Camp Fire Yarns of the Lost LegionHamilton-Browne, G.
History
Camp Fire Yarns of the Lost Legion
Hamilton-Browne, G.
Māori (New Zealand people) -- Warfare; New Zealand -- History -- Anecdotes; Zulu War, 1879
Great was the risk we should run in attempting to cross, yet under the
circumstances I determined to run it. I felt certain I was not going
under that day, and anyhow a clean death in the sweet, cool water of
the river was far preferable to being turned into long pig by my
brutal pursuers. Then again they might kill my horse and catch me with
sufficient life remaining in me to make it worth their trouble to
torture it out of me. No fear, I wanted none of that; the river was my
dart, especially as my old nurse had always assured me of quite
another kind of death than drowning, and, sure, she was known in my
part of the world as a knowledgable woman.
The few minutes I had sat and watched the stream at the taking-off
place, I had talked to and explained matters to my glorious horse.
What's that you say? a horse can't understand you? Rot! you taxi-cab,
motor-busing new chum. A horse you have treated as a pal, and not as a
slave, will understand any simple matter you explain to him, far
better than the ordinary Englishman can understand the beauties of
tariff reform. Bear that in mind, you mud-splashing, dust-creating
greenhorn, if you ever want to become worth your salt on the frontier.
Anyhow, my horse understood me, and I rode up to the plain again.
The Hau Haus were not far off, and when they saw me regain the level
they evidently thought I had funked the river and was going to try to
escape on terra firma, for they saluted me with loud laughter and
jeers. Unbuckling my wallet straps, for I had them on my saddle,
although I had left the wallets themselves behind me, I carefully
fastened my carbine across the pommel of the saddle and also crossed
the stirrups. Then, as a farewell to my pursuers, I shouted: "O ye
slaves and dogs, I go to bathe in the Waikato; come with me, if ye be
not afraid." I turned my horse and, gripping my saddle, with thighs
and legs like a vice, I started at a canter down the slope,
increasing my pace and urging him on with my voice, until at last we
charged the river at full gallop. The noble animal knew well what I
expected from him, for as soon as I gave him his head he pointed his
ears and, gathering himself together at every bound, without a swerve,
the slightest balk, or the least hesitation, measured his take-off to
a nicety, and leaped far out into the air. I was quite prepared for
the plunge. I had twisted my hand well into his mane, and had taken a
deep breath as we made the spring. I felt the rush through the air,
and saw the shining water below us, that seemed to rise and meet us,
but I felt no shock; for although we must have raised the deuce of a
splash, and must have sunk somewhat, yet we seemed to come to the
surface immediately, and the first sensation I noticed was the current
tugging at me, as if trying to pull me out of my saddle.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account