The Luck of Gerard Ridgeley

Chapter Twenty One.

The King’s “Hunting-Dogs.”

To attempt to describe the fearful despair, the agony of self-reproach, which took possession of poor Gerard’s heart as he awoke to find himself once more in the power of the savages is impossible. The very stars in their courses seemed to be fighting against him. Had he not gone through enough in all conscience? And now all his past perils and experiences were thrown away. He and his comrade were no better off than before his attempted escape, probably indeed worse. Again, it was while he slept that the enemy had stolen upon him – while he slept. He had sacrificed his companion for the sake of a few hours’ sleep! Well, he himself deserved all he might meet with; but Dawes – he had sold him – had fallen asleep at his post like a cowardly and untrustworthy sentinel. The poor fellow was in agonies of self-torment at the thought.

But for the perturbed and flurried state of mind, into which these reflections had thrown him, he would have perceived that the Zulus were every bit as astonished at his appearance as he was at theirs. As it was, he only saw the same dark resolute countenances and ringed heads, the same great broad-bladed assegais. These men, however, carried great white shields with black facings.

“Who are you, Umlúngu, and where do you come from?” said one of them after a moment of silence.

Gerard looked at the speaker, and collecting his ideas, replied, with all the dignity at his command, that he was carrying a message to the king.

A smothered ejaculation burst from the group, and they exchanged glances.

“Does a white man, carrying a message to the king, travel through the country in that state?” said the first who had spoken.

Gerard followed his glance, and appreciated the meaning with which the words were uttered, as he remembered the travel-worn and rather disreputable appearance which he must present. His rifle, too, was beginning to rust, for in the fatigue and exhaustion which had come upon him before falling asleep, he had neglected to do more than just wipe it. The broken hunting-knife was still spliced to the muzzle.

“I lost my horse, and an alligator attacked me in the river,” he replied. “I speared him with this, struck him through the eye, and I believe I killed him.”

“Hau!” broke from the listeners, staring at the broken knife-blade. “That was well done, Umlúngu. But – where do you come from?”

“Who is your chief?” said Gerard, fencing the question after their own fashion.

“He is not here,” was the characteristic reply. “But he is close at hand.”

“Take me to him.”

And Gerard rose, as decisive apparently in purpose as he was in speech.

“Come!” said the spokesman, laconically.

Then, with Gerard in their midst, the group moved off. For upwards of half an hour they filed through the bush at a rapid pace, in process whereof Gerard’s attempts at further enlightenment were met by an intimation, terse but not discourteous, that under present circumstances silence was preferable to speech. But he noticed one thing, overlooked at first in his despair and confusion. These warriors, whoever they might be, did not show the red-painted disc on forehead and breast which distinguished the dreaded Igazipuza.

The way had grown wilder and wilder, and instead of the straggling and more or less scattered bush, the party was now proceeding beneath tall forest trees, from whose gnarled and massive boughs dangled monkey ropes and trailers. The shade was almost a gloom, into which the last rays of the now setting sun shot redly. And now a strange, eerie, fluttering sort of life seemed to spring up within the gloom of those forest shades, and Gerard could not repress an exclamation of astonishment as he looked. For the place was alive with armed warriors, starting up like ghosts, silently, noiselessly, out of nowhere. There seemed to be no end to their number, and he could mark the surprise on each dark face, could hear the low ejaculation and the quivering rattle of assegai hafts as they became aware of his presence.

“Who – what are these?” he asked.

“You wanted to see the chief, Umlúngu,” was the reply. “Have patience. You shall see him.”

Gerard’s first thought was that the talked of Anglo-Zulu war had actually broken out, and this was a force proceeding against his countrymen, and his heart sank. For if that were so, what chance was there for Dawes, in the power of one of Cetywayo’s savage vassals? The king was not likely to risk offending one of his most influential chiefs by demanding the release of a member of the race which was making war upon his nation and dynasty. His meditations on this head were promptly cut short, for his escort had emerged upon a small open glade overhung by a high rock, whose summit was plumed by a dark line of straight-stemmed euphorbia, and beneath this sat a group of men, in whose aspect there was something which instinctively told him they were men of the highest authority.

