PART 8
A narrow trail rose steeply to the mountain. I went along it, when suddenly
ahead, at several paces from me, there appeared the shape of a native carrying
something on his head and a long spear on his shoulder. He was also climbing
this ridge, but from the opposite side. Unexpectedly seeing one another, we
both stopped. Under the influence of my mood, I didn't even think to undertake
any aggressive measures against him. It seemed unthinkable to me that he
himself would begin to attack me, even though behind me walked two men with
guns... I had a saber on me, but I didn't intend to take it out of its
scabbard. My Mauser revolver, which I always wore on my waist on the march,
this time I had left in the holster of my saddle, since the belt on which I
carried it was broken. How great was my amazement when, instead of running
away, my opponent in a moment threw the burden from his head and rushed at me
with his spear. I took out my saber and cried to my people who were still
below and didn't see what was happening: "Belau!" (Go ahead! Shoot!) The
native stopped ten paces from me, having aimed the spear at me, he made the
end of it shake quickly and chose the moment for the blow. I waited for there
to ring out a shot and for my crazy enemy to topple over dead, but there was
no shot... Seeing that I was waiting with my saber for his blow, the native,
apparently, could not decide whether to stab me with his spear or throw it at
me... Suddenly, he quickly bent down, took hold of a large rock, and threw it
at me with force. I managed to duck, and the rock flew over my head. After the
first stone followed a second and a third!... "Belau! Belau!" I cried out to
the soldiers, but they were busying themselves with something or other a few
paces behind me and did
not fire. To turn around myself and take my gun would have meant to expose
myself to certain death. Finally, a shot rang out -- the officer had fired. In
haste, he missed. Abto Selassie also took out his saber and we rushed at the
native... At the same time there resounded a second shot of the officer,
point-blank, and our opponent toppled to the ground... He spasmed for a long
time, having bared his teeth, with a repulsive smile on his face. During the
last skirmish he struck at one of us with such force with his spear that it
pierced through a leather shield, at that time held up under the blow by the
gun bearer of the officer.
It was a strange coincidence of circumstances. My revolver, which I always
wear with me, turned out to be today in the holster of my saddle. Abto
Selassie for the first time carried my three-inch-caliber rifle behind me. It
was loaded and the bolt was at safety, but Abto Selassie didn't know how to
cock it. The other gun of my ashker had a thick cartridge caught in it. It
loaded halfway in the cartridge-chamber and then wouldn't move either forward
or backward. But the strangest of all was the fact that several days before
this occurrence I had a dream in which the general picture of today's fight
was repeated and that I had told it to Zelepukin at the time.
We returned to the bivouac. We took along the spear of the native. It was
evident that this wasn't its first time in battle: there were recent traces of
blood on the end -- probably Abyssinian. My dreamy-philosophical mood had
completely gone away. War is war, and not a tournament; and the more the one
with superior strength can defeat his enemy, the better.