Summary

Bertram Mitford Forging the Blades: A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion

A bullet from Ben Halse clipped one of his plumes, but he shook his head and laughed.
“Greeting, U’ Ben! Thy hand and eye are failing,” he roared; bounding, leaping, like a wild beast, in the forefront of his followers, who were now beginning to fall around him in rows. All sides of the camp were busy now, and but for the quick and, literally, massacring fire poured into the rush, would have been overwhelmed.
“The chief! The chief!” shouted the excited men. “Now, then, all at him at once. We’ll down the devil.”
But they did not. Never still, Sapazani dodged the volley and laughed exultantly.
Source: Gutenberg

Bertram Mitford Forging the Blades: A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion

Most were asleep; young men, fearless, healthily tired, are not likely to be kept awake by such a trifle—all in the day’s work—as a possible attack. Not all so slept, however. Verna, pale, haggard, hollow-eyed with grief, was carefully sponging out her rifle; eager now in her fierce longing for some kind of vengeance, even though vicarious vengeance, for another opportunity of using it to some purpose. No compunction of any sort was in her mind now. The more of his slayers she could send to join him in the other world, the greater would be her joy—the only joy left to her.
Source: Gutenberg

Bertram Mitford Forging the Blades: A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion

The whole atmosphere of the tangled forest, of the deep-flowing river, seems to breathe death. The dank, decaying vegetation, the dimness, the very airlessness of the sweltering valley—all this is not merely heat. It is asphyxia. It is strangely silent too; only the murmur of the river, and that remindful of its voracious denizens, breaks upon the fever-breathing stillness. He shivers, then, as with an effort, starts up, and going over to his horse, he hitches it, straps tighter the girths, and mounted, rides away down the dim, overhung path.
Source: Gutenberg

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