Part 4 (1/2)
In the distance he could see the outline of the Convent and the lights actively twinkling in the Mormon town, then some three miles to the eastward the sky-line was broken by a stream of fire, as a rocket sailed up on its errand of inquiry, and was answered almost simultaneously by a like vivid messenger despatched from the Mormon stronghold in the direction of the bridge.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
”IN YON STRAIT PATH A THOUSAND MAY WELL BE STOPPED BY THREE.”
And now, as Grenville listened intently, he could distinguish the tramp of a body of armed men approaching, and with a beating heart he kneeled down upon the bridge, projecting his rifle over the wooden parapet to steady it; and when the Mormon band, upwards of one hundred strong, came into view, debouching from the trees a quarter of a mile away, he, to their utter astonishment, challenged them in the most audacious fas.h.i.+on:
”Halt, or I fire!”
All the reply to this was a shout of derision, and the entire party commenced a jog-trot over the s.p.a.ce which intervened between the trees and the bridge.
Grenville allowed the leaders to get within about three hundred and fifty yards, then his rifle vomited its deadly contents, and two Mormons, running one behind the other, bit the dust. With an angry cry the remainder pressed forward, intent on vengeance; but again and again, to their complete astonishment and utter consternation, did the unerring messengers from the bridge speed forth upon their fatal mission, and by the time the crowd had arrived within a hundred yards of Grenville's position, seventeen men lay dead or dying upon the veldt, and he had still five shots left in his magazine. These were coolly but hastily despatched, and Grenville had the fierce gratification of knowing, in that supreme moment, that not a single cartridge had been thrown away--_every bullet had had at least one deadly billet_. Now, however, the Mormons commenced to use their guns, and though the bridge in some degree protected Grenville, still his head was exposed, and he could hear the musket b.a.l.l.s whistling past him.
So close were his opponents now that he could distinctly see their faces, and his keen eye instantly detected a wavering movement upon their part; and realising that they ignorantly ascribed an unlimited number of shots to his strange and infernal weapon, he at once opened fire with his revolvers; and after two more men had fallen to the first three discharges, the attacking party broke up altogether, and simply scrambled into cover at top speed, whilst our hero--for such we may now fairly call him--heaved a sigh of relief, and proceeded with the utmost care to reload his rifle.
Then followed a desultory guerilla sort of warfare, the Mormons trying to creep into shooting range lying full length upon the gra.s.s, and this stratagem, owing to the number of dead bodies lying about, was comparatively easy work. Twice Grenville had narrow escapes of falling a victim to these crouching marksmen, one shot actually grazing his left ear and drawing blood; but not one of these individuals ever got a chance of a second shot, the list of killed and wounded soon totalling twenty-five, such difference was there between old-time guns and a modern engine of warfare placed in a single pair of cool and skilful hands.
Looking at his watch, Grenville found that his party had now had a start of just one hour; but he felt that to be on the safe side they ought to have another thirty minutes. Moreover, he well knew that the instant he moved from his present position to try and escape, the Mormon herd concealed amongst the trees five hundred yards away would make a unanimous rush at him.
Presently, the situation becoming monotonous, he sallied out into the open and began collecting the arms and ammunition of such of the dead men as lay in closest proximity to the bridge. The Mormons fired an angry volley, without effect; and after securing half a score of muskets, he was about to return to the bridge, when he espied what looked remarkably like a keg of gunpowder lying on the gra.s.s some fifty yards nearer to the Mormon position. Quietly walking forward, he took possession of this amidst a hail of bullets, all of which, however, fell wide of the mark, and ”spotting” the flash of one gun he replied in kind, his shot being answered by the death-shriek, accompanied rather than echoed by a yell of vengeance.
Grenville carefully carried off his treasure, feeling considerably easier in his mind, as it was now competent for him to blow up the bridge, and thus secure his retreat; but the Mormons, who thoroughly understood his intentions, instantly resumed the offensive, with the object of keeping him otherwise fully employed.
Hastily hiding the keg of powder in the scrub on the outer side of the chasm, Grenville returned to his post, and made another determined effort to check the advance of the enemy, feeling that every additional minute gained for his friends was of incalculable value.
The Mormons, however, had learned a lesson by their dearly-bought experience, and instead of again advancing in one compact body, now spread out their force and endeavoured to ”rush” our hero from several points at one and the same time, and so spoil the accuracy of his shooting.
Unfortunately for them Grenville was much too keen to be taken in by such a simple artifice, for seeing that all their varied lines of advance must finally converge upon his own position, he coolly withheld his fire until a considerable number of his foes had joined forces within two hundred yards of the bridge, and then poured it in with frightful effect, the heavy sh.e.l.l-bullets committing terrible execution at such short range.
The Mormons, however, kept on doggedly, and by the time that a score of them had arrived within a hundred yards of him, Grenville's rifle was empty.
Rapidly slipping cartridges into the magazine of his Winchester, he at the same time warily watched the advancing foe, and when one pulled up and raised his rifle, Grenville instantly dropped him.
Unfortunately, he had but had time to get in five cartridges, and when five men were accounted for, and the rest quietly, but in a determined manner, pulled up within fifty yards of him, and raised their rifles, he was conscious of a sudden sinking of the heart.
Grenville continued, nevertheless, to ply his six-shooters, and the instant the Mormon leader gave the word to his platoon to fire, threw himself forward on his face with the speed of light, escaping by a miracle almost unharmed.
Springing quickly to his feet, he deliberately emptied the remaining chambers of his revolvers into the approaching Mormons at point-blank range, as they rushed forward with their guns clubbed, and then, seizing his own rifle by the muzzle, he swung the weapon round his head and prepared to sell his life dearly.
Though bleeding from a wound in the shoulder and one in the fleshy part of the neck, Grenville felt little the worse, as the last-named had fortunately failed to touch the artery.
As he stood bravely waiting the onslaught of his remaining foes, our hero was dimly conscious that the air was growing dark and very still, and that the storm clouds were creeping up again in ponderous and wicked-looking ma.s.ses; but ere he had time to reflect on the probable result of this, the Mormons flew at him like hounds on a stag at bay.
Blow after blow was given and received, our hero at length getting in a sweep with his weapon that drove one opponent headlong into the awful chasm beneath, into which he fell with a horrid shriek. This blow, however, cost Grenville a nasty knock on the side of the head, and as his enemies redoubled their violence, he felt that the end was very near; the bridge, the sky, the veldt, were turning round and round with him, and he realised that his spirit was indeed about to speed its eternal flight; and now, as he made one glorious final effort to maintain his post, a glittering streak of steel whizzed past his face, and the nearest foe fell backwards, grasping in the death agony at the razor edge of the Zulu spear imbedded in his throat, whilst, almost simultaneously, a second of the attacking party was despatched to the shades by a similar weapon from another hand, and poor Grenville's sinking heart was cheered by the war-cry of Amaxosa and the cool voice of his brother Myzukulwa--
”Let the Inkoos load his rifle,” said the latter, ”and leave these low people to us.”
The remaining a.s.sailants now turned tail and fairly ran for it. Too late! As well might they seek to outstrip the wind as to escape from the fleet-footed Zulus, and in less than two minutes every man was on the ground with his life-blood welling from the awful gashes inflicted by the broad-bladed spears of the savage conquerors, who stood chanting a rude note of victory.
Grenville reloaded all his weapons, and after indulging in a nip of brandy, felt more like himself again, though considerably knocked about, and a perfect ma.s.s of bruises upon the arms and shoulders. Amaxosa now approached, and saluting him gravely and deferentially, delivered himself as follows:--