His escort made a sign for him to halt, while a couple of them went forward to confer with these. Then he was told to advance.

“The chief – that is he!” said one of them.

The man indicated, a large finely built Zulu, was seated in the centre of the group. As his gaze fell upon him Gerard stared; then he started with astonishment – this time openly and undisguisedly – then stared again.

“Sobuza!” he cried. And to the unbounded amazement of his escort, and indeed of all beholders, he dropped his rifle and stepped forward to the chief with outstretched hand.

The latter, indeed, was hardly less astonished than himself, but, with the self-control of his race and rank, showed it but little. A slight smile came over his face, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he shook Gerard by the hand with a hearty grip.

“Au! Jeriji. I remember you,” he said kindly.

There was that in the act, in the tone, which went straight to Gerard’s heart. Here, in this unknown wilderness, after his perilous escapes, he felt that he had found a friend. In the hands of this savage chieftain, surrounded by his armed host, he felt perfectly safe. Whatever the errand of destruction upon which this formidable force was engaged, in the presence of the man he had succoured twice in the hour of danger and difficulty he felt no distrust, no misgiving.

The astonishment of the onlookers at this strange and unexpected recognition knew no bounds. They bent eagerly forward, with many a smothered “whou!” of amazement. But the frank, open, impulsive way in which Gerard had greeted their chief had made the best of impressions, for the Zulu in those days was not without his share of real chivalrous feeling, and the complete absence of any lingering distrust on the part of their prisoner – or guest – appealed powerfully to them. His rifle lay on the ground exactly where he had placed it. Not one of them would pick it up, lest the act might be construed into one of distrust, of disarming him, so to say.

“Sit here, Jeriji,” said the chief, motioning him to a place at his side. “Did you come into the Zulu country all alone to kill alligators, or to pay me a visit?” he went on, with a comical smile, as Gerard promptly acted upon the invitation.

“Neither the one nor the other, Sobuza. But, first tell me, are you and your men out against – my countrymen?”

“Not so,” said the chief. “We are not at war with the English.”

“I am glad of that. Now listen. You asked me why I came into your country. I did not come into it; I was brought into it.”

“Brought into it?” repeated the chief in some astonishment. “By whom?”

“By Ingonyama’s people. Those, who call themselves Igazipuza.”

“Hau! Igazipuza!”

The astonishment, emphatic and unfeigned, with which his statement was echoed, not by the chief only, but by the whole group, might well strike Gerard.

“You know him – you know them?” he said.

A humorous flash flitted across each dark face, the corners of every mouth turned down grimly. Sobuza proceeded to take snuff.

“Tell us about it,” he said. “Begin at the very beginning, Jeriji, for this is no light matter.”

Then Gerard began his tale – from the very outset of their enforced visit to the fastness of that redoubtable clan, throughout the period during which their condition had become one of open and undisguised captivity, down to his own headlong dash for liberty and succour, their untiring and persistent pursuit of him, and his perilous hiding-place on the river-bank. His feat in slaying the alligator caused great sensation; and Sobuza having ordered the rifle, on which was still spliced the broken knife, to be brought, he and his assembled chiefs examined this cleverly devised weapon with the greatest interest. Gerard went up a hundred per cent, in their estimation.

Now our friend’s knowledge of the Zulu tongue comprised a prodigious number of words, but his grammar was of the shakiest description. However, the vital importance of his narrative soon rendered him oblivious to any mere self-consciousness, and in his hearers he found a most eager and patient audience. Once or twice only did they interrupt him when his meaning was unintelligible, and then only to help him through. But, when he had finished, they questioned him on every conceivable detail, cross-examined him so deftly, that they had promptly got out of him his own plans, his own errand, without his being in the least aware of it. More than one there present knew “Jandosi,” from trading trips which he had made among them.

“How many fighting men has Ingonyama, Jeriji?” said Sobuza again.

