CHAPTER XIV.

THE LAST STAND OF THE GREYS

In a few more minutes the regiments destined to carry out the flanking

movements had tramped off in silence, keeping carefully to the lee of

the rising ground in order to conceal their advance from the keen eyes

of Twala’s scouts.

Half an hour or more was allowed to elapse between the setting out of

the horns or wings of the army before any stir was made by the Greys

and their supporting regiment, known as the Buffaloes, which formed its

chest, and were destined to bear the brunt of the battle.

Both of these regiments were almost perfectly fresh, and of full

strength, the Greys having been in reserve in the morning, and having

lost but a small number of men in sweeping back that part of the attack

which had proved successful in breaking the line of defence, on the

occasion when I charged with them and was stunned for my pains. As for

the Buffaloes, they had formed the third line of defence on the left,

and since the attacking force at that point had not succeeded in

breaking through the second, they had scarcely come into action at all.

Infadoos, who was a wary old general, and knew the absolute importance

of keeping up the spirits of his men on the eve of such a desperate

encounter, employed the pause in addressing his own regiment, the

Greys, in poetical language: explaining to them the honour that they

were receiving in being put thus in the forefront of the battle, and in

having the great white warrior from the Stars to fight with them in

their ranks; and promising large rewards of cattle and promotion to all

who survived in the event of Ignosi’s arms being successful.

I looked down the long lines of waving black plumes and stern faces

beneath them, and sighed to think that within one short hour most, if

not all, of those magnificent veteran warriors, not a man of whom was

under forty years of age, would be laid dead or dying in the dust. It

could not be otherwise; they were being condemned, with that wise

recklessness of human life which marks the great general, and often

saves his forces and attains his ends, to certain slaughter, in order

to give their cause and the remainder of the army a chance of success.

They were foredoomed to die, and they knew the truth. It was to be

their task to engage regiment after regiment of Twala’s army on the

narrow strip of green beneath us, till they were exterminated or till

the wings found a favourable opportunity for their onslaught. And yet

they never hesitated, nor could I detect a sign of fear upon the face

of a single warrior. There they were—going to certain death, about to

quit the blessed light of day for ever, and yet able to contemplate

their doom without a tremor. Even at that moment I could not help

contrasting their state of mind with my own, which was far from

comfortable, and breathing a sigh of envy and admiration. Never before

had I seen such an absolute devotion to the idea of duty, and such a

complete indifference to its bitter fruits.

“Behold your king!” ended old Infadoos, pointing to Ignosi; “go fight

and fall for him, as is the duty of brave men, and cursed and shameful

for ever be the name of him who shrinks from death for his king, or who

turns his back to the foe. Behold your king, chiefs, captains, and

soldiers! Now do your homage to the sacred Snake, and then follow on,

that Incubu and I may show you a road to the heart of Twala’s host.”

There was a moment’s pause, then suddenly a murmur arose from the

serried phalanxes before us, a sound like the distant whisper of the

sea, caused by the gentle tapping of the handles of six thousand spears

against their holders’ shields. Slowly it swelled, till its growing