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                                  THE

                           MATABELE CAMPAIGN

                                 1896




                          BY THE SAME AUTHOR


                              PIGSTICKING

                          CAVALRY INSTRUCTION

                      RECONNAISSANCE AND SCOUTING

                        THE DOWNFALL OF PREMPEH




[Illustration: A MATABELE WARRIOR MAKING DISPARAGING REMARKS
 The enemy would come out on the rocks before a fight, and dance and
 work themselves up into a frenzy, shouting all sorts of epithets and
 insults at the troops.]




                                  THE
                           MATABELE CAMPAIGN

                   BEING A NARRATIVE OF THE CAMPAIGN
                   IN SUPPRESSING THE NATIVE RISING
                          IN MATABELELAND AND
                              MASHONALAND
                                 1896

                                  BY

                  MAJOR–GENERAL R. S. S. BADEN–POWELL
                             13TH HUSSARS
               FELLOW OF THE ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY

                     WITH NEARLY 100 ILLUSTRATIONS

                            FOURTH EDITION

                             METHUEN & CO.
                         36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                LONDON
                                 1901




PREFACE


  UMTALI, MASHONALAND,
  _12th December 1896_.

MY DEAR MOTHER,—It has always been an understood thing between us,
that when I went on any trip abroad, I kept an illustrated diary for
your particular diversion. So I have kept one again this time, though
I can’t say that I’m very proud of the result. It is a bit sketchy and
incomplete, when you come to look at it. But the keeping of it has had
its good uses for me.

Firstly, because the pleasures of new impressions are doubled if they
are shared with some appreciative friend (and you are always more than
appreciative).

Secondly, because it has served as a kind of short talk with you every
day.

Thirdly, because it has filled up idle moments in which goodness knows
what amount of mischief Satan might not have been finding for mine idle
hands to do!

. . . . . .

  R. S. S. B.–P.




TO THE READER


The following pages contain sketches of two kinds, namely, sketches
written and sketches drawn. They were taken on the spot during
the recent campaign in Matabeleland and Mashonaland, and give a
representation of such part of the operations as I myself saw.

They were jotted down but roughly, at odd hours, often when one was
more fit for sleeping than for writing, or in places where proper
drawing materials were not available—I would ask you, therefore, to
look leniently upon their many faults.

The notes, being chiefly extracts from my diary and from letters
written home, naturally teem with the pronoun, “I,” which I trust
you will pardon, but it is a fault difficult to avoid under the
circumstances. They deal with a campaign remarkable for the enormous
extent of country over which it was spread, for the varied components
and inadequate numbers of its white forces, and especially for the
difficulties of supply and transport under which it was carried
out—points which, I think, were scarcely fully realised at home. The
operations were full of incident and interest, and of lessons to those
who care to learn. Personally, I was particularly lucky in seeing a
good deal of Matabeleland, and something of Mashonaland, as well as
in having a share in the work of organisation in the office, and in
afterwards testing its results in the field. Incidentally I came in for
a good taste of the best of all arts, sciences, or sports—“scouting.”
For these reasons I have been led to offer these notes to the public,
in case there might be aught of interest in them.

The “thumbnail” sketches claim the one merit of having been done on the
spot, some of them under fire. Most of the photographs were taken with
a “Bulldog” camera (Eastman, 115 Oxford Street), and enlarged. A few
were kindly given by Captain the Hon. J. Beresford, 7th Hussars.

Several of the illustrations have also appeared in the _Graphic_ and
_Daily Graphic_, and are here reproduced through the courtesy of the
proprietors of those journals.

  R. S. S. B.–P.

  MARLBOROUGH BARRACKS, DUBLIN,
  _19th March 1897_.




CONTENTS


  CHAP.                                                PAGE

  I. OUTWARD BOUND                                        3

  II. STATE OF AFFAIRS IN MATABELELAND                   24

  III. OUR WORK AT BULUWAYO                              43

  IV. SCOUTING                                           89

  V. THE REBELS DECLINE TO SURRENDER                    122

  VI. CAMPAIGN IN THE MATOPOS                           145

  VII. OUR WORK IN THE MATOPOS                          171

  VIII. FIGHTING IN THE MATOPOS                         195

  IX. THE FINAL OPERATIONS IN THE MATOPOS               228

  X. THE SITUATION IN MATABELELAND AND MASHONALAND      249

  XI. THE DOWNFALL OF UWINI                             275

  XII. SHANGANI COLUMN—THROUGH THE FOREST              305

  XIII. SHANGANI PATROL—RETURN MARCH                   326

  XIV. IN THE BELINGWE DISTRICT                         348

  XV. THE DOWNFALL OF WEDZA                             372

  XVI. CLEARING THE MASHONA FRONTIER                    401

  XVII. THROUGH MASHONALAND                             431

  XVIII. THE SITUATION IN RHODESIA                      458

  XIX. AFTER WAR—PEACE                                 477




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                   PAGE

  A MATABELE WARRIOR MAKING DISPARAGING REMARKS
                                           _Frontispiece_

  SKETCH MAP                                          2

  BRITANNIA                                           7

  MAFEKING TO BULUWAYO                               13

  GOING OUT FOR A FIGHT                              39

  THE UMGUSA FIGHT: 6TH JUNE                         55

  EIGHT TO ONE                                       58

  THE BITER BIT                                      61

  INUGU MOUNTAIN STRONGHOLD                          69

  SCOUT BURNHAM                                      71

  A CAPE BOY SENTRY                                  74

  SILENCING THE ORACLE                               83

  SOLITARY SCOUTING                                  91

  THE VALUE OF SKIRT–DANCING                         95

  THE STRONGHOLDS IN THE MATOPOS                    103

  INUGU MOUNTAIN, A                                 103

  CHILILI VALLEY, B                                 104

  INYANDA’S, SIKOMBO’S, AND UMLUGULU’S POSITIONS,
  (LOOKING SOUTH)                                   104

  CAUGHT IN THE ACT BY A CAPE BOY                   123

  “IMPEESA”                                         128

  PREPARING LUNCH                                   139

  A HUMAN SALT–CELLAR                               142

  THE ATTACK ON BABYAN’S STRONGHOLD: 20TH JULY      153

  AMATEUR DOCTORING                                 157

  A MATABELE WARRIOR                                176

  THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF WAR                    180

  A CHANCE SHOT                                     185

  OUR FIELD TELEGRAPH                               187

  COLONEL PLUMER AND STAFF                          193

  MY BOY PREPARING BREAKFAST                        197

  RUNNING AFTER A LADY                              201

  THE BATTLE OF AUGUST 5TH                          205

  AFTER THE FIGHT                                   211

  THE DEATH OF KERSHAW                              215

  CAPE BOYS BARING THEIR FEET FOR THE ATTACK        218

  IN THE MIDST OF LIFE                              221

  BRINGING AWAY THE DEAD                            223

  THE OPERATING TENT                                225

  SHELLING THE ENEMY OUT OF THE MATOPOS             241

  A COMFORTABLE CORNER ON AN UNCOMFORTABLE EVENING  246

  THE PEACE INDABA WITH THE MATOPO REBELS           251

  ROUTES TO MATABELELAND AND MASHONALAND            261

  OUR WORKING KIT                                   269

  GIANTS’ PLAYTHINGS                                280

  COLD AND HUNGRY                                   291

  WARM AND COMFORTABLE                              293

  NO RESPECTER OF PERSONS                           300

  THE SHANGANI COLUMN                               304

  FOLLOWING UP THE SPOOR                            313

  THE HORSE GUARD                                   317

  “A MERCIFUL MAN,” ETC.                            324

  FRESH HORSE–BEEF                                  328

  A NEW ENEMY                                       336

  ENTERING A CAVE STRONGHOLD                        343

  “GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!”                             346

  FRESH MEAT                                        354

  STROLLING HOME IN THE MORNING                     356

  “HALT! WHO COMES THERE?”                          357

  PARLEYING WITH REBELS                             365

  NATIVE SURGERY                                    367

  WEDZA’S STRONGHOLD                                370

  PRINCE ALEXANDER OF TECK                          381

  7TH HUSSARS AT WEDZA’S                            385

  WEDZA’S KRAAL                                     388

  “LITTLE MISS TUCKET SAT BY A BUCKET”              389

  TIRED OUT                                         394

  A SMELTING FURNACE                                397

  ANCIENT RUINS                                     397

  A DANGEROUS PRACTICE                              403

  A ROADSIDE INN IN MATABELELAND                    406

  A CAVE STRONGHOLD                                 410

  OUR HORSES                                        415

  THE YOUNG IDEA LEARNING TO SHOOT                  421

  A CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL                             426

  “DIAMOND”                                         432

  HEADQUARTERS’ MESS                                433

  SPECIMEN OF OLD ROCK–PAINTING BY NATIVES
      IN MASHONALAND                                436

  BLACK AND WHITE                                   441

  THE OPENING MEET OF THE SALISBURY HOUNDS
      (AFTER THE WAR)                               445

  THE COUNTESS RESCUES HER SEWING MACHINE           452

  THE SPECIAL SERVICE MOUNTED INFANTRY              459

  A FORT                                            461

  A WAR–DANCE                                       465

  OUR NATIVE ALLIES                                 468

  MAORI B——E                                        484

  A ROADSIDE HOTEL IN MASHONALAND                   487

  DOLCE FAR NIENTE                                  499

[Illustration: SKETCH MAP of The Theatre of operations]




                                  THE

                        MATABELE CAMPAIGN, 1896




CHAPTER I

OUTWARD BOUND

_2nd May to 2nd June_

 An Attractive Invitation accepted—Voyage to the Cape on the R.M.S.
 _Tantallon Castle_—The Mounted Infantry—Cape Town—Mafeking—Coach Journey
 through Bechuanaland Protectorate—Rinderpest rampant—Captain Lugard
 _en route_ to new Fields of Exploration—Khama and his Capital—Coaching
 compared to Yachting—Tati–Mangwe Pass—The Theatre of War.


  “WAR OFFICE, S. W.,
  _28th April 1896_.

“SIR,—Passage to Cape Town having been provided for you in the s.s.
_Tantallon Castle_, I am directed to request that you will proceed to
Southampton and embark in the above vessel on the 2nd May by 12.30 p.
m., reporting yourself before embarking to the military staff officer
superintending the embarkation.

“You must not ship more than 55 cubic feet.

“I am further to request you will acknowledge the receipt of this
letter by first post, and inform me of any change in your address up to
the date of embarkation.

“You will be in command of the troops on board.

  “I have the honour, etc.,
  “EVELYN WOOD, Q.M.G.”

What better invitation could one want than that? I accepted it with
greatest pleasure.

I had had warning that it might come, by telegraph from Sir Frederick
Carrington, who had that day arrived in England from Gibraltar _en
route_ to South Africa. He was about to have command of troops in
Matabeleland operating against the rebels there. His telegram had
reached me at Belfast on Friday afternoon, when we were burying a poor
chap in my squadron who had been killed by a fall from his horse. I
had a car in waiting, changed my kit, packed up some odds and ends,
arranged about disposal of my horses, dogs, and furniture, and just
caught the five something train which got me up to town by next day
morning. At midday the General sailed for South Africa, but his orders
were that I should follow by next ship; so, after seeing him off, I
had several days in which to kick my heels and live in constant dread
of being run over, or otherwise prevented from going after all. But
fortune favoured me.

