Then a captain tried to gather them for another rush, and once more they moved forward.

I killed that captain with a revolver shot, for my rifle had become too hot to hold, and at the sight of his fall, they broke and ran back into the little hollow where our bullets could not reach them.
So far we had held our own, but at a price, for three of the Zulus were now dead and three more wounded, one of them severely, the other two but enough to cripple them.

In fact, now there were left of them but three untouched men, and Umslopogaas, so that in all for fighting purposes we were but seven.

What availed it that we had killed a great number of these Amahagger, when we were but seven?
How could seven men withstand such another onslaught?
There in the pale light of the dawn we looked at each other dismayed.
"Now," said Umslopogaas, leaning on his red axe, "there remains but one thing to do, make a good end, though I would that it were in a greater cause.

At least we must either fight or fly," and he looked down at the wounded.
"Think not of us, Father," murmured one of them, the man who had a mortal hurt.