They had ceased to shout and only seemed anxious to dash upon the British bayonets. Twice, three times, a fourth, they literally swarmed up to the entrenchments, and if one break in the ranks had taken place the English loss must have been terrible. At one moment, about a quarter before seven, it seemed as though they would have forced their way in, and upon several occasions wounded Zulus were noticed taking aim from behind the cover of the bodies of their dead comrades as they lay in pools of blood in the open. Now that they were within easy range from the tops of the waggons, an effective and galling fire was opened upon the Zulus by the native contingents, who were not allowed in the first line. This double tier of fire was of great help, and so far thinned the assailant ranks that the second attack was after a time renounced as hopeless. Once more, however, a shorter, more desperate, but, as it proved, final rush was made by Cetywayo's doomed and devoted troops. This time it was upon the left of the laager that they delivered their last and supreme effort. They came up on this occasion to within ten or fifteen feet of the muzzles of the men's rifles, and, indeed, one or two of their chiefs seized the hot barrels with one hand, while they stabbed at the men with their shortened or broken assegais. It was curious to remark the three separate lines of Zulu corpses which marked the respective ranges at which the death-dealing Martini-Henrys had swept their ranks. At 300 yards a thin boundary of black bodies and white shields might be traced; at 200 and 100 yards from our lines their walls of dead were more thick, and even up to the trenches wounded men had staggered to receive their _coup de grâce_. In spite of all their efforts, the Zulus, however, never succeeded in bringing matters to a hand-to-hand struggle, though, if they had done so, Lord Chelmsford's admirable formation would have doubtless saved the camp, although no doubt with more than treble loss. The last attack, and perhaps the boldest--for it was evidently the most desperate--was led most heroically by Dabulamanzi in person, who, with voice and gesture, came on a dozen yards in front of the leading files, as Ney led on his Guard at Waterloo. As on that occasion the French horsemen, so now these stalwart warriors could not stand against the calm, steady, and unflurried _mitraille_ of English infantry fire, and at seven o'clock the flower of Cetywayo's warriors were scattered and broken on the plain they had so magnificently fought and drenched with their blood. Lord Chelmsford saw the moment had come; Barrow, who had already mounted his men in anticipation, scarcely waited for the orderly to repeat the permission to dash forth. Away charged the little band of sabres, and the mounted infantry came at the flying groups like a whirlwind, their sabres flashing bright in the morning sun, but soon dyed crimson with the best of the Zulu blood.