Gerard replied that he thought there must be at least five hundred. Besides the large kraal there were two smaller ones under the rocks at the further end of the hollow. There was only one approach to the place, and they used to boast that by massing at this point they could hold their own against any odds. He had already sketched on the ground an elaborate map of the place.

“Good!” said Sobuza, grimly. “Life is full of deceptions, and that is one of them, as they shall find out. Listen, Jeriji. You may spare yourself the trouble of carrying Jandosi’s ‘word’ to the king. You asked against whom we were out. Well, we are the king’s hunting-dogs, and the Igazipuza are the game.”

Gerard stared as though he could hardly believe his ears. He had thought the whole population of the northern country, including these among whom he had fallen, was in league with that evil and bloodthirsty clan, if not actively in membership with it. But the armed warriors around him had actually been sent forth to suppress it. Then he remembered how different was their bearing and demeanour to that of his late enemies. There was no boisterous swash-bucklering savagery about these. They were king’s troops, the flower of the Zulu nation, they and their chiefs, even as the Igazipuza were the scum.

“It is as I say,” went on Sobuza, smiling at his air of incredulity. “The Great Great One has long borne with this rebellious dog of his, and these were his words to us, to me Sobuza the son of Panhla, second in command of the Udhloko, and to Gcopo, the third induna of the Ngobamakosi,” designating the chief at his side, whose magnificent physique had struck Gerard the moment he arrived —

“‘There sits among the mountains in the north, a dog who dares call himself by my name6 – who dares to insult the majesty of my state by his miserable imitation of the same; who gathers around him all the evil-doers of the nation, and levies tribute from my subjects, and kills and plunders men of nations between whom and myself there is peace, so that I am in danger of becoming embroiled by their ill-doings. Moreover these claim the power of immunity from harm by sundry abominable practices abhorrent in the eyes of the People of the Heavens,7 and make it their boast that they drink the blood of men. To such lengths have these abatagati carried their enormities, that not only is there no longer peace or security for any who dwell near the northern border on either side thereof, but there is a danger that men may be led to think this dog greater than his master.

“‘Further, this dog who calls himself lion, plots that one day he may roar where the Lion of the Zulu roars alone. Now shall he feel the Lion’s paw, for the time has come when such disturbances and such abominations shall cease out of the land.

“‘Now, Sobuza, and you Gcopo, pick from the Udhloko and the Ngobamakosi one thousand of your best warriors, half from each – for I hear these abatagati, who call themselves blood-drinkers, are numerous and hold a strong place – and go up against them. If they dare to resist eat them up– every man who bears a weapon – otherwise, slay only the dog who calls himself Ingonyama, also Vunawayo, and all who hold rank or standing among this pestilent clan. The remainder, with their women and cattle, drive before you hither. Burn their kraal that no stick or straw be left, and return here by the sixth day from this. Depart.’

“Such were the words of the king to us, Jeriji. Whau! We leaped up shouting the bonga8, and that same evening we left Undini, as you see us. By this time to-morrow there will be nothing left of the Igazipuza kraal but its smoke, and the vultures of the northern heights will be gorged. It is good that you have fallen in with us, Jeriji, you who are familiar with the place. We will strike them at dawn to-morrow, and Jandosi shall be brought out alive. See – the sun is nearly down. Then we will march.”

“I am very hungry, Sobuza,” said Gerard.

The chief started. Zulus on a war expedition seldom eat more than once a day, and that in the morning. Then he laughed, and gave orders accordingly.

“It is war rations,” he said, as some dried meat and mealies stamped to a kind of flaky paste were produced.

The first was rather “high,” but Gerard was, as he had said, very hungry, and fell to, untroubled by overmuch fastidiousness. While thus engaged he heard a voice say in a jaunty, bantering tone —

“Saku bona, ’mlúngu! Surely we have met before.”

The group of chiefs had temporarily left him, to supervise the few simple preparations for their march. Looking up he saw a young Zulu, unringed, who stood there, laughing all over his face. The features were familiar, but Gerard, who had seen so many natives of late, could not quite locate them.

