck with onearm, stabs him to the heart with the other; then loosing his murderousembrace as he and his victim slide to the earth together, he runs likethe wind, casting his glance from side to side in search of anotherpossible victim, when he falls, pierced by a couple of revolver bullets.Another savage is suddenly descried by Hicks and Armitage, who areriding together, rushing at a man, who with his bridle over his armstands coolly awaiting his approach. This man both of them have noticedduring the pursuit. Working apparently alone, he has kept himselfentirely free from flurry and excitement, reining in every now and thenand taking a deliberate shot at long range, almost invariably bringingdown one of the foe. And now they watch him, as a great sinewy Kafirrushes at him like a wild beast, now leaping high in the air, nowdropping into the grass, then zig-zagging as if to get round the whiteman, who stands perfectly calm through it all, with a slightly sneeringsmile upon his face, but covering this dancing, leaping assailant withhis gun-barrels.
Crack! The savage falls. Then, as suddenly, he picks himself up, andwith a wild shout rushes at his cool antagonist.
"He's got him, by God!" cries Hicks, as in a tension of excitement hemarks the artful feint of the barbarian and, as he thinks, the turningof the tables. But the other never moves, nor does the expression ofhis countenance alter by a single hair's breadth.
Crack! Another report, and the fierce warrior falls, this timestone-dead, leaping nearly against the barrel which at point-blank hadsent a full charge of "loopers" straight through his heart.
"Whoop! Hooray!" yelled Hicks, wild with excitement. "Grand old shot,that! Thought you were a gone coon, by Jove!"
The other quickly slipped a couple of cartridges into the smoking breechof his gun, and looked up with a slight smile at this remark; and whathe saw soon changed the smile into an outright laugh. For Hicks wasstaring at him, speechless and open-mouthed, while even Armitage lookedsomewhat dumbfoundered.
"The devil!" ejaculated Hicks, and relapsed into staring again.
"That's uncivil," remarked the stranger, drily.
"Why, hang it, it is--Claverton, no one else! Arthur, old boy, where onearth _have_ you dropped from? I vow this is the best thing that'shappened for years. We thought you must be dead and buried, hearingnothing about you," and leaping to the ground, honest Hicks wrung hisformer comrade's hand as if he would crush that remarkably usefulmember.
Something in the last phrase jarred upon Claverton. Lilian had saidmuch the same thing when they had met.
"Well, here I am at any rate. Turned up again like the proverbial`shise' coin," he replied. "How's yourself? Flourishing apparently.You look as if `the holy estate' agreed with you. And Jack? I say,Jack; bet you two to one in anything you like you don't drop that chapscuttling away over there."
"Done for you!" cried Armitage, sighting his rifle and drawing a bead onone of the retreating enemy, distant some seven hundred yards.
"No. Hand over!" cried Claverton. "Missed him clean. Give you anothershot, though."
But the other shot was likewise a failure; and the Gcaleka got offscot-free to rejoin, if he listed, the bosom of his family.
"Never mind, Jack. I won't dun you for the stakes, I only wanted to seeif you had left off that villainous sporting habit of yours."
"But, Arthur--how the deuce did you come here?" went on Hicks. "You'renot a Volunteer--those fellows are all jingling with chains andwhistles."
"Yes, I am. Kaffrarian Rangers, full private. And then?"
"And then? Why, you must join us without any further _indaba_. We'llhave a high old time of it. Do you mean to say you can cut all your oldfriends and go and fight among strangers? Bosh!"
Claverton whistled meditatively as he surveyed the field of battle andof flight. Here and there lay a dark object in a heap am
id the grass,just as it had fallen--the slain body of a Gcaleka warrior--andscattered afar rode the pursuing horsemen.
"Well, I don't know," he said. "I should rather like to cut in with youfellows. I'll see if it can be managed."
"Of course you will," said Hicks, light-heartedly. "By Jove, if thatisn't `the retire.'"
For the clear notes of the bugle were ringing afar, and in obedience tothe summons the straggling horsemen began to collect from all parts ofthe field, and to retrace their steps, marvelling not a little at thissudden and unlooked-for mandate. And from the chief's village, the"Great Place," went up a great cloud of smoke, as, having hunted out itsfleeing inhabitants, the last of the attacking force had flung a torchinto the thatch tenements, setting the whole in a blaze; and above thebursting flames great rolling pillars of smoke mounted to the sky.
Slowly the pursuers straggled back, their horses and themselves wet withperspiration and grimy with dust and powder; many hatless, having losttheir "roofing," they said, in the hurry-scurry of the charge or of thepursuit; while a darker stain showed upon others, whether on theirclothes or accoutrements--the stain of blood. The horses were pantingafter their long gallop, and the riders commenting freely on the eventsof the morning in a loud, excited tone. Many carried assegais, whole orbroken, which they had taken as trophies, also bead-work, and otherarticles of native apparel or adornment. And in the rear marched theFingo contingent, howling their war-song and looking intensely valiantnow that the danger was over.