_2nd May._—Embarked at Southampton in the _Tantallon Castle_ (Captain
Duncan) for Cape Town. On board were 480 of the finest mounted infantry
that man could wish to see, under Colonel Alderson; also several other
“details.” Then, besides the troops, the usual crowd of passengers, 200
of them—German Jews, Cape Dutch, young clerks, etc., going out to seek
their fortunes in El Dorado. (You don’t want details, do you, of this,
my fourth voyage to the Cape?)

_4th May._—Perfect weather, palatial ship, and fast. Delightful cabin
all to myself. Best of company. Poorish food, and a very good time all
round.

_6th May._—Madeira. You know. Breakfast WITH FRUIT at Reid’s Hotel. The
flowers and gardens. Scramble up on horses to the convent, up the long,
steep, cobbled roads, and the grand toboggan down again in sliding
cars. How I would like to live there for—a day! Then back on board, and
off to sea by eleven. Deck loaded up with Madeira chairs and fruit
skins.

_8th May._—Daily parades, inspection of troop decks, tugs of war,
concerts on deck, and gradual increase in personal girth from sheer
over–eating and dozing.

Our only exercise is parade for officers at seven every morning in
pyjamas, under a sergeant–instructor, who puts us through most fiendish
exercises for an hour, and leaves us there for dead.

We just revive in time to put the men through the same course in their
turn, stripped to the waist, so that they have dry shirts to put on
afterwards. “Knees up!” I’d like to kill him who invented it—but it
does us all a power of good.

_10th to 13th May._—Hot and muggy off the coast of Africa from Cape de
Verd to Sierra Leone, though out of sight of land. Not many weeks since
I was here, homeward bound from Ashanti—same old oily sea, with rolling
swell, and steamy, hot horizon.

_14th May._—A passenger, who so far had spoken little except to ask for
“another whisky,” found dead in bed this morning, and buried overboard.
Poor chap! He had opened a conversation with me the night before, and
seemed a well–intentioned, gentle soul, although a drunken bore.

[Illustration: BRITANNIA
 At the Fancy Dress Ball on board the belle of the ship appeared as
 Britannia. The only incongruity was the helmet, whose peak did not agree
 with the wearer’s nose: the hat had therefore to be reversed, and the
 back–peak was bent for additional comfort.]

Now was the best part of the voyage as far as climate went—bright,
breezy days and deep blue sea, and the ship just ripping
along—perfection.

_15th to 18th May._—Athletic sports, tableaux, concerts, _and_ the
fancy dress ball, and our dinner–party to the captain.

The ball was interesting in showing the diverse taste of diverse
nationalities. Four Frenchmen and one lady so prettily and well got
up. The British officer, save in one or two instances (of which, alas!
I wasn’t one), could not rise to anything more original than uniform.
An ingenious young lady put us all to shame appearing as Britannia,
“helmet, shield, and pitchfork too,” all complete. (Nose and helmet
didn’t hit it off,—at least—yes—the nose _did_ hit it (the helmet) off,
and the hat had to be worn the wrong way round to allow more room.)

_19th May._—At 4 a. m. I awake with an uncanny feeling. All is silence
and darkness. The screw has stopped, the ship lies like a log, the
only sound is the plashing of the water pouring from the engine, and
occasionally sharp footsteps overhead.

And, looking from my port, I see, looming dark against the stars, the
long, flat top of grand old Table Mountain—its base a haze from which
electric lights gleam out and shine along the water.

A busy day. No news except that Sir Frederick had gone on up to
Mafeking, and I was now to follow.

General Goodenough inspected our troops upon the wharf among the Cape
carts, niggers, cargo, trollies (drawn by the little Arab–looking
horses), and the Cape Town dust. The troops go off by train to Wynberg
Camp to await Sir Frederick’s orders.

Old Cape Town just the same as ever. Same lounging warders and
convicts digging docks. Malays and snoek fish everywhere. Adderley
Street improved with extra turreted, verandahed buildings. The Castle
venerable, low, and poky as of yore, and—of course—under repair. Short
visits there, to Government House, and to that beautiful old Dutch
house in Strand Street where one learns the Dutch side of the questions
of the day.

By nine o’clock at night we’re all aboard the train for Mafeking—a
thousand well–remembered faces seem to be there on the platform
cheering us away as we steam out into the night.

Hard beds, cold night, bumpity flap we go.

_20th May._—Rattling along over the Karoo. Stony plains with frequent
stony hills and mountains. The clearest atmosphere, and air like
draughts of fresh spring water. Up hill, down dale—the train crawling
up at foot’s pace with heart–breaking, laboured panting of the engine,
then down the other side rattling and swaying about like a runaway
coster’s barrow.

Three times in the day we stop at wayside stations where there’s a kind
of _table d’hôtel_ prepared—much as it is in India, only less so.

Very little life along the line, beyond an occasional waggon with its
lengthy team of oxen or of donkeys, creeping at its very slowest pace
along the plain.

Our own pace, however, is not much to boast about; we don’t go fast,
and often stop to execute repairs.

The scenery remains much the same, except that the stony plain gives
place to white grass veldt sparsely dotted with little thorn–bushes—its
only beauty (and that is matchless of its kind) the wonderful colours
of the distant hills, especially at dawn or sunset.

We pass by little groups of iron–roofed houses—sanatoria where people
come to live—or die—whose lungs are gone.

Kimberley. Miles of mineheads, mounds of refuse, town of tin houses and
dust, a filthy refreshment room,—and on we go.

_22nd May._—At last, after three nights and two days jogging along in
the train, we rattle into Mafeking at 6 a. m.

“_Into_ Mafeking?” Well, there’s a little tin (corrugated iron) house
and a goods shed to form the station; hundreds of waggons and mounds
of stores covered with tarpaulins, and on beyond a street and market
square of low–roofed tin houses. Mafeking is at present the railway
terminus. The waggons and the goods are waiting to go north to
Matabeleland, but here they’re stranded for want of transport, since
all the oxen on the road are dying fast from rinderpest. However, every
train is bringing up more mules and donkeys to use in their stead.

Near to the station is the camp of the 7th Hussars and mounted infantry
of the West Riding and the York and Lancaster Regiments. These troops
are waiting here in case they may be wanted in Matabeleland.

Thus Mafeking is crowded.

Sir Frederick is here, and we, the staff, take up our quarters for
a few days in a railway carriage on a siding. The staff consists of
Lieutenant–Colonel Bridge, A.S.C., as Deputy Assistant Adjutant–General
(for Transport and Supply), Captain Vyvyan, Brigade Major; Lieutenant
V. Ferguson, A.D.C.; my billet is Chief Staff Officer.

While here at Mafeking we are the guests of Mr. Julius Weil, the
genius—in both senses—of this part of South Africa. He works the
machinery of transport and supply of the Chartered Company; his
“stores” have in them everything that man could want to buy. “Weil’s
Rations” are known half the world over as the best tinned foods for
travellers; he owns the best of dogs and horses; he is Member of the
Legislative Assembly of the Cape: and withal he is young and lively!

_23rd May._—Our only news from Matabeleland is that Cecil Rhodes
has safely got across from the East Coast, through Mashonaland, to
Buluwayo, with a column under Beal. And that Plumer’s force, specially
raised here in the south, had got within touch of Buluwayo without
fighting. Rhodes had said the neck of the rebellion now was broken—and
with it go the necks of all our hopes.

But still we shove along.

Packed up our kits, and in the afternoon embarked, the four of us (the
General, Vyvyan, Ferguson, and self), in the coach for Buluwayo. The
coach a regular Buffalo–Bill–Wild–West–Deadwood affair; hung by huge
leather springs on a heavy, strong–built under–carriage; drawn by ten
mules. Our baggage and three soldier–servants on the roof; two coloured
drivers (one to the reins, the other to the whip). Inside are four
transverse seats, each to hold three, thus making twelve “insides.”
Luckily we were only four, and so we had some room to stretch our legs.
We each settled into a corner, and off we went, amid the cheers of
the inhabitants of Mafeking. One, more eager than the rest,—a former
officer of Sir Frederick’s in the Bechuanaland Police,—jumped on, and
came with us for thirty miles, trusting to chance to take him back
again.

That night we reached Pitsani, a single roadside inn,—the
starting–place of Jameson’s raid into the Transvaal. We stopped, and
supped, and slept, and started on at daybreak. This stopping to sleep
was but a luxury which we did not come in for afterwards along the road.

[Illustration: MAFEKING TO BULUWAYO
Ten days and nights by coach.]

_24th May._—Does it bore you, a daily record of this uneventful
journey? Well, if it does, you easily can skip it, which is more than
we could do, alas!

All day over a sandy track, on open, white grass veldt, which
generally changed into hilly country, dotted with thorn–bushes. All
waterless. The mules, of which we get a change every ten or twelve
miles, in very poor condition—so our pace is very slow.

Reached Ramoutsa after dark, after 65–mile drive. Tin hotel, and large
native kraal town (said to have 10,000 inhabitants in its mass of
beehive huts). Boyne living here; a well–known hunter on the Kalehari,
and had shot with “Ginger” Gordon (15th Hussars).

A native “reed dance” was going on in the “stadt” (as they call the
native town),—every man blowing a reed–whistle which gives two notes,
and, played in numbers, gives a quaint, harmonious sound. The men dance
in a circle, stamping the time; the women waggle round and round the
circle, outside it. Altogether a very “or’nery” performance, especially
as all were dressed in European store–clothes.

_25th May._—Struggling on with weak mules to Gaberones (18 miles in
5½ hours) And on again. Every mile now began to show the grisly,
stinking signs of rinderpest. Dead oxen varied occasionally with dead
mules—the variety did not affect the smell—_that_ remained the same.
Occasionally we passed a waggon abandoned owing to the loss of animals.

The road at times was hard, but generally soft red sand. The scenery
had a sameness of level, white, grass land and thorn–bush.

Reached a big kraal (Matchudi’s) of 700 inhabitants, at midnight. Deep
sandy road. It took our fresh (!) team over half an hour to get us
outside the village. Our pace was now so slow, and the whacking of the
whip so painful merely to listen to (happily, the mules don’t seem to
feel it half so much as we), that we did much of the journey walking on
ahead. Sun baking hot, and flies as thick as dust, and _that_ was bad.

_27th May._—By walking with a gun we managed to get a good supply of
partridges and guinea–fowl as we went along. To–day we passed the
downward coach, in which was Scott–Montague, M.P. He gave us lots of
information; and we felt we were not having the worst of the journey,
when we saw him packed in with twelve other “insides,” one of whom a
woman, and another her baby, _which wasn’t very well!_

Reached Pala—a group of stores—at midnight. Here were collected
some two hundred waggons, stopped by loss of all their oxen from
rinderpest. Three thousand two hundred beasts dead at this one place!

_28th May._—We trekked along all day. Bush country; lots of partridges.
One of our mules died on the road. Passed through Captain Lugard’s camp
about 11 p. m. Only Hicks, his manager, awake. He had thirteen waggons,
and nearly two hundred mules and donkeys. He is taking an exploring
expedition of eleven white men to the Lake N’Gami district, prepared to
remain away two years if necessary.

