Umslopogaas,
either by accident or design, broke out of the ring and engaged
a warrior at some few paces from it. As he did so, another man
ran up and struck him with all his force between his shoulders
with his great spear, which, falling on the tough steel shirt,
failed to pierce it and rebounded. For a moment the man stared
aghast -- protective armour being unknown among these tribes
-- and then he yelled out at the top of his voice --
'_They are devils -- bewitched, bewitched!_' And seized by a
sudden panic, he threw down his spear, and began to fly. I cut
short his career with a bullet, and Umslopogaas brained his man,
and then the panic spread to the others.
'_Bewitched, bewitched!_' they cried, and tried to escape in every
direction, utterly demoralized and broken-spirited, for the most
part even throwing down their shields and spears.
On the last scene of that dreadful fight I need not dwell. It
was a slaughter great and grim, in which no quarter was asked
or given. One incident, however, is worth detailing. Just as
I was hoping that it was all done with, suddenly from under a
heap of slain where he had been hiding, an unwounded warrior
sprang up, and, clearing the piles of dying dead like an antelope,
sped like the wind up the kraal towards the spot where I was
standing at the moment.
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