"_Manzi! Ndipe manzi_!" ["Water. Give me water."] besought a faintvoice.
Our party stopped, looking searchingly around. Several bodies of theenemy lay about, all apparently lifeless.
"Let the skunk die," said a rough-looking fellow, who, with severalothers, had joined them when the rally was sounded. "Or give him hisquietus in the shape of a leaden pill. A pretty dance they've led usall this time, and now to be calling on us to do hospital nurse forthem. Damned if I do."
"Well, a pretty dance we've led them to-day, at any rate. Poor devil!It won't do any one any harm to give him a drink," rejoined Claverton,dismounting and scrutinising the only one who showed sign of life. Atall, finely-made young Kafir lay with eyes half unclosed, and breathingheavily, apparently in great pain. Claverton bent over him as herepeated his fevered entreaty.
"Well, you may do nurse, I shan't, so good day to you," jeered the firstspeaker, riding on, while Hicks and Armitage reined in a moment, lookingfrom their newly-found chum to the wounded man as if wondering what wascoming next. But Claverton, without heeding anybody, took a large flaskfrom his pocket, and poured a little of its contents between the Kafir'steeth. Then filling the cup with water from the river, which ran hardby, he raised the wounded man's head, and let him drain off the desiredfluid.
"More," whispered the Kafir; and having filled the little vessel again,Claverton watched his _protege_ drink the contents greedily. Then, witha deep sigh of relief, the sufferer lay back with closed eyes.
"That'll do, Arthur. Come on, now, and leave the beggar alone," criedHicks, impatiently. "Or are you going to set up an `ambulance' all overthe field?"
"Don't know," replied the other, imperturbably. "It's not much trouble,and we've been shooting such a lot of the poor devils that one may aswell give one of them the consolation of a drink _in extremis_." And hestood contemplating his _protege_, who he had ascertained was notdangerously though badly wounded by a ball in the side. Then itoccurred to him that the face of the stricken savage was not altogetherunfamiliar to him; but where he had seen it he could not remember.
And now the war-song of the Fingoes drew nearer, and hearing it, thewounded man once more unclosed his eyes, with a mingled expression ofdespair and resignation and contempt. There was not a chance for him,he thought. The "dogs" would come up, and the white man would stand byand tell them to kill him. Well, what did it matter? They were dogs,and he was a warrior of the Amaxosa--nothing could get rid of that fact.Then, just as he thought his hour had come, the white man remarked inhis own tongue: "Lie perfectly still and shut your eyes. If the Fingoessee that you're alive, even though I may save you now, they will surelycome back and kill you before you can get away." And the other obeyed.
Claverton slowly proceeded to fill and light his pipe, as if he haddismounted with that object and that alone, and the Fingoes, theirassegais red and blood-stained, marched past, looking about as though insearch of any of the dreaded foe still living. They saluted the whiteman with servile acclamation, and passed on.
"Now," continued he, when the savage auxiliaries were well out of theway, "wait until the coast's clear, and then hook it. Go and tell Krelithat if he's wise he'll shut up fighting and come and sing small, andacknowledge that he's made an ass of himself. You see, we don't want tokill you fellows unless we are obliged, and then we'll do for the lot ofyou. Now be off as soon as you can."
The young Kafir, who was by no means a bad-looking fellow, smiled as hesoftly murmured assent, and, with a grateful look in his eyes, he laidhold of his benefactor's foot and drew it to his lips in token ofgratitude.
"All right," said the latter; "now look to yourself," and mounting hishorse he overtook the rest, who had been making merry over theirfriend's eccentricity.
"Now you've done the wet-nurse trick, old chap, we'll get back to campand have a glass of grog," said Armitage.
"That's a good idea," assented Claverton. He did not mind their chaff,and would not have even if it were more ill-natured. A passing impulsehad moved him to befriend this wounded savage, and he had obeyed it.And it may be that an even yet more humanising influence was at work,and that on that fierce battle-field, reeking with blood and carnage,the image of Lilian stood, viewing him with a sweet, approving smile ashe listened to the agonised prayer of the stricken barbarian, who mightbe the first, if ever opportunity offered, to repay his charity with anassegai thrust. But having done this thing he was glad, and a softerfeeling centred round his heart as if he actually heard Lilian'sapproving voice in his ear.
Much growling was indulged in as the burghers and volunteers, returningto camp, learned that the pursuit was to be discontinued. They hadstruck a decisive blow, and now were not to be allowed to follow it up.Public discontent found its expression freely and in forcible language.
"Infernal nonsense?" repeated one big fellow in reply to a comrade'sobservation. "I believe you. Why, what we've done to-day is no good atall--not one blessed ha'porth. We've shot a few of these fellers andchevied a few more; but what o' that? They're thick as bees overyonder," and the speaker jerked one hand in the direction of the flight,while with the other he viciously crammed his short, wooden pipe.