_29th May._—Outspanned, 4.30 a. m., and had our first wash since
starting, in liquid mud from water–holes. The road was now through
heavy sand. We walked over 20 miles of our journey on foot.

Reached Palapchwe (Khama’s capital) at midnight.

Found a dozen telegrams awaiting us, describing fights round Buluwayo,
such as put some hopes into us again.

Here we slept in beds!

_30th May._—Before breakfast, who should stroll in, all by himself, but
Khama! Thin, alert, and looking quite young, in European clothes.

He had not much to say. He knew me as George’s brother, and asked
about the baby niece.

His town is certainly well–ordered, and he manages everything himself.

There are three or four European stores; otherwise the town is an
agglomeration of kraals, and thus stands in several sections, each
under its own headman. It is situated on an undercliff of a bush–grown
ridge; is fairly well supplied with water; and commands a splendid view
over 100 miles of country. Khama had moved his people here only a few
years ago, from Shoshong, which used to be his capital farther west.
He rules his country effectively. No liquor may be sold, even among
white men; and all along the road while in his country we found the
rinderpest carcasses had been burned.

But he might with advantage do something for the road. Leaving
Palapchwe at 10 a. m., we bumped and jolted down the stony hill in a
manner calculated to mash up not only the coach and its insides, but
_their_ insides as well. Any person or persons afflicted with liver
should go and live a week at Palapchwe, and drive down this hill
daily—once a day would be enough!

And then beyond—across the plains, grown with mopani bush—the road was
all deep sand. We merely crept along. But still we had broken the back
of our journey—

  Mafeking to Palla       225 miles
  Palla to Palapchwe      110   ”
  Palapchwe to Tati       107   ”
  Tati to Buluwayo        115   ”
                         ————
              Total       557   ”

A certain sameness of scenery and want of water all the time, but
compensated for by the splendid climate, the starry nights, and the
“flannel–shirt” life generally.

Every one of the few wayfarers, in waggons or otherwise, along the road
is interesting, either as a hunter, gentleman–labourer, or enterprising
trader. They all look much the same: Boer hat, flannel shirt, and
breeches—so sunburnt that it is hard at first to tell whether the man
is English, half–caste, or light Kaffir.

One we met to–day, creeping along with a crazy, two–wheeled cart drawn
by four donkeys. He himself had only been two months in South Africa:
came from Brighton. Heard that food and drink were at a premium in
Buluwayo; so had loaded up this drop–in–the–ocean of a cargo of meal
and champagne, and was steadily plodding along with it to make his
fortune. We lightened his load by two pints, and weightened his pocket
with two pounds. And we afterwards heard he sold his whole consignment
at a very good profit long before he got to Matabeleland.

_31st May._—All day and all night we go rocking and pitching, rolling
and “scending” along in the creaking, groaning old coach: just
_exactly_ like being in the cabin of a small yacht in bad weather—and
the occasional sharp swish of the thorn–bushes along the sides and
leathern curtains sounds just like angry seas. Then frequently she
heels over to a very jumpy angle, as if a squall had struck her. One of
these days the old thing will go over.

Strange that in all this endless, uninhabited, and bushy wilderness
there is scarcely any game.

We carry our own food, chiefly tinned things, with us, and at
convenient outspans (when we are changing mules) we boil our kettle and
have a meal of sorts and thoroughly enjoy it—especially the evening
meal, under the stars.

_1st June._—Reached Tati Gold Fields, 1 a. m. A collection of three or
four tin stores, one of them an hotel, where we rolled into bed for a
short rest.

We breakfasted with Mr. Vigers, the Resident Commissioner. Tati is a
British Protectorate of older standing than the Chartered Company,
and independent of it. It has its own administrative machinery,—a
mining population of whites and blacks and “wasters,” and yet not a
single policeman! “Wasters?”—oh, it’s a South African word, and most
expressive; applies to the specious loafer who is so common in this
country,—the country teems with him in high grades as well as low,
_hinc multæ lacrimæ_ in the history of South African enterprises.

Twenty miles beyond Tati we crossed the dry bed of the Ramakan River,
the border of Matabeleland. Close by the river stands the ruin of a
“prehistoric” fort, built of trimmed stones. There are several similar
forts about the country, offshoots of the famed Zimbabye ruins near
Victoria.

We nearly killed our General to–day in crossing a dry river bed. The
descent into the drift was so steep that the wheelers could not hold
back the coach, so our drivers sent them down it at a gallop. Half–way
down there was a sill of rock off which the coach took a flying leap
into the sand below. We inside were chucked about like peanuts in a
pot, and Sir Frederick was thrown against the roof and his head and
neck were stiff for some time afterward.

Had dinner (!) at a roadside shanty “Hotel,” where the waiter smoked
while he served us.

_2nd June._—Signs of war and of colonisation at last. We reached
Mangwe, 6.30 a. m. An earthwork fort with a waggon encampment outside
it. In this laager were all the women and children, chiefly Dutch, from
farms around; the men acting as garrison under command of Van Rooyen
and Lee,—two well–known hunters, who were here in Lobengula’s time.

In the fort they showed with pride some half a dozen Matabele prisoners
they had captured in a fight. I looked well at them, fearing that they
might be the only enemy that I should see. Happily I might have spared
my eyes.

We now went through the Mangwe Pass. The road here winds its way
through a tract of rocky hills and koppies, which are practically the
tail of the Matopo range, running eastward hence for sixty miles. It
would have been a nasty place to tackle had the Matabele held it. They
might easily here have cut off Buluwayo from the outer world, but their
M’limo, or oracle, had told them to leave this one road open as a
bolt–hole for the whites in Matabeleland. They had expected that when
the rebellion broke out, the whites would avail themselves _en masse_
of this line of escape; they never reckoned that instead they would
sit tight and strike out hard until more came crowding up the road to
their assistance.

The scenery is striking among these fantastic mounts of piled–up
granite boulders, with long grass and bushy glades between. For ten
miles the road runs between these koppies, then emerges on the open
downs that constitute the Matabele plateau,—the watershed, 4000 feet in
altitude, between the Zambesi and Limpopo.

Now we come to forts every six or eight miles along the road for
protection of the traffic. They are each manned by about thirty men of
the local defence force,—men in the usual shirt–sleeve costume, but
fine serviceable–looking troops. Some forts are the usual earthwork
kind; others are such as would make a sapper snort, but are none the
less effective for all that. They are just the natural koppie, or pile
of rocks, aided by art in the way of sandbag parapets and thorn–bush
abattis fences,—easily prepared and easily held. One we came to had
been threatened by Matabele the previous night, and some rebels had
been reported near the road this same morning,—so things were getting a
little more exciting for us.

By and by we met a troop of mounted men twenty–five miles out from
Buluwayo. These had come out to act as escort. At first glance, to one
fresh from Aldershot or the Curragh, they looked a pretty ragged lot
on thin and unkempt ponies; but their arms and bandoliers were all in
first–rate order, and one could see they were the men to go anywhere
and do anything that might be wanted in the fighting and campaigning
line. However, we did not take them with us, Sir Frederick telling them
to follow on at leisure, a couple of scouts from a fort being sent
ahead of us at the worst part to see that the road was clear.

The coach in which Lord Grey, the Administrator, had come a short
time before us had been seen and pursued by Matabele, but we had no
excitement, and soon after midnight we rolled into Buluwayo.




CHAPTER II

STATE OF AFFAIRS IN MATABELELAND

 Buluwayo—Too many Heads may spoil the Campaign—The Situation—Origin of
 the Rebellion—The Power of the M’limo—The Outbreak of Rebellion—Defence
 Measures and Rescue Patrols—Native Police—Sorties from Buluwayo inflict
 Blows on the Enemy—MacFarlane’s Attack relieves the Pressure on the
 Town—Plumer’s Relief Force continues the driving back of the Enemy—Sir
 Frederick Carrington’s Plan of Campaign.


_3rd June._—Unpacked ourselves at 1 a. m. from our lairs in the corners
of the coach, with something akin to regret at leaving the old thing
after ten days and nights in her. But it _was_ a blessing to bed down
in a house, and the bath on waking was worth gold. (Bathroom was the
verandah in the main street.)

Our lodging was next door to the club buildings, now used as a
barrack for Grey’s Scouts, and defended with a small bastion of tin
biscuit–cases and sacks filled with earth. By breakfast–time I had
investigated Buluwayo.

A red earth flat laid out by ditches, in blocks and streets, over two
miles long and half a mile wide. The centre portion of the town well
filled with buildings, all single–storeyed, some brick, some tin, some
“paper” (_i.e._ wire–wove, ready–made in England, sent out in pieces),
all with verandahs. The more outlying blocks only boasting a house
or shanty here and there. Most of the houses built with a view to
ultimate extension; _e.g._ one consisted of, evidently, the scullery,
back kitchen, and “offices,” the front to be added later, when better
times came round. The gardens, streets, and vacant lots richly sown
with broken bottles, meat tins, rags, and paper; scarcely a garden,
shrub, or tree in th place. The houses generally, if they are not
“Bottle stores” (_i.e._ public–houses), are either dry–goods stores or
mining syndicate offices. Everywhere enterprise and rough elements of
civilisation,—not forgetting the liquor branch.

Half a mile southward of the town lies a bush–covered rising ground, on
which are a good number of “villas,” with their two or three acres of
bush fenced in to form their gardens in the future. At present they are
deserted, the owners living in town while the Matabele are about.

In the centre of the town is the market square with its market house—a
big brick building which is now used as the main refuge and defence of
the town. Round the market house is drawn up a rectangular laager of
waggons, built up with sacks full of earth to form a bullet–proof wall.
Outside the laager the ground for twenty or thirty yards is rendered
impassable by means of “entanglements” of barbed wire and a fence of
the same, as well as by a thick sprinkling of broken bottles all over
the ground itself.

Up on the roof of the hall is a look–out turret, from which, by
touching a button, an observer can at will fire any of the electric
mines which have been laid in the various approaches to the market
square.

Although most of the people who have houses in Buluwayo are now living
in their homes again, there are numbers of families from suburban or
outlying farms who are still living in the laager. And at the western
end of the town is another smaller laager of waggons round a house, in
which a number of Boer farmers, with their families, are living.

We had a very nice house “commandeered” (_i.e._ taken over by
Government at a fair rental), and handed over to us for our use as a
dwelling–house, ready supplied with furniture, etc.; and then the
offices of one of the gold–mining companies were similarly commandeered
and assigned to us for offices. In a very short time we had settled
down and were hard at work—and there was lots to do.

Of course our first business was to interview all the heads of affairs,
and so to form an idea of the situation.

