1

The trekker-camp at break of day
Was ready for the coming fray,
And presently espied
A dark advancing tide
Sweeping across the shining veld.
Then solemnly the trekkers knelt,
Their heads all bowed and bare,
While Cilliers offered prayer.
Thereafter in the wagon-fence
They made a gap and issuing thence,
Riding nor fast nor slow.
They moved to meet the foe.

As they approached the swarthy mass,
Now grimly squatting on the grass,
Potgieter made essay
The holocaust to stay
And parleyed. But, with cobra-hiss,
The foe leapt up, advanced; at this
To earth the trekkers sprang,
Their steady snaphaans rang!

Two raking volleys straight they poured
Into the swart and savage horde,
Then, mounting, back they rode —
While galloping to load
Their smoking muskets — and again
They turned and showered blighting rain
Upon the startled foe,
Whose coming now was slow,

Twelve volleys from the belching roer,
The trekker's trusted friend and broer,
Had rattled harshly, when
Potgieter and his men
Regained the camp — without mishap;
Right speedily they closed the gap,
Whilst loud the women sang,
Their cheering voices rang
Sweet in the mellow morning air.
Then Sarel Cilliers raised a prayer,
A brave and solemn plea
To God for victory.

The trekkers then with careful toil
Their muskets cleaned from smut and soil;
While steadfast Potgieter
Around the camp did stir:
To all he uttered simple words —
For little sounds can sharpen swords —
To stimulate and cheer,
Brave words to banish fear.

Meanwhile the foe like locusts swarmed,
And steadily their legions formed
Into that half-moon shape
That stays a foe's escape:
That battle-plan of Chaka dread,
The savage bull's stupendous head,
With curving horns that close
Like pincers on their foes.
But having formed their ranks the mass
Squatted once more upon the grass,
Safe, out of gunshot range,
To watch the foemen strange,
Whose smoking-clubs had havoc made
From further distance than the blade
Of well-hurled spear might go
And lay a foeman low.

The trekkers, now impatient, wait
Their tardy foe, for soon or late,
With shout and crash and din,
The battle must begin.
Suspense may shatter ev'n the strong,
So " Blouberg" to a whip-stick long
Fastened a kerchief red
And waved it overhead.
This invitation to a fight
Found prompt acceptance — front, left, right,
With clangour, shout and hum
The dark battalions come.

2

Kilted with leopards' tails were they
And plumed with feathers long and gay,
With bushy ox-tails tied
To wrist and elbow, ankle, knee,
They came in war-like panoply,
With shields of tough ox-hide —
Long oval shields, spiked at each end —
Bucklers that needful cover lend
To warriors in fight:
Shields white-and-red each veteran bore,
While youthful wights untried in war
Had shields of black and white.
Two throwing-assegais had each
To check the foeman out of reach,
And one short stabbing-spear —
Broad-bladed was this weapon dread —
A knob-kerrie with heavy head
Completes each fighter's gear.

Onward they came in war-array,
Their crest-feathers like pennons gay
A-flutter in the breeze;
Each shield was beaten like a drum,
As on they came, with hiss and hum
Like drone of distant seas.
Onward they came, now nigh and nigher,
But Potgieter still held his fire,
Till thirty paces they
Were from the trekker-camp and then
He gives his eager anxious men
The word for which they pray.

The trekkers' muskets flashed and roared
And deadly volleys were out-poured
Upon the yelling foe.
The trekker women, good at need
To help their men with word and deed,
Now hurried to and fro
To bind up wounds and guns to load;
Help from their ready fingers flowed,
From white lips words of cheer.
The muskets belched out loud and fast
Upon the foe a withering blast,
But still those foes drew near.
Vainly against each wagon-tent
The hurtling assegai was sent,
Knob-sticks were hurled in vain.
The desperate foe now bravely strove
Some shackled wagon to remove,
They strove with utmost strain;
The wagon-ring they could not break,
The sheltered Boers they failed to shake,
So vanquished, they retire;
While into them and after them
The trekkers without stay or stem
Still poured their deadly fire.

Swiftly the swarthy legions fled,
Leaving greaTheaps of warriors dead
Upon the blood-soaked plain.
Triumphant trekkers raised on high
Their glad hosannas to the sky
Again and yet again.
And when they saw the black cloud melt
Into the vastness of the veld,
They all, with one accord,
Knelt down and prayers of thanks did raise
And joyful hymns and psalms of praise
To Heaven's eternal Lord.

Thus ended Vegkop's wondrous fight,
Five thousand " black" 'gainst forty " white" —
The snaphaan 'gainst the spear.
The Matabele fought right well,
Right valiantly they fought and fell
And conquered conquering fear:
But vain was assegai, well-tried,
Vainly the bull-head's horned pride
Came with tremendous shock:
Shattered and set at naught were these —
Shattered like angry rolling seas
Against a steadfast rock.