"Ay, that's so," assented a small, wiry-looking man. "If we had onlygone straight on we could have cleared out the Manubi Bush right down tothe coast, and driven the whole lot into the sea."
"Where they were going to drive us," chimed in another.
"And it's there we should have nobbled old Kreli," went on the formerspeaker. "He's in there, mark my words--in there waiting for news--he,and Sicgau, and Botmane, and the whole bilin' of 'em. Now we've burnthis old beehives here; but that's no good, they're built again in a day.No, sir; what we want is the old fox himself."
"And don't we wish we may get 'im? No; it's nurses we want to lookafter us," put in another.
There was a reluctant guffaw at this; but the gloom had deepened ontheir warlike souls.
"Well, we may as well go back, streak it straight home again, if we'regoing to be commanded by a set of old women," growled the first speaker."We didn't come out here to _play_ with the niggers, did we?"
"Looks like it, anyhow, mate."
Thus amid much growling, which, however, was not directed at our friendJim, but at the power behind that gallant leader, the camps werepitched. A portion of the Police force started off back to theirheadquarters at Ibeka; but here, close to the scene of their latevictory, the volunteers and burgher forces remained; and a
t nightfallthe horses were driven in and "rung," that is to say, tethered incircles; while additional sentries were posted, and every precautiontaken, the recent success notwithstanding, for they were in the enemy'scountry.
Jim Brathwaite was mightily glad, and no less surprised at theunexpected meeting, and warmly seconded Hicks' suggestion that Clavertonshould join his corps.
"Twice I noticed a fellow to-day, Arthur," he said, "who reminded me ofyour straight riding; and, by George, it must have been you yourself.Well, well; we are all bound to meet again some day, however we mayscatter. But what do you think that fellow Hicks has done?"
"What?"
"Committed matrimony. And so has Jack."
"Has he? Jack, I mean. I knew about the other. Who, and when, andwhere?"
"Oh, that's a very old story, Jim," said Armitage, trying to look quiteat his ease. "Claverton heard it ages ago. Give us some baccy."
They were sitting round the camp-fire. The afternoon had merged intonight, and now the circle was discussing old times.
"Who?--Gertie Wray--you remember her--now Mrs Jack Armitage, promoted.When?--last year. Where?--in Grahamstown," replied Jim.
And then, as others joined them, the conversation turned from thingspersonal and retrospective, to things political and present; and thestate of affairs was discussed in all its bearings.
"Well, we've a big enough force in the field to thrash out the Gcalekacountry," Jim was saying; "but then we shall have to be constantlyplaying hide-and-seek with the Kafirs until we catch old Kreli. If theGaikas don't break out, all that the people on the border will have todo will be to guard their line so that none of these chaps can cross.If the Gaikas rise, why, then our friends there will be between twofires."
"And the Gaikas will rise," put in Garnier--Jim's second lieutenant--aquiet-looking, brown-bearded man of about five-and-forty. "You may takemy word for that. It isn't for nothing that they've been going throughall the war-dancing and farrago. It isn't for nothing they've beensending all their cattle away to the thickest parts of the Amatolaforest. And it isn't likely they'd sit still--they, the warrior race ofall others--and let Kreli do all the fighting. And to hear 'em talk,too! Why, they've been coming round my place in shoals, and they don'tcare what they say. Mind, they mean mischief."
"But, then, how is it they haven't broken out already?" ventured Hicks.
Garnier looked pityingly at him. "For several reasons. There's astrong peace party among them, for one thing. For another, they heard,or rather saw--for there were lots of them present--what a hammering theGcalekas got the other day when they attacked Ibeka; and they're notready. But if any of these chaps of Kreli's get through and join them--then look out."
"Well, we can put a tremendous force into the field," went on Jim."Why, in the Eastern Province alone we could raise enough to finish thewar in a couple of months, if they're only put to it and not keptfooling about doing nothing."
"Yes; and if they're properly looked after in the field," said another."No one can fight unless he's fed; and with the commissariat always twodays behind, no body of men will remain long contented."
"And, while they are fooling about, all their property's going to wrackand ruin, as ours is at this damned moment," growled Thorman, who wasone of the party.
"Never mind. All the more reason why we should make a thorough goodthing of it while we are about it," said another, of more cheerfuldisposition. "We'll teach Jack Kafir a lesson this time, that he'llremember."
Thus talking, they sat round that red camp-fire, which threw a fitfulglow upon bronzed faces and attire, fantastic-looking in thesemi-darkness and in its wild picturesqueness, until at length the buglesounded, "lights out," and gradually all subsided to silence. Now andagain the yelp and snarl of a jackal came up from beneath, where lay theunburied corpses of the slain foe, and where a number of heaps of blacksmouldering ashes were all that remained of what in the morning had beenthe Kraal of the Paramount Chief of Kafirland.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. In war-time, when lead is scarce, Kafirs manufacture tolerablyefficient slugs by cutting up the legs of their iron cooking-pots.
The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier Page 33