Sir Richard Martin (with whom I had served previously, when on the
mission to Swaziland, under Sir F. de Winton) is Deputy Commissioner,
appointed since Jameson’s raid to regulate the use and moves of the
armed forces in the Chartered Company’s territories, so as to prevent
any further adventurous departures on their part. Lord Grey is
Administrator of the Government of the whole country of Rhodesia, which
includes Matabeleland and Mashonaland, etc.—a tract of country 750,000
square miles in extent, or equal to Spain, France, and Italy together.
Mr. Cecil Rhodes, while bearing no official position, practically
represents the management of the country as well as of the Company,
and his advice and experience are of the greatest value, since all the
other “heads” are new arrivals in the country. And it is in this number
of heads that our danger would apparently, and our difficulty will
most certainly be. Virtually, of course, the General is _the_ head
while active operations are in progress, but he has to cut his cloth
according to the style approved by the Deputy Commissioner, according
to the expense sanctioned by the Administrator, and according to the
general design required by the High Commissioner, while not totally
disregarding the local experience of Mr. Rhodes and others. Altogether,
the principle of strategy, which directs that “the General in command
should merely have his objective pointed out to him, and a free hand
given him,” seems to be pretty well trenched upon by the present
arrangement, though, under the circumstances, it could not well be
helped. This, however, has always been the case in the history of South
African warfare,—frequently with fatal results,—so it is nothing new:
the only thing is to make the best of it, and pull together as much as
possible.

And this is what we find is the situation of affairs.

Matabeleland had been captured by the Chartered Company’s troops,
acting from Mashonaland, in 1893, and Lobengula driven to his death
as a fugitive. Since then the country had been governed by the
Administrator and his magistrates and native commissioners in the
various districts into which the country was divided.

By 1896 the white population had increased to nearly four thousand,
guarded by an armed police force distributed about the country. At the
end of 1895 the greater part of this police was taken from Rhodesia, in
order to take part in Jameson’s raid into the Transvaal.

Just about the same time the terrible scourge of rinderpest came down
upon the land. Three years before, it had made a start in Somaliland,
and had steadily and persistently worked its way down the continent
of Africa—and it now crossed the mighty barrier of the Zambesi, and
was sweeping over the great cattle–country, Matabeleland. With a view
to checking its ravages, the Government took all possible steps for
preventing the transmission of infection, and, amongst others, that of
slaughtering sound cattle was adopted. This procedure was perfectly
incomprehensible to the native mind, and before long it was mooted
among them that the white man’s idea in slaughtering the cattle was to
reduce the native to the lowest straits, and to starve him to death.

The natives had only been very partially beaten in the war in 1893, and
the memory of it rankled strongly in their mind. They had thought the
war was merely a passing raid, and it was only now they were realising
that the whites had come to stay, and to oust them from their land.
They were only waiting for their opportunity to rise and drive out
their invaders.

Then, ever since the war, there had been a partial drought over
the land, and what little crops there were had been devoured by
unprecedented flights of locusts. All these misfortunes tended to
spread among the people a general feeling of sullen discontent.

And this was increased to a feeling of bitter resentment against the
whites, because they, the Matabele, found that the one remedy for want
which in the old days they had been wont to ply so readily—namely,
the wholesale raiding of their weaker neighbours—was under the new
régime denied them. Nowadays, not only was every such raid prevented
or punished as unlawful, but even in their home life their liberties
were interfered with, and trifling thefts of cattle from a neighbour’s
herd, or the quiet putting away of a lazy slave or of a quarrelsome
stepmother, were now treated as crimes by policemen of their own blood
and colour, but creatures of the white man, strutting among them with
as much consequence and power as any of the royal indunas.

These things developed their hatred against the whites, and served
as plausible reasons for their conduct when the chiefs came to be
questioned later on in giving in their surrender.

Meanwhile, the chiefs and headmen, hoping to get back their ancient
powers, fomented this feeling for all that they were worth. And they
had a ductile mass to handle, for to the vast majority of their people
the question of rights and wrongs was an unknown quantity, but the lust
of blood—especially blood of white men, when, as they anticipated,
it could be got with little danger to themselves—was an irresistible
incentive.

The withdrawal of the armed forces from the country for the Transvaal
raid gave them their opportunity.

The Matabele have no regular religion beyond a reverence for the souls
of ancestors, and for an oracle–deity adopted from the Mashonas, whom
they call the M’limo. The M’limo is an invisible god, who has three
priests about the country, one in the north–east beyond Inyati, one
in the south in the Matopo hills, and one south–west near Mangwe. The
pure–bred Matabele, as well as the aboriginal natives, the Makalakas
and the Maholis, all go to consult these priests of the M’limo as
oracles, and place a blind belief in all they say. In addition to
the three high priests, there are four warrior–chiefs of the M’limo.
These men working in with the priests brought about the outbreak
of rebellion. Three of these warrior–indunas are Matabele, the
fourth—Uwini—heads the Makalakas.

Choosing well their opportunity, when, as they thought, all the white
fighting men had left the country, and none but women, children, and
dotards were left behind, they spread the message through the land—with
that speed which only native messages can take. They called on all
the tribes to arm themselves, and to assemble on a certain moon round
three sides of Buluwayo. The town was to be rushed in the night, and
the whites to be slaughtered without quarter to any. The road to Mangwe
was to be left conspicuously open, so that any whites who might escape
their notice would take the hint and fly from the country. Buluwayo
was not to be destroyed, as it would serve again as the royal kraal
for Lobengula, who had returned to life again. After the slaughter at
Buluwayo the army would break up into smaller impis, and go about the
land to kill all outlying farmers and to loot their farms. The M’limo
further promised that the white men’s bullets would, in their flight,
be changed to water, and their cannon–shells would similarly turn into
eggs.

The plan was not a bad one, but in one important particular it
miscarried, and so lost to the Kafirs the very good chance they had of
wiping out the white men.

About 24th March the outbreak began—but prematurely. In their eagerness
for blood some bands of rebels, acting contrary to their instructions,
worked their wicked will on outlying settlers and prospectors before
attempting the night surprise on Buluwayo. _That_ was their mistake—it
gave the alarm to the whites in town and enabled them to prepare their
defence in good time.

Among the Insiza Hills, some thirty–five miles east of Buluwayo, on
that fateful day, seven white men with their coloured servants were
butchered at Edkins Store, and at the Nellie Reef Maddocks a miner was
murdered, while a few miles farther on a peaceable farming family were
brutally done to death. The white–haired old grandfather, the mother,
two grown–up girls, a boy, and three little yellow–haired children—all
bashed and mangled.

At another place a bride, just out from the peace and civilisation of
home, had her happy dream suddenly wrecked by a rush of savages into
the farmstead. Her husband was struck down, but she managed to escape
to the next farm, some four miles distant—only to find its occupants
already fled. Ignorant of the country and of the people, the poor girl
gathered together what tinned food she could carry, and, making her way
to the river, she made herself a grassy nest among the rocks, where
she hoped to escape detection. For a few terrible days and nights she
existed there, till the Matabele came upon her tracks, and shortly
stoned her to death—another added to their tale of over a hundred and
fifty victims within a week.

The only comfort is that their gruesome fate saved many other lives,
for the news spread fast, and as more reports from every side came in
of murdered whites, those in Buluwayo realised that the rising was
a general one, and merciless. They promptly took their measures for
defence.

The laagers were formed, as I have described, to accommodate the seven
hundred women and children in the place; while the eight hundred men
were organised in troops, and armed and horsed in an incredibly short
space of time.

Patrols were promptly sent out to bring in outlying farmers, and to
gather information as to the rebels’ moves and numbers.

Ere long the rebel forces were closing round Buluwayo. North, east,
and south they lay, to the number of seven thousand at the least.
Throughout the country their numbers must have been but little under
ten to thirteen thousand.

Nearly two thousand of them were armed with Martini–Henry rifles. A
hundred of the Native Police deserted, and joined them with their
Winchester repeaters. Many of them owned Lee–Metfords, illicitly
bought, stolen, or received in return for showing gold–reefs to
unscrupulous prospectors. And numbers of them owned old obsolete
elephant guns, Tower muskets, and blunderbusses. So that in addition to
their national armament of assegais, knobkerries, and battle–axes, the
rebels were well supplied with firearms and also with ammunition.

In saying that the Native Police deserted and joined the rebels, I
must in justice add that it was chiefly the younger members of the
force who did so: the old hands remained loyal, and though at first
they were disarmed as a precautionary measure, they proved most useful
to our side later on, though very few in numbers. Much has been said
against them as having been the cause of the revolt, through their
overbearing conduct. I am perfectly convinced that the rebellion would
have occurred just the same had there been no such body as the Native
Police in existence. At the same time, I don’t mean to say that they
did not abuse their powers. I should think that they most probably
did, but that is no reason why they should incontinently be done away
with. I don’t see, for one thing, how proper government of the natives
is going to be carried out without a native police: the only thing is
that the force must be very closely and effectively commanded. The same
difficulty has been encountered, and has thus been dealt with, by us
in Natal, in India, in West Africa, everywhere, in fact, where natives
form a large proportion of the population.

But I am wandering from my point into discussion and argument, which
are not in my line. I am supposed to be giving you a résumé of what had
been happening up to the time of Sir Frederick’s taking over command in
Matabeleland.

Directly after the outbreak, Colonel Napier, with his usual energy,
lost no time in getting together a few men, and, with a party of sixty,
he went off to the Shangani, thirty miles north–east of Buluwayo, and
brought into safety over forty white settlers.

At the same time, Captain the Hon. Maurice Gifford, with forty–four
men, made a dash to Cumming’s Store, through difficult country in the
Insiza Hills, fifty miles east of Buluwayo, and rescued over thirty
people, losing one man killed and six wounded.

Captain F. C. Selous raised a troop of forty mounted men the same day,
and made a bold reconnaissance southward of Buluwayo for thirty miles,
to the Matopos.

Three days later (29th March), Captain MacFarlane, with thirty men,
went out to Jenkins’ Store, and relieved Pittendrigh’s party, who were
hard pressed there. One man was killed and two wounded in this affair.

On the 4th April, Maurice Gifford again went out, with 140 men, to
Fonsecas, just north of Buluwayo, where he was hotly attacked by the
enemy, losing four men killed and seven wounded. He himself lost his
arm on this occasion, and Captain Lumsden, who took his place, was
mortally wounded. MacFarlane, with sixty men, relieved him.

Brand and Niekerk took a strong patrol down to the mining camp in the
Gwanda district, to find the miners had already safely got away south.
On their return journey this patrol was attacked and very nearly cut
off in passing through the eastern end of the Matopos. Out of their
total of a hundred they lost five killed and fifteen wounded besides
thirty horses killed; but with sheer hard fighting they got through in
the end.

Then, when the enemy closed on Buluwayo, as if to swamp it, Bissett
led the garrison out in a sortie on 22nd April. There was a stubborn
fight, in which neither side gained any ultimate decisive advantage,
but it was remarkable for the fact that perhaps in no fight in history
have there been so many deeds of gallantry performed among so small a
body of men. No less than three men have since been recommended for the
Victoria Cross for separate acts of heroism in this fight.

Three days later, Captain “Mickey” MacFarlane—an old friend of ours
in the 9th Lancers—again led out the Buluwayo Field Force, and this
time dealt the enemy a very heavy blow, such as changed the aspect
of affairs, and relieved Buluwayo from any immediate danger of being
rushed.

In these early fights and patrols the Buluwayo Force had lost twenty
men killed and fifty wounded, while over two hundred settlers in
surrounding districts had been murdered. Meanwhile, a relief force
was being organised at Salisbury in Mashonaland, three hundred miles
to the north, under Colonel Beal, and another at Kimberley and
Mafeking, nearly six hundred miles to the south, under Colonel Plumer
of the York and Lancaster Regiment. In the last week in May these two
forces appeared in the neighbourhood of Buluwayo from their opposite
directions, Cecil Rhodes arriving with that from the north; Lord Grey
arriving about the same time as Colonel Plumer’s from the south.