“Have you any more guns to sell, Umlúngu?” said the young fellow, roguishly.

And then Gerard knew him in a moment.

“Nkumbi-ka-zulu,” he said, holding out his hand to show that he bore no ill-will from their previous very decided misunderstanding. “Why, how is it that you are here?”

“Há!” said the other, with a laugh, “I am in the Ngobamakosi regiment. I am going to help ‘eat up’ the Igazipuza.”

“Well, Nkumbi, you wanted that double gun badly. Listen to me now. Jandosi is in the midst of those Igazipuza, and when we attack them they may rush upon him and kill him. If you are the first to reach his side that double gun shall be yours. I promise it.”

“What if the gun is broken in the battle?”

“Then you shall have as good a one. Only collect some of your companions, and manage to get near Jandosi when we attack, and that gun shall be yours.”

“You are a straight man, Umlúngu, and I believe your word. I will try and win the gun.” And then a short and sharp mandate from his superiors interrupting him, the young warrior turned away abruptly to fall into his place in the ranks.

Chapter Twenty Two.

The Two Emissaries

The long sound sleep he had had stood Gerard in good stead as he fell into the march of the impi– whose work was indeed cut out for it, for it would take all the hours of darkness before them, and rapid marching at that, to get into position by earliest dawn, that being the time appointed for falling upon the Igazipuza kraal. But these picked men of the king’s troops seemed thoroughly up to their work. Hour after hour they marched, with no sign of flagging, ever the same swift elastic stride, and lucky indeed was it for Gerard that he was in excellent condition or he might have found serious difficulty in keeping pace with them.

There was another thing, too, that stood him in good stead – the foresight of Dawes to wit, which had provided against the very emergency in which he had been placed. More than half of his rifle and revolver cartridges had been done up in several rolls of the most completely watertight wrapping, waxed at the seams. He might have to swim more than one river, Dawes had reasoned. It was as well to be prepared for every contingency. So here he stood, provided with a supply of dry cartridges; and as by this time he was an adept at that sort of thing, he had employed the few minutes of daylight before setting out on the march in taking his weapon to pieces and carefully drying and greasing the mechanism.

Hour followed hour, and still the impi kept on its way. Now and again a brief halt of a few minutes would be called, in order to take a rest and a pinch or two of snuff, then on again; now through jungly tracts of grass and forest-belts, now over spurs of rugged and desolate mountain ranges, now splashing through quaking reedy morasses, where the deep boom of the bull-frog rose above the more treble croak of his smaller kin, and the will-of-the-wisps glinted in many a sickly blue corpse-candle. On, unflagging, strode those iron warriors, grim, silent angels of Death, speeding through the night.

“We are not far from the place now,” said Gerard at length, touching Sobuza’s arm. “Just beyond that spar the slope leading up to the entrance to the hollow begins.”

It was the last hour of the night, that dark and chilly hour which precedes the dawn. They had entered that forest-belt which had been of such service to Gerard in first throwing off his enemies, and now Sobuza had convened his subordinate chiefs around him to hold a council of war. This was not a lengthy process, for the plans had been already laid. These were simplicity itself. The impi, in compact formation, was to advance swiftly to the ridge overlooking the hollow, then to charge down upon the kraal, throwing out “horns,” so as to surround the latter. The inhabitants, thus utterly taken by surprise, would probably offer no resistance; but any who did were to be slain without mercy. Everything depended upon the successful carrying out of the surprise part of the arrangement, otherwise a severe and bloody battle might be reckoned on; for the Igazipuza were not made of the stuff which would submit to be “eaten up” without a struggle. Moreover, in their own stronghold they would prove a terribly formidable enemy, and the king’s troops were only twice their number, odds which the advantage of the ground would go far to neutralise.

“Whau!” muttered Sobuza, taking a final pinch of snuff and rising to his feet. “I fear we are not going to have things all our own way. Ingonyama is no fool, still less is Vunawayo. They may believe you were eaten by the alligator, Jeriji, or they may doubt it; but if they think there is the least chance of you having escaped, they will be upon their guard. Now, if you had been taken and brought back, our work would have been easy. Only,” he added, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes, “it might not have been so easy for you. We might have arrived too late.”

