battle of angollála.

the day dawned, and there remained nothing of the late beautiful village of chérkos. death and desolation had spread to the very gates of the capital, and the rocky ridge was covered with a dark mass of the galla host. but the plains were too miry to support the weight of man and horse; and after an ineffectual attempt from one or two small parties, the cloud of war settled again upon the scene of slaughter.

frightful indeed was the sight which met the gaze of the amhára, as they took their position in front of the plundered village on the frowning scarp of the ravine. the opposite crags were studded with the mangled bodies of their murdered compatriots. men, women, and children, had been ruthlessly sacrificed, and the thousand favoured inhabitants of a pleasant abode now lay stark and weltering among the rocks, where the strength of the fierce pagan had hurled them. the heaving of an arm here and there evinced that the spark of life still remained in some; but the chasm was impassable to the foot of man, and the wolf and hyaena lay undisturbed, gorged and glutted after their reeking festival.

the sun shone brightly for the few days following the appearance of the heathen host, and the surface of the muddy meadow had recovered its wonted consistency. both parties were anxious for the combat which was to decide the question of supremacy, for both were equally hard-pressed for the means of subsistence. with their usual reckless indifference to the future, the galla had wasted the country, and rioted in its destruction. the supplies brought to the royal camp were nearly exhausted; and the king, galled by the presence of the rebellious array within sight of his capital, having now succeeded in assembling a much superior force, resolved upon giving battle on the morrow.

prayers and psalms had been recited the livelong night—vows were made at every shrine in the kingdom—and the ark of the cathedral of saint michael had been transported from ankóber under a canopy of red cloth, to shed its holy influence over the christian army. at an early hour the king, under the shade of the velvet umbrellas, surrounded by his chiefs, nobles, and high-priests, and preceded by kettle-drums and wind instruments, issued from the palace gateway, and with his band of matchlock-men, took up a position about a mile from the town.

during the night, detachments had been steadily moving from every direction to this fixed point. column after column streamed through the valley, or poured down the sloping hill; and as the day broke, the warriors of amhára formed a deep line of horse and foot on either side of the monarch, one narrow plain and the river chácha alone separating them from the enemy. nor were the galla in any way slow to take their station, bristling in a dark front along the opposite ridge, where the tall figure of the rebel was distinctly to be observed, marshalling his wild forces for the coming fray.

the battle commenced by repeated discharges from the king’s gunmen; but the distance was too great for execution, and a shout of derision answered each impotent volley. the gigantic tunkaiye first pressed forward to the close encounter, and the cavaliers of shoa were not slow in following his example, for many fought under the eyes of their wives and children—all for the honour of the king, and the glory of true religion.

down came the pagan host like the rushing blast, and the stones flew far under the clatter of their hoofs. but they were fiercely met by the long-bladed spears of the amhára, and every inch of ground was for once stoutly contested. the roar of the foaming cataract, which thundered within fifty yards of the battle-field, was lost in the hoarse yells which rung through the air. the rocky bed proved for a time the scene of slaughter, and the turbid waters receiving numbers of dying and wounded wretches, hurried them to eternity. at length, each individual singling out his foe, the contest assumed the confused appearance of a chance medley. the sharp lance met with little opposition from the cotton robe; and deprived of other weapons. christian and galla, grappling stoutly together, fought with sword and knife, and in the fury of the moment, and in the excitement of the struggle, many rolled over the frowning scarp, clinging tightly together in the last embrace of death.

medóko and his gallant sons were everywhere in the thickest of the fight. his shout, rising high over the storm, animated the faint-hearted, and his presence roused to new life and exertion the successful partisan. many of the amhára bands were already reeling from the repeated shock of the wild riders of the háwash, when suddenly, in the very heat of the action, a large body of warriors, clothed in black mantles, and armed with long heavy spears, rushed down the hill on foot, and, prostrating themselves as they passed the royal umbrellas, descended fresh into the arena. the fierce inhabitants of mans had sped to the rescue from their hereditary estates, and their savage ferocity and reckless bravery was well known throughout the land. the relations and the household retainers of the rebel attempted to breast the storm, but they were scattered like autumnal leaves before the angry blast; and the chief arrived to the succour only to behold the spot strewed with the bodies of his stoutest partisans, and to witness his beloved son, the youthful hailoo, sink before his eyes, transfixed by a dozen spear-blades. a panic seized the pagans; and, dismayed and broken-hearted, they fled tumultuously in every direction.

in vain medóko performed the most incredible acts of valour—his voice had now lost its charm; and, crippled by a wound in his shoulder—his proud heart swelling with indignation—he at length perceived that the fortune of the day was not to be retrieved. cutting his way single-handed through the squadrons of the enemy, he also gave the loose rein to his horse, and scoured over the hills.

the sun had reached the meridian when the hot pursuit commenced, and the arm of vengeance was not stayed until long after his sinking below the western horizon. every amhára spear was dripping in blood to the haft. the stain of gore was on every cheek, and as the weary warrior returned from the massacre, the chest of his jaded war-steed was ornamented with the cloth of the accursed gentile, whose body he had left to the fangs of the wild beast.

after galloping for some miles with the few chiefs who had escaped from the fatal field, a short halt was allowed to refresh the horses, and medóko proclaimed his intention of accompanying the party no further. asylum and assistance were offered in vain; the stout heart of the rebel had been quelled by the late heavy loss he had sustained, and for a time at least he bowed to the power of the monarch of shoa. short was the moment allowed for the explanation, and after a hurried parting and a hope for better days, the band mounted and pressed on.

medóko and his surviving son chára, now commenced the more difficult undertaking of threading their path back again among the advancing amhára; but a perfect knowledge of the localities enabled them to take advantage of every hill and hollow. after many weary hours of anxiety they passed the capital undiscovered, and urging their horses to speed, took the road to ankóber. the beréza was swollen and unfordable, but their gallant steeds successfully breasted the rushing waters. the king’s watchmen had left their cold posts, in order to take shelter from the cutting blast, before the riders swept down the rocky defile of the chaka, towards the wooded sides of mamrat; and long ere the voice of the brotherhood had risen in the matin chant, the rebels had been formally admitted to sanctuary, and were safely reposing in the sacred monastery of affaf woira.