[Illustration: GOING OUT FOR A FIGHT
Grey’s Scouts riding out of Buluwayo to “have a shy” at the enemy.]

Meanwhile, Colonel Napier, with the bulk of the Buluwayo Force, had
gone out to meet the Salisbury Force, and in combination with it did
much to clear the country east of Buluwayo.

[_P.S._—A most interesting detailed account of the outbreak, and of
these early operations—including the acts of individual gallantry on
the part of Baxter, Crewe, Henderson, Grey, and others—will be found in
Captain F. C. Selous’ book, _Sunshine and Storm in Rhodesia_.]

Colonel Plumer had raised, organised, and equipped his force of eight
hundred Cape Colony men and horses in an incredibly short space of
time; but that is one beauty of South Africa—that it teems with good
material for forming a fighting force at a moment’s notice. Nor did the
“M.R.F.” (Matabele Relief Force), as Plumer’s corps was styled, lose
any time in getting to work after its arrival at Buluwayo. For three
days (23rd–26th May) it was hammering at the various impis threatening
Buluwayo on the north and east with complete success.

Thus, when we arrived a week later, we found that the immediate
neighbourhood of Buluwayo had been cleared of enemy, but the impis were
still hanging about in the offing, and required to be further broken up.

The General’s plan, accordingly, was to send out three strong columns
simultaneously to the north–east, north, and north–west, for a distance
of some sixty to eighty miles, to clear that country of rebels, and
to plant forts which should prevent their reassembly at their centres
there, and would afford protection to those natives who were disposed
to be friendly. The southern part of the country, namely, the Matopo
Hills, was afterwards to be tackled by the combined forces on their
return from the north. Such was the situation in the beginning of June.

And now I’ll continue the diary.




CHAPTER III

OUR WORK AT BULUWAYO

 Organisation of Supply and Transport—The Volunteer Troops—Experiences
 on Patrol—Sir Charles Metcalfe reports the Enemy just outside the
 Town—The first sight of the Enemy—Fight on the Umgusa River, 6th
 June—Maurice Gifford—Reconnaissance of the Inugu Stronghold—Burnham the
 Scout—Rebellion breaks out in Mashonaland—The Difficulties of Supply—The
 Humours of Official Correspondence—Colonel Spreckley writ down an
 Ass—Colonials would serve under Sir Frederick Carrington, but not under
 the ordinary Imperial Officer.


_4th June._—Office work from early morning till late at night. To say
there is plenty of work to be done does not describe the mountain
looming before us. The more we investigate into such questions as the
force and strong points of the enemy, and the resources at our command
wherewith to tackle him, the more huge and hopeless seems the problem.

Our force is far too small adequately to cope with so numerous and
fairly well–armed an enemy, with well–nigh impregnable strongholds
to fall back on, and with his supply and transport train ample and
effective—as furnished by his wives and children.

Our force, bold as it is, is far too small, and yet we cannot increase
it by a man, for the simple reason that if we did, we could not find
the wherewithal to feed it. There is practically no reserve of food in
the country, rinderpest has suddenly destroyed the means of bringing
it, and here we lie, separated from the railway by a sandy road 587
miles in length!

Nor on the spot has any adequate provision been made to meet the future
wants of the small force we have. All the food–stuffs in the place have
been brought together, and the commissariat organisation and system
has so far amounted to showing to an officer requiring rations for his
troop a pile of stores, with “There you are! Take what you want.”

One of the first steps has been to telegraph for Colonel Bridge, who
had been left at Mafeking, to come and organise a system of transport
and supply. Then we have to make a medical staff and an ordnance
department.

In the meantime three columns are being organised, and such provision
as is possible is being made for their supply for patrols of about
three weeks’ duration, to the northward of Buluwayo. And we hope to
start them off to–morrow.

During the brief intervals from office work for breakfast, lunch,
and dinner, one has most interesting glimpses of the sunny street,
crowded with throngs of “swashbucklers,” each man more picturesque than
his neighbour. Cowboy hat, with puggree of the colour of his corps,
short–sleeved canvas shirt, cord breeches, and puttees, with bandolier
across his chest, and pistol on his hip, is approximately the kit of
every man you meet. The strong brown arms and sunburnt faces, the bold
and springy gait, all show them soldiers, ready–made and ripe for any
kind of work. Good shots and riders, and very much at home upon the
veldt, no wonder that they form a “useful” crew—especially when led, as
they are, by men of their own kidney.

Among the leaders are Micky MacFarlane, erstwhile the dandy lancer,
now a bearded buccaneer and good soldier all the time; Selous, the
famous hunter–pioneer of Matabeleland; Napier and Spreckley, the
light–hearted blade, who is nevertheless possessed of profound and
business–like capacity; Beal, Laing, and Robertson, cool, level–headed
Scotsmen with a military training; George Grey, “Charlie” White, and
Maurice Gifford, for whom rough miners and impetuous cowboys work like
well–broken hounds.

Indeed, the Volunteer troops seem to have thoroughly adapted themselves
to the routine of soldiering, as well as to the more exciting demands
of the field of action.

Night guards, daily standing to arms before sunrise, patrols, and other
uncongenial duties are all carried out with greatest regularity; but
the following amusing account of a morning patrol—which appeared in the
_Matabele Times_ this week—shows some of the drawbacks under which they
carry on their work:—

“Standing to arms at 4 a. m. is not in itself a joy, but its cruelty is
accentuated when the troop orderly takes that opportunity of informing
you that you are to leave the laager at 5.30 and go on patrol to
Matabele Wilson’s, in company of three other unfortunates, for the
purpose of ascertaining whether the road be clear travelling.

“On the occasion of which I write this was my fate, and our little
party, with noses that needed constant attention with a handkerchief,
and numbed fingers clasping cold rifles, stood shivering outside the
stable gates, viewing life despondently and swearing at the remount
staff. All things, pleasant and otherwise, have an end, and at last,
in response to frequent knocks, the gate opened, and we followed
a depressed–looking official to where four alleged horses, with
drooping heads and downcast mien, disconsolately champed the half–ton
of rusty iron which South Africans call a bit, and dreamed of oats.
Each man chose a horse, and with the assistance of sundry stable–boys
induced him to leave his empty manger and move wearily out into the
street. Here great care was necessary in mounting, as it was yet to
be ascertained whether the crocks could stand up straight under the
weight of a rider, but at last we fell in, and by dint of spur and rein
reached the laager.

“The corporal in charge of the patrol then went to wake up the orderly
officer and get his orders, and my horse edged sideways towards the
windmill; he wanted something to lean against. By and by out comes the
corporal, we awakened our mounts, and started. ‘Our orders are to go
out to Wilson’s and meet a patrol from the Khami River, then return to
town,’ and ‘You’re not to gallop all the way,’ added the corporal. We
at once said we wouldn’t, and just then one of the horses fell down in
endeavouring to step over a gutter. We dismounted and put the turn–out
on its feet again, and proceeded.

“Just past the Dutch laager some one said, ‘By Jove, the laager smells
peculiar.’ Another man said, ‘Yes; the big laager is just the same.’
We passed a bush and struck the source of the odour, a dead ox; and
promptly apologised to the laagers.

“All went well for a mile or so, and the corporal says, ‘Let’s have a
trot.’ We rammed in the spurs and shook the reins; one horse started
a feeble lolloping trot which he maintained for at least twenty yards
before he fell down; two horses shook their heads and whisked their
tails, but took no further notice of the appeal for more speed; and the
fourth, a grey, with fine prominent points, stopped dead short. We all
passed a few remarks about the gentlemen who had selected the horses
for duty, and resumed our wonted ‘crawl march.’

“More rinderpest, and my horse made a movement as if to lean against
the smell, but it was too strong for him, and he moved on, to prevent
being knocked over. On passing dead horses and cattle we used to draw
in a long breath and endeavour to spur up a trot that would carry us
out of range, before we were again compelled to breathe or ‘bust,’ but
our horses used generally to land us in the middle of the stink and
then pull up. You would see a man get black in the face trying to hold
his breath, and at last have to burst out and refill his lungs with the
very richest of the odour.

“Passing the remains of the kraal where the transport riders, Potgieter
and his mate, were murdered, we saw the heaps of earth piled over the
victims’ bodies. Here one of our number dismounted to light his pipe.
This was the last we saw of him; he never caught up, though we only
walked our horses; and he finally rolled up at the fort, half an hour
after we had arrived, on foot, having tied his horse on to a tree.
He said he found it considerably easier walking. Dawson’s Fort is
splendidly placed, and commands a fine view of the surrounding country;
the walls are built up with stone topped with two courses of sandbags,
shelter for the garrison being afforded by sails; permanent running
water passes the foot of the hill.

“A number of donkey waggons were outspanned on the road beneath the
fort, and out by Wilson’s house, where now a hotel flourishes with the
success usual in Matabeleland, we could see the coolies working in the
gardens, planting to renew the crops of vegetables reaped with zeal and
thoroughness by troops and travellers evidently determined that the
enemy shouldn’t have them any way. Rinderpest is very much in evidence
round the fort, and oxen lie dead literally in troops, long regular
lines of carcasses lying together.

“At the foot of the hill leading to the fort one of the horses gave out
altogether, having clean knocked up in five miles of travelling, the
whole of which was done at a walking pace.

“If the loudly expressed wishes of the unfortunate wight who had to
walk and carry a heavy rifle from Wilson’s to Buluwayo under a hot sun,
have any effect on the official who was responsible for sending horses
barely strong enough to move their own shadows on a duty in the course
of which speed might have been necessary to save their riders’ lives,
he will some day find himself on a weak horse as per sample supplied to
us, and a score of Matabeles with sharp assegais and a taste for fancy
experiments in the torture line after him, with the certainty that he
will have to get off and try his individual sprinting powers before
reaching a place of safety. Not that there could be the least spice of
danger between here and Wilson’s, but that the official who would allow
horses which to the most unversed eye are only fit for the sick lines
to leave the stable at all, would just as readily send the same variety
of mounts on hazardous service.”

_5th June._—Colonel Plumer’s column, 460 strong, moved off to the
country of the Guai River, north–west of Buluwayo.

And Macfarlane’s column of 400 went away to the north.

Spreckley’s column was to make its start next day, but the unexpected
happened to prevent it.

At ten o’clock at night, just as Sir Frederick was thinking we had
done enough office work for the day, Sir Charles Metcalfe and the
American scout Burnham rode up and came into the office, looking a bit
dishevelled and torn. They had been riding out in the evening to visit
Colonel Beal’s column from Salisbury, which was camped about three
miles out of the town. Seeing fires close to the road, and near to
where they thought the camp must be, they had ridden up to them, and
found themselves in the camp of a large impi of the enemy! They only
escaped by making their way home by a détour through the bush. The news
seemed almost too improbable to be true, and yet the bearers of it were
not men to get excited and bring in a false report.

So I telephoned to a piquet we had at Government House (about two
miles out of town) to send a patrol to investigate. But the subsequent
reports were not wholly satisfactory, and I roused up Spreckley in
the middle of the night to show me the way, and we rather upset the
sleep of the inhabitants of Government House by appearing there to make
further inquiries at about three in the morning. Nothing satisfactory
to be learned there; so back to Buluwayo, and, getting a fresh horse
and a police–trooper as guide, I went out again towards Beal’s camp.

