“Let us go, father!” shouted the soldiers on the slope, among whom I was, to their chief, who had come up.  “You have sent out the little girls to fight, and they are frightened.  Let us show them the way.”

“No, no!” the chief Sususa answered, laughing.  “Wait a minute and the little girls will grow to women, and women are good enough to fight against Boers!”

The attacking Zulus heard the mockery of their fellows, and rushed forward again with a roar.  But the Boers in the laager had found time to load, and they met with a warm reception.  Reserving their fire till the Zulus were packed like sheep in a kraal, they loosed into them with the roers, and the warriors fell in little heaps.  But I saw that the blood of the Umtetwas was up; they did not mean to be beaten back this time, and the end was near.  See! six men had leapt on to a waggon, slain the man behind it, and sprung into the laager.  They were killed there, but others followed, and then I turned my head.  But I could not shut my ears to the cries of rage and death, and the terrible S’gee!  S’gee! of the savages as they did their work of murder.  Once only I looked up and saw poor Hans Botha standing on a waggon smiting down men with the butt of his rifle.  The assegais shot up towards him like tongues of steel, and when I looked again he was gone.

I turned sick with fear and rage.  But alas! what could I do?  They were all dead now, and probably my own turn was coming, only my death with not be so swift.

The fight was ended, and the two lines on the slope broke their order, and moved down to the laager.  Presently we were there, and a dreadful sight it was.  Many of the attacking Zulus were dead—­quite fifty I should say, and at least a hundred and fifty were wounded, some of them mortally.  The chief Sususa gave an order, the dead men were picked up and piled in a heap, while those who were slightly hurt walked off to find some one to tie up their wounds.  But the more serious cases met with a different treatment.  The chief or one of his indunas considered each case, and if it was in any way bad, the man was taken up and thrown into the river which ran near.  None of them offered any objection, though one poor fellow swam to shore again.  He did not stop there long, however, for they pushed him back and drowned him by force.

The strangest case of all was that of the chief’s own brother.  He had been captain of the line, and his ankle was smashed by a bullet.  Sususa came up to him, and, having examined the wound, rated him soundly for failing in the first onslaught.

The poor fellow made the excuse that it was not his fault, as the Boers had hit him in the first rush.  His brother admitted the truth of this, and talked to him amicably.

“Well,” he said at length, offering him a pinch of snuff, “you cannot walk again.”

“No, chief,” said the wounded man, looking at his ankle.