The words struck a chill into Gerard’s heart. What if they had arrived too late – too late as far as his friend was concerned. He hoped and prayed not, and then an outlet to his impatience came in the mandate that was issued for the advance.

And now, as the grey light of dawn broke over the earth, Gerard was able for the first time to obtain a view of the barbarous but splendidly disciplined host in whose midst he was to fight to-day. Debouching from the forest-belt in the most perfect order came this pick of the king’s troops, marching in four companies. Two of these consisted of amakehla or ringed men, and the great war-shields borne by these were white, or nearly so; for this was the draft out of the Udhloko regiment, a part of the royal corps, warriors of long training and experience, mostly middle-aged. The other two consisted of young men, unringed, carrying shields of all sorts of colours, black-and-white, red-and-white, black or red, but none entirely white. These were the Ngobamakosi warriors, fiery young fellows, burning to be led against some enemy, no matter who, in order that they might prove their valour and thus win distinction. The leader of these, Gcopo, walked with Sobuza during the march, and the towering stature of the two chiefs was conspicuous even in that muster of splendidly built men.

Beyond their shields and weapons, there was little or no attempt at martial display or personal adornment; for this being an expedition against their own countrymen, though on a large scale, came more within the category of a police undertaking than an impi sent forth to war, and thus ceremonies and paraphernalia which would have figured in the latter event were dispensed with. But bound round his head, every man wore a narrow strip of hide; the Udhloko, white; the Ngobamakosi, red. This was to distinguish them from the Igazipuza, and that they should not fall upon each other by mistake in the thick of the battle. Thus viewed against the open hillside, marching in splendid order, a forest of bristling spears and tufted shields, a thousand eager and disciplined warriors burning for action, the impi was an imposing sight indeed, and Gerard felt his heart thrill at the consciousness of going into battle for the first time with such men as these.

Suddenly a gasp of wonderment went like a wave through the ranks. All came to a standstill, and every eye was turned upon the same point. There, bounding down the hillside, making straight for the impi, came two men, Zulus. Who were they? Runaways? Refugees? Some of the trader’s people who had escaped? Such were among the conjectures that rose to the minds of the astonished spectators. But, as they drew nearer another and deeper gasp of wonder heaved through the impi, for on forehead and chest of the approaching warriors was now discernible the red mark of the Igazipuza.

On they came, bounding like bucks, heading straight for the impi, and it was seen that they were young men and unringed, and fully armed with shield and assegai. The king’s troops watched them in grim silence.

“We are Igazipuza, the cubs of the Lion. Who are you?” began the spokesman, as the two pulled up within twelve paces of the foremost rank of the Udhloko. An ominous and threatening growl greeted these words, and spears quivered.

“Whelps of the dog, say rather,” exclaimed a deep voice. “Drop your weapons and advance.”

They laughed, those two. Standing before one thousand men, who had come forth expressly to slaughter them and theirs – they laughed.

“We cubs of the Lion shed not our claws,” replied the one who had spoken, a tall, straight young fellow who, panting slightly after his run, stood with his head thrown back contemplating the king’s troops as though he were the king himself. “Our claws may be cut, though they tear badly first. But we do not shed them.”

Again that ejaculation of anger went up, this time mingled with contempt. A rapid movement had been executed. The two young men were surrounded – stood now in the very centre of the impi. Still utterly fearless, they looked around and laughed defiantly.

“As the child makes a plaything of the sleeping serpent, so now are you walking over your graves, you two children,” said Sobuza, contemptuously. “Who are you?”

“Greeting, induna of the king’s impi,” returned the speaker, after a steady stare at the chief. “We are sent by our father, the Lion of the Igazipuza, to warn you to return. There is múti (medicine, or philtre) spread on the mountain-side leading to his kraal, which is death to twenty times the number you have here.”