There, in the early dawn, I was at last able to see the enemy clearly
enough. On the opposite bank of the Umgusa River they were camped in
long lines, fires burning merrily, and parties of them going to and
from the stream for water. I took my information on to Beal’s camp.
I was much taken with the coolness with which the news was received
there. It was not above two miles and a half from that of the enemy.
The men were ordered to get their breakfasts without delay, and a
patrol of a sergeant and two men was sent out to the stream to see if
there were good water there, and also (apparently as an after–thought)
whether they, too, could see any enemy there. Before we had finished
breakfast they returned.

“Well, is it all right? Is there water there?”

“Yes.”

“Is it good water?”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Matabele were there, and wouldn’t let us come near.”

So we saddled up and moved off towards the spot to await the arrival of
more troops from Buluwayo, for I had sent my police–trooper back with
a note to tell them there that “it was good enough,” and asking that
Spreckley’s mounted column should be sent out to join us. Presently
they came up, followed by a few volunteers in carts who wanted to join
in the fun.

Our strength was 250 mounted men, with two guns and an ambulance.

The country was undulating veldt covered with brush, through which a
line of mounted men could move at open files.

As we advanced, we formed into line, with both flanks thrown well
forward—especially the right flank under Beal, which was to work round
in rear of the enemy on to their line of retreat—a duty which was most
successfully carried out.

The central part of the line then advanced at a trot straight for the
enemy’s position.

The enemy were about 1200 strong, we afterwards found out. They did not
seem very excited at our advance, but all stood looking as we crossed
the Umgusa stream, but as we began to breast the slope on their side of
it, and on which their camp lay, they became exceedingly lively, and
were soon running like ants to take post in good positions at the edge
of a long belt of thicker bush. We afterwards found that their apathy
at first was due to a message from the M’limo, who had instructed them
to approach Buluwayo and to draw out the garrison, and to get us to
cross the Umgusa, because he (the M’limo) would then cause the stream
to open and swallow up every man of us. After which the impi would have
nothing to do but walk into Buluwayo and cut up the women and children
at their leisure. But something had gone wrong with the M’limo’s
machinery, and we crossed the stream without any contretemps. So, as
we got nearer to the swarm of black heads among the grass and bushes,
their rifles began to pop and their bullets to flit past with a weird
little “phit,” “phit,” or a jet of dust and a shrill “wh–e–e–e–w” where
they ricocheted off the ground.

Some of our men, accustomed to mounted infantry work, were now for
jumping off to return the fire, but the order was given: “No; make a
cavalry fight of it. Forward! Gallop!”

Then, as we came up close, the niggers let us have an irregular,
rackety volley, and in another moment we were among them. They did not
wait, but one and all they turned to fly, dodging in among the bushes,
loading as they ran. And we were close upon their heels, zigzagging
through the thorns, jumping off now and then, or pulling up, to fire a
shot (we had not a sword among us, worse luck!), and on again.

[Illustration: THE UMGUSA FIGHT. 6TH JUNE
Our line of 200 men, in attacking the enemy 1200 strong, did not stop
to fire, but charged right into them, which so unnerved them that they
broke up and fled, and were pursued for five miles, losing nearly 200
killed.]

The men that I was with—Grey’s Scouts—never seemed to miss a shot.

The Matabele as they ran kept stopping behind bushes to fire. Now and
again they tried to rally, but whenever a clump of them began to form
or tried to stand, we went at them with a whoop and a yell, and both
spurs in, and sent them flying. Of course, besides their guns they had
their assegais. Several of our horses got some wounds, and one man got
a horrid stab straight into his stomach. I saw another of our men fling
himself on to a Kafir who was stabbing at him; together they rolled on
the ground, and in a twinkling the white man had twisted the spear from
its owner’s hand, and after a short, sharp tussle, he drove it through
the other’s heart.

In one place one of the men got somewhat detached from the rest, and
came on a bunch of eight of the enemy. These fired on him and killed
his horse, but he himself was up in a trice, and, using magazine fire,
he let them have it with such effect that before they could close on
him with their clubs and assegais, he had floored half their number,
and the rest just turned and fled.

And farther on a horse was shot, and, in the fall, his rider stunned.
The niggers came louping up, grinning at the anticipated bloodshed, but
Sergeant Farley, of Grey’s Scouts, was there before them, and hoisting
up his comrade on to his horse, got him safe away.

[Illustration: EIGHT TO ONE
One of our men came on a party of eight enemy. They shot his horse,
but he was himself up in a moment, and, opening magazine fire on them,
quickly killed or dispersed his assailants.]

Everywhere one found the Kafirs creeping into bushes, where they lay
low till some of us came by, and then they loosed off their guns at us
after we had passed.

I had my Colt’s repeater with me—with only six cartridges in the
magazine, and soon I found I had finished these—so, throwing it under a
peculiar tree, where I might find it again, I went on with my revolver.
Presently I came on an open stretch of ground, and about eighty yards
before me was a Kafir with a Martini–Henry. He saw me, and dropped on
one knee and drew a steady bead on me. I felt so indignant at this that
I rode at him as hard as I could go, calling him every name under the
sun; he aimed,—for an hour, it seemed to me,—and it was quite a relief
when at last he fired, at about ten yards distance, and still more of
a relief when I realised he had clean missed me. Then he jumped up and
turned to run, but he had not gone two paces when he cringed as if some
one had slapped him hard on the back, then his head dropped and his
heels flew up, and he fell smack on his face, shot by one of our men
behind me.

At last I called a halt. Our horses were done, the niggers were all
scattered, and there were almost as many left behind us hiding in
bushes as there were running on in front.

A few minutes spent in breathing the horses, and a vast amount of
jabber and chaff, and then we reformed the line and returned at a walk,
clearing the bush as we went.

I had one shave. I went to help two men who were fighting a Kafir at
the foot of a tree, but they killed him just as I got there. I was
under the tree when something moving over my head caught my attention.
It was a gun–barrel taking aim down at me, the firer jammed so close to
the tree–stem as to look like part of it. Before I could move he fired,
and just ploughed into the ground at my feet.

He did not remain much longer in the tree. I have his knobkerrie and
his photo now as mementos.

At length we mustered again at our starting–point, where the guns and
ambulance had been left. We found that, apart from small scratches and
contusions, we had only four men badly wounded. One poor fellow had his
thigh smashed by a ball from an elephant gun, from which he afterwards
died. Another had two bullets in his back. Four horses had been killed.

And the blow dealt to the enemy was a most important one. A prisoner
told us that the impi was composed of picked men from all the chief
regiments of the rebel’s forces, and that a great number of the chiefs
were present at the fight.

[_P.S._—We learned some months afterwards from refugees and surrendered
rebels that this was true, and that no less than fifteen headmen had
been killed, as well as more than two hundred of their men.]

[Illustration: THE BITER BIT
I had stopped for a moment under a tree, to look at a man who had just
been shot, when there was a slight movement among the branches above
me, and a Matabele who was hiding there fired down, but missed me. He
was immediately afterwards shot—and I photographed him later.]

Of course this was a very one–sided fight, and it sounds rather brutal
to anyone reading in cold blood how we hunted them without giving them
a chance—but it must be remembered we were but 250 against at least
1200. Lord Wolseley says “when you get niggers on the run, keep them
on the run” (this we did, for half a mile beyond the spot where we
pulled up, Beal with his column cut in from the flank and bashed them
from a new direction), and our only chance of bringing the war to a
speedy end is to go for them whenever we get the chance, and hit as
hard as ever we can: any hesitation or softness is construed by them as
a sign of weakness, and at once restores their confidence and courage.
They expect no quarter, because, as they admit themselves, they have
gone beyond their own etiquette of war, and have killed our women and
children. We found one wounded man who had hanged himself after the
fight. This is not an uncommon occurrence in these fights.

[_P.S._—I did not at the time fully realise the extraordinary
bloodthirsty rage of some of our men when they got hand to hand with
the Kafirs, but I not only understood it, but felt it to the full
myself later on, when I too had seen those English girls lying horribly
mutilated, and the little white children with the life smashed and
beaten out of them by laughing black fiends, who knew no mercy.]

Don’t think from these remarks that I am a regular nigger–hater, for
I am not. I have met lots of good friends among them—especially among
the Zulus. But, however good they may be, they must, as a people, be
ruled with a hand of iron in a velvet glove; and if they writhe under
it, and don’t understand the force of it, it is of no use to add more
padding—you must take off the glove for a moment and show them the
hand. They will then understand and obey. In the present instance they
had been rash enough to pull off the glove for themselves, and were now
beginning to find out what the hand was made of.

After the fight I made tracks for Buluwayo, got in in time for late
lunch, made up for lost time in the office, and was quite ready to go
to bed soon after dinner. But I called in at the club on my way, to
have a peep at the wonderfully picturesque collection of warriors, who
were, many of them,—most of them in fact,—still in their fighting–kit
(for many had no other), talking over the day’s doings.

_7th June._—Rode out early, with a police–orderly to guide me, to
inspect the fort at Hope Fountain, ten miles south of Buluwayo, from
which one could just see the tops of Matopo Mountains, in which so many
of the rebel chiefs are said to be taking up their position. This fort
had been attacked about ten days ago, but the enemy never came on with
any boldness, and drew off after losing eleven killed. The mission
station close by, a very pretty little homestead with nice gardens and
trees, had been looted and burnt by the rebels.

I got back to Buluwayo just in time to see Spreckley’s column march
off to patrol the country north–east of Buluwayo. A fine body of 400
of the roughest, most workman–like fighters one could wish to see. It
comprised both infantry and mounted infantry, artillery, and a levy of
wild–looking friendly Matabele.

In the afternoon I rode over yesterday’s battlefield with Vyvyan,
recovered my gun,—which, by the way, Sir Frederick has christened
“Rodney,”—and photographed the chap who potted me out of the tree.

_8th and 9th June._—Office work from early morning up to late at night.

_10th June._—Lunched with Maurice Gifford, who had lost his arm in
one of the first fights of the war. He is not really in a fit state
to be about,—it still hurts him badly, poor chap, and he is a bit
feverish,—but quite anxious to have another go at the enemy. He says he
feels the pain as if it were in his hand, whereas the arm was taken off
at the shoulder.

News came in from MacFarlane of a skirmish he had had near Redbank.

In the afternoon I rode out with Vyvyan to Taba–s’–Induna, a
flat–topped hill that stands up bold and abruptly out of the sea–like
veldt ten miles from Buluwayo. It was the place of execution for many
of Lobengula’s Indunas. Beautiful view from the top over a widespread
yellow prairie, with sharp blue mountains on the horizon.

_11th June._—The hospital, which has a number of wounded men among
its sick, stands away at one corner of the town, and is fortified and
garrisoned in case of attack. Eight nuns work their lives out nursing
there, and the men, if not demonstrative, are to the full appreciative
and grateful, and would do anything for them.

Close to the hospital, on a rise, stands the “Eiffel Tower”: a skeleton
look–out tower about 80 feet high, from which the country round for
many miles can be watched. The look–out man to–day says he can see a
fight going on in the far distance to the north, apparently somewhere
in MacFarlane’s direction.

