pe, for now were we hemmed in on either side by rocks. Our tongues
were swollen by thirst, and we panted like dogs. Many of us were gashed
with wounds, and streaming with blood; but those who fell were
immediately speared and ripped by the men of Mhlangana. Our shields
were hacked and bent and our weapons dripping. Still the Zulu host
seemed to hesitate, and now a voice cried from its ranks--

"Ho! leopards who are securely trapped! Come forth! Yield now to the
mercy of the Great Great One! Come forth, thou Umzilikazi, who callest
thyself King, and place thy neck beneath the paw of the Lion of Zulu!"

I can recall the thrill of delight which ran through me, even in that
moment of death, _Nkose_ on being again hailed as King; for it was clear
that Mhlangana, seeing me in the forefront of the battle, waving the
pure white shield, had mistaken me for Umzilikazi, though the Great
Great One himself was far above us on the mountain crest, waiting and
watching. But I answered fiercely defiant--

"Come, now, and place it there thyself, Mhlangana. But few of thy
_impi_ shall return to Dingane by the time that is done."

A roar of fierce laughter went up from the bravest and staunchest of my
followers. But most were silent, gloomily silent, and the silence was
ominous. I even heard murmurs among some as to the uselessness of
further resistance, since we and our enemies were of the same blood, and
we might as well live to fight in the army of Dingane, who would spare
us, as die in that of Umzilikazi, who was already a dead king.

Leaping up, I sprang upon the nearest of these, and with one blow of my
broad spear--the King's Assegai--laid him dead at my feet. Then,
rolling my eyes over my dispirited remnant, I cried--

"Who is of the base blood of slaves to talk of yielding? Have The
Scorpions no sting left? We will die as we have lived--stinging."

Our enemies, thinking we were deliberating surrender, remained halted
below in silence. As I finished speaking, there rang out once more,
soft and clear upon the air, from the heights above, that wild, sweet
voice--

"Great is small,
Little is great.
Great shall fall
In the coming Fate.

"Who may fear?
Who to-day will yield?
None who hear
The Song of the Shield!"

"_Ou_!" cried the warriors, their hands to their mouths. "The shield!
The Song of the Shield again!"

"Hear ye what the words say?" I cried. "`None who hear,' N