De Moleyns, adjutant of the 4th Hussars, arrived from England, anxious
for a job, and we took him on as head of the Remount Department.

_12th June._—Office as per usual. But vague rumours of what the enemy
are doing in the Matopos made me impatient, especially owing to their
vagueness. So in the evening I started off with Burnham, the American
scout, to go and investigate. Delightful night ride to Kami Fort,
sixteen miles south–west of Buluwayo. Jam, cookies, and tea with the
two officers there, and a few hours’ sleep on that best of beds—the
veldt tempered with a blanket and a saddle.

_13th June._—At 4 a. m. we were off again, Burnham and I and Trooper
Bradley of the Mounted Police, who knew this part of the country well.

We got to Mabukutwane Fort—one of the natural koppies strengthened with
sandbags, etc.—in time for breakfast. Here we found some excitement, as
a transport rider in charge of waggons had just come in from the road,
reporting that he had been fired on by Matabele about two miles out. A
patrol was sent out, and we sent warnings to waggons and to the coach,
which was due to pass to–day, telling them to wait at the fort till the
road had been reconnoitred. It ended in nothing—the patrol returned
having found no Matabele nor any spoor of them.

So, having been joined by Taylor, the Native Commissioner, we rode
off across the veldt towards the Matopos, some six miles distant
from the fort. On arriving at Mapisa’s Kraal, a friendly chief, we
off–saddled our horses (but never let our guns out of our hands, for
even friendlies are not to be too blindly trusted), and, taking two
or three of his scouts with us, we climbed up into some koppies which
commanded a view of the enemy’s position, and of the Matopos generally.
Awful country, a weird, jumbled mass of grey granite boulders thickly
interspersed with bush, and great jagged mountains.

The Matabele had never before been reduced to the necessity of taking
to these mountain fastnesses, but they were the regular refuge of
the Makalakas, the original inhabitants of the country, when raided
by their Matabele conquerors. This particular stronghold before us,
the Inugu Mountain, with its neighbouring gorges and its labyrinths
of caves, had been chosen by Lobengula as the safest refuge in the
country, and consequently he had made it the home of his favourite
queen, Famona.

[Illustration: INUGU MOUNTAIN STRONGHOLD
Near the western end of the Matopos, and occupied by about fifteen
hundred rebels. Their plan was to induce us to enter the gorge near
Famona’s Kraals, and then to hold the entrance, and cut off our
retreat.]

It is now held by an impi of about a thousand Matabele. Their outposts,
in talking with some of Mapisa’s spies (they shout to each other at a
safe distance across a valley), have said that they mean to draw the
white troops on when they come to attack them, till they have got them
well inside the gorge under the mountain, and then to “give them snuff.”

[_P.S._—A month later, as will presently be seen, they tried this on
with Laing’s and Nicholson’s columns.]

While we were staring our eyes out at the position, taking bearings,
and making sketches, etc., I suddenly saw a distant cow, and, by
getting on to a better rock, I soon discovered a herd of cattle
feeding in the valley below the enemy’s position. Here was a chance
for a lark—to mount, swoop down, and round up the cattle under their
very noses, before they had time to interfere! But to my surprise, on
mooting the idea, the niggers with us let out that these cattle did not
belong to the enemy, but to another friendly chief, Farko, who lived
near by.

That the enemy should leave these cattle untouched was a revelation to
me, and I then saw that the so–called friendlies were on pretty good
terms with the rebels. But for this chance eye–opener—of having, in the
first instance, seen a solitary cow in the distance—I might have been
led to trust to friendlies and their reports. It was well I didn’t.

Having seen all we could, and made a map, Burnham and I started out for
home; reached Kami in the middle of the night, and early next day were
back in Buluwayo.

Burnham a most delightful companion on such a trip; amusing,
interesting, and most instructive. Having seen service against the Red
Indians, he brings quite a new experience to bear on the scouting
work here. And, while he talks away, there’s not a thing escapes his
quick–roving eye, whether it is on the horizon or at his feet. We got
on well together, and he much approved of the results of your early
development in me of the art of “inductive reasoning”—in fact, before
we had examined and worried out many little indications in the course
of our ride, he had nicknamed me “Sherlock Holmes.”

[Illustration: SCOUT BURNHAM
The American scout, of much experience both among Red Indians and
Matabele.]

[_P.S._—We planned to do much scouting together in the future, but,
unfortunately, it never came off, as he was soon afterwards compelled,
for domestic reasons, to go down country.]

The following is an extract from a business–like offer I received
to–day, one of the developments of war in modern times:—

“We, A—— and B——, certified engineers, wish to place our services at
the disposal of the Chartered Company in any offensive or defensive
operations against the rebels. _Speciality_—Construction of forts,
bridges, and dynamite operations. References,” etc. etc.

It is another step towards carrying on war by contract.

_14th and 15th June._—Office again, up till late into the night.
Colonel Bridge arrived with his staff–clerks, and much relieved
our pressure of work by taking over the commissariat and transport
arrangements, which are our main anxiety. Indeed, we are on
half–rations of tinned meat now; fresh meat unprocurable, and prospects
of immediate further supply rather vague.

_16th June._—Yesterday, with the arrival of Colonel Bridge, our clouds
seemed to be lightening up a bit. To–day a thunderclap has come.
Telegrams from Salisbury (sent round by Victoria and Macloutsie, owing
to the direct wire being cut) tell us of murders of whites in three
widely separate parts of Mashonaland. It almost looks as though the
Matabele rebellion were repeating itself there. If so, the outlook is
very bad indeed. Salisbury is 270 miles from here by road. We have here
a number of troops who were sent from Salisbury to help us, and now
their want will be acutely felt over there. In Mashonaland they have
only one line of road to the coast for their supplies, and if that gets
cut, we cannot help them; we have not sufficient for ourselves.

Indeed, if we cannot manage to get up immense supplies within the next
two or three months (it takes over a month for a mule–waggon to get
here from Mafeking), I don’t see how we are going to hold on to the
country. The rains may set in in October, and, once they have begun,
the transport of supplies and troops becomes impossible; the veldt
becomes a bog, and the rivers rise into turgid torrents.

Our only chance of maintaining our hold on the country is to plant
outlying posts, and to fill them up with a sufficient stock of food to
keep them throughout the four months of the rainy season. And, in the
meantime, we must also thoroughly smash up the enemy.

Owing to rinderpest, it seems almost impossible to get sufficient
waggons in Cape Colony to bring up the required supplies. So that
we’re in a quandary. Either we smash up the enemy, and get up supplies
for outlying posts before the rains come on, or else we draw in our
horns, concentrate nearer to our base, organising our measures for a
real effective campaign directly the rains are over. But the loss of
prestige, of time, and of property involved in this second course would
be deplorable, so we mean to have a good try to gain the first, and win
the race against weather, rinderpest, and other bad luck.

[Illustration: A CAPE BOY SENTRY
 During a night patrol we came on a Cape Boy wrapped in a blanket, whom
 at first we took to be an armed native. We asked who he was. He replied,
 “A sentry.” “Where is your piquet (support)?” “Ticket?” said he,
 misunderstanding, “I don’t carry a ticket. I AM A SOLDIER!”
 All natives who are friendly have to carry a pass or “ticket,” and a
 Cape Boy, though black, would much resent being mistaken for a local
 native.]

_17th June._—Having heard of some Matabele firing on a party of our
men, about three miles out on the Salisbury Road, yesterday, De
Moleyns and I took an early morning ride with one of the morning
patrols. Started in the dark at 4 a. m., and moved out along that road.
Presently we came upon an armed nigger squatting at the roadside, so
muffled up in a blanket and a sack that he did not hear us coming. We
captured him, and then found that he was a sentry of one of our own
outlying “Cape Boys’” piquets.

I said to him, “Where is your piquet?”

He replied, with much haughtiness, “I not carry a ticket; I am soldier!”

[_Explanation._—All ordinary natives have to carry a “ticket” or pass,
so that they may not be taken up and shot as spies.]

We went on, but saw no signs of Matabele. At daybreak we got to Beal’s
camp, had a cup of coffee there with Daly (formerly in the 13th), and
got home in time for breakfast, much refreshed by our morning’s ride,
and especially as we saw, on our way home, paauw, guinea–fowl, hares,
and pheasants. Office all day.

More outbreaks telegraphed from Mashonaland. No doubt now that it is
rebellion there too.

It is a curious experience sitting with Sir Richard Martin, Lord
Grey, and the General, in the telegraph office, and listening to a
conversation being ticked to us from Salisbury, some 800 miles away,
just as if the sender (Judge Vintcent) were in the next room—the
message being a string of startling details of more murders, impis
gathering, heroic patrols making dashing rescues, preparations for
defence, and state of food supplies and ammunition.

_18th to 21st June._—Days of office–work, literally from daylight
till—well, long, long after dark. Not a scrap of exercise, nor time to
write a letter home.

Office work, however interesting it may be, would incline sometimes to
become tedious, were it not for rays of humour that dart in from time
to time through the overcharged cloud of routine. Here are some items
that have come to us in the past few days, and which have tended to
relieve the monotony of the work.

A letter from a lady, who writes direct to the General, runs as follows
(she desires information as to the whereabouts of her brother):—“I
apply to you direct, in preference to my brother’s commanding officer,
because it is said, ‘Vaut mieux s’adresser au bon Dieu qu’ à tons ses
saints.’

“If anything has happened to my brother, I hold Mr. Ch—— accountable
for it, as, but for his playing lickspittle to Oom Kruger—but for
his base betrayal of the Johannesburgers, which has made England the
laughing–stock of all her enemies, there need have been no kissing at
all. Probably the poor natives hoped to be magnanimous, _à la_ Kruger,
by screwing £25,000 out of each of their prisoners, and that England
would follow suit by trying our chief defenders _at bar_ as convicts,
in spite of a protesting jury.”

Then, from the officer commanding one of the outlying forts, comes
a letter to say: “... This being only a small fort, and no fighting
to be done, I consider it only a waste of time to remain here. If you
cannot place me in a position where active service can be done, I beg
respectfully to submit my resignation.” I have had many letters of that
kind from various volunteer officers.

Then, from England: “Dear Sir,—Could you kindly give me any details as
to the death of my brother Charles. He is supposed to have been eaten
by lions about four years ago in Mashonaland.”

My orderly (a volunteer) was not to be found to–day when I wanted him,
but a loafer, hanging about the office door, said that the orderly had
left word with him that “he was going out to lunch, but would be back
soon, in case he were wanted.”

One volunteer trooper, apparently anxious that the routine of
soldiering should, in his corps at anyrate, be carried out in its
entirety, takes it upon himself to write to me as follows:—

“I beg to request that the following charges may be made the subject of
inquiry by court martial:—

“(1) I charge the orderly officer, whoever he may be, with neglect of
duty, in that he did not visit the guard–room last night when I was
there.

“(2) I charge the corporal of the guard with neglect of duty, in that
he was absent from the guard–room at 9.32 p. m., at the Spoofery.

“(3) I charge the same corporal of the guard with not officially
informing the guard that there was a prisoner in the guard–room.

“(4) I charge the corporal of the guard with using unbecoming language,
in that he used the phrase, ‘Why the h—l don’t you know?’ to me.”

Etc. etc. etc.

Another trooper, not quite so enthusiastic, writes to tell me that at
his fort the drill and discipline are “_heart–rending_.”

An Italian surgeon writes that he is “anxious to be engaged in the
British Army in Matabeleland.” He hopes that the General will “approve
his generous intention,” and will “grant him the admission in the army
which many persons, not more worthy than him, so easily obtain.”

Among the many interesting experiences of a campaign, carried on, as
this one is, under a varied assortment of troops, is that entailed
in receiving reports from officers of very diverse training. Some
are verbose in the extreme, others are terse to barrenness. But the
latter is a most rare fault, and may well be called a fault on the
right side. As a rule, reports appear to be proportioned on an inverse
ratio to work performed. The man who has done little, tries to make it
appear much, by means of voluminous description. I often feel inclined
to issue printed copies, as examples to officers commanding columns,
of Captain Walton’s celebrated despatch, when, under Admiral Byng, he
destroyed the whole of the Spanish fleet off Passaro—

 “SIR,—We have taken or destroyed all the Spanish ships on this coast;
 number as per margin.—Respectfully yours,

  G. WALTON, _Capt._”

There is no superfluous verbosity there.

Vyvyan ill with a very bad throat, and Ferguson away with one of the
columns, so I have plenty to keep me occupied.

The outbreak in Mashonaland ever spreading like wildfire, till it
covers an area of 500 miles by 200—some 2000 whites against 18,000 to
20,000 blacks.

We have asked for imperial troops to be sent up without delay, both
to Matabeleland and Mashonaland, only to the extent of about 500 in
each country, for every nerve will have to be strained to feed even
these—but we haven’t a chance of winning our race without them.

It is a great relief to realise that they are on their way, bringing
with them their own transport and supplies.

_22nd June._—Spreckley’s column returned from its three weeks’ patrol
without having found the enemy in force, but it broke up his “bits”
into smaller pieces, destroyed many kraals, took prisoners, and, best
of all, captured much cattle and corn.

_23rd June._—Dined at Spreckley’s house in the “suburban stands,” as
the wooded slope outside the town is termed. A very pretty “paper”
house. These “paper” houses are common in Buluwayo—they are really
wire–wove, with wooden frames, iron roofs, cardboard walls, with proper
fireplaces, windows and doors, verandahs, etc. Just like a stone–built
house in appearance, but portable; sent out from Queen Victoria Street
in pieces.

Spreckley himself is an ass[1] in one respect, namely, because he
did not take up soldiering as his profession instead of gold and
pioneering—successful though he has been in this other line. He has
all the qualifications that go to make an officer above the ruck of
them. Endowed with all the dash, pluck, and attractive force that make
a man a born leader of men, he is also steeped in common sense, is
careful in arrangement of details, and possesses a temperament that
can sing “Wait till the clouds roll by” in crises where other men are
tearing their hair.

Owing to all the extra work in the office due to the Mashonaland
outbreak, I had been unable to go on a little expedition with Burnham.
A rumour had reached us that the natives in the south–west of the
country intended rising. Hitherto they had remained quiet, and the
road towards Mafeking had not been stopped; but now there appeared the
danger of this road being blocked, and of our supplies, etc., being
cut off from us. At the western end of the Matopos lived a priest
of the M’limo, and the people took their orders from him. If he now
were to direct them to rise, our line of communications would be in
great danger. So we wanted him captured. The difficulty was that if a
large party went there, he would have early intimation of its coming,
and would decamp in good time. So a young fellow named Armstrong,
the Native Commissioner of that district, and Burnham volunteered
to go alone and capture, or, if necessary, shoot him. To–day we
had a telegram from Burnham giving the result of it. He had gone to
Mangwe, and, accompanied only by Armstrong, he had ridden over to the
cave of the local priest of the M’limo—pretended that if the M’limo
would render him invulnerable to Matabele bullets he would give him a
handsome reward—saw the priest begin to go through the ceremony (so
there was no mistake as to his identity), and then shot him. It was a
risky game, as in the next valley were camped a large number of natives
who had come for a big ceremony with the M’limo the next day. But the
two men got away all right, having to gallop for it. The natives never
rose to stop the road.

_26th June._—I had not been outside the office for four days, and was
feeling over–boiled with the sedentary work, so after dinner I saddled
up and rode off ten miles in the moonlight to Hope Fountain. Here
I roused out Pyke, the officer in command. (Had lost an arm in the
previous Matabele war when with Forbes’ patrol down the Shangani after
Lobengula.) He roused out Corporal Herbert, and we rode down in the
dark to the Matopos, and had a very interesting look round there in the
early morning. I much enjoyed it. Was back in the office by 10.30, all
the better for a night out.

[Illustration: SILENCING THE ORACLE
 The M’limo is an invisible deity believed in by the Makalakas and
 Matabele alike. In different districts of the country are priests of the
 M’limo living in caves, who are consulted by the people as mouthpieces
 of the god. These priests gave out the orders for the rebellion. It was
 to prevent one of these men giving his orders that Messrs. Armstrong and
 Burnham endeavoured to effect his arrest, but, failing in the attempt,
 owing to the natives becoming alarmed, Burnham shot the priest.]

Pyke is one of three fine, athletic brothers who are all serving here
in different corps.

This evening we had a cheery little dinner at the hotel, to which
came Sir Richard Martin, Colonel and Mrs. Spreckley, Captain and Mrs.
Selous, Captain and Mrs. Colenbrander—all heroes and heroines of the
rebellion.

How Spreckley made us laugh, fooling around the piano as if he were
just going to sing!

It is daily a source of wonder to me how the General manages to
handle some of the local officers and men. Of course, with the better
class it is impossible not to get on well, but there are certain
individuals who to any ordinary Imperial officer would be perfectly
“impossible.” Sir Frederick, however, is round them in a moment, and
either coaxes or frightens them into acquiescence as the case demands;
but were any general, without his personal knowledge of South Africa
and its men, to attempt to take this motley force in hand, I cannot
think there would be anything but ructions in a very short space of
time. A little tact and give–and–take properly applied reaps a good
return from Colonial troops, but the slightest show of domineering or
letter–of–the–regulations discipline is apt to turn them crusty and
“impossible.” A very good instance of the general feeling that seems
to influence the local troops is shown in the following letter which
the General has received. (The writer of it leaves it to the discretion
of the General where to insert commas and stops.)

 “To Mr. Frederick Carrington—General.

 “Sir Seeing in the papers and news from the North the serous phase that
 affairs are taking I am willing to raise by your permission a set of
 Good hard practical colonials here that have seen service Farmers Sons
 and Chuck my situation and head them off as a Yeomanry Corps I have
 been under you Sir in the B.B.P (Bechuanaland Border Police) and am
 well acquainted with the Big gun Drill and a Good Shot with the maxim.
 We will consider it an honor to stand under you Sir but object to eye
 glasses and kid gloves otherwise

  “Yrs to command

  “H——“

“Eyeglass and kid gloves” standing in the estimation of this and other
honest yeomen of the colony for “Imperial officer.”

Unfortunately the Colonials have had experience of one class or another
of regular officers, which has not suited their taste, and his defects
get on their nerves and impress themselves on their minds, and they
are very apt to look on such individual as the type of his kind, and
if they afterwards meet with others having different attributes, they
merely consider them as exceptions which prove the rule.

No doubt there are certain types among us, and our training and
upbringing in the service are apt to gradually run us in the groove of
one type or another.

The type which perhaps is most of a red rag to the Colonial is the
highly–trained officer, bound hand and foot by the rules of modern war,
who moves his force on a matured, deliberate plan, with all minutiæ
correctly prepared beforehand, incapable of change to meet any altered
or unforeseen circumstances, and who has a proper contempt for nigger
foes and for colonial allies alike.

And there is, on the other hand, the old–woman type, fussy, undecided,
running ignorantly into dangers he wots not of; even in a subordinate
position his fussiness will not allow him to be still, and so he
fiddles about like a clown in the circus, running about to help
everybody at everybody’s job, yet helping none.

Happily—and the Colonials here are beginning to realise it—these types
are not the rule in the service, but the exception. What is now more
often met with is the man who calmly smokes, yet works as hard and as
keenly as the best of them.

Quick to adapt his measures to the country he is in, and ready to
adopt some other than the drill–book teachings where they don’t apply
with his particular foe. Understanding the principle of give–and–take
without letting all run slack. The three C’s which go to make a
commander—coolness, common sense, and courage—are the attributes _par
excellence_ of the proper and more usual type of the British officer.
For be it understood that “coolness” stands for absence of flurry,
pettiness, and indecision; “common sense” for tactics, strategy, and
all supply arrangements; while “courage” means the necessary dash and
leadership of men.




CHAPTER IV

SCOUTING

_26th June to 14th July_

 Single Scouts preferable to Patrols—How to conceal
 yourself—Skirt–Dancing a Useful Aid to evading an Enemy—The Enemy’s
 Ruses for catching us—The Minutiæ of Scouting—The Matopo Hills—Positions
 of the Enemy—A Typical Patrol—The Value of Solitary Scouting—Its
 Importance in Modern War—The Elementary Principles of Scouting.


_14th July._—A bit of a break in the diary, not because there was
nothing doing, but just the opposite.

For one thing, we have been pretty busy in sending off three small
columns to the assistance of Mashonaland. And also, personally, I
have been fully occupied in another way: that is, in repeating my
experiences of the 26th June, and frequently by day, and very often by
night, I have been back in the Matopos, locating the enemy’s positions.
I go sometimes with one or two whites, sometimes with two or three
black companions; but what I prefer is to go with my one nigger–boy,
who can ride and spoor and can take charge of the horses while I am
climbing about the rocks to get a view.

It may seem anomalous, but it is in the very smallness of the party
that the elements of success and safety lie. A small party is less
likely to attract attention; there are fewer to extricate or to afford
a target, if we happen to get into a tight place; and I think that one
is more on the alert when one is not trusting to others to keep the
look–out.

Then we have a nice kind of enemy to deal with. Except on special
occasions, they don’t like going about in the dark, and cannot
understand anybody else doing it; and they sleep like logs, and keep
little or no look–out at night. Thus one is able to pass close through
their outposts in the dark, to reconnoitre their main positions in
the early dawn (when they light up fires to thaw away their night’s
stiffness), and then to come away by some other route than that by
which you entered.

[Illustration: SOLITARY SCOUTING
 Scouting alone gave better results than reconnaisance in parties.
 Accompanied by a reliable “boy,” who could keep a good look–out and take
 care of the horses, one was able to do a lot of effective scouting. We
 generally moved by night, and worked in the early dawn.]

So long as you are clothed, as we are in non–conspicuous colours, you
can escape detection even from their sharp eyes; but you must not move
about—directly you move, they see you, and take steps to catch you.
Half the battle in keeping yourself hidden, while yet seeing everything
yourself, is to study the colour of your background; thus, if clothed
in things that match the rocks in colour, you can boldly sit out in
front of a rock, with little risk of detection, so long as you remain
motionless; if you are hiding in the shadow alongside of a rock or
bush, take care that your form thus darkened is not silhouetted against
a light background behind you. To show even your hand on a skyline
would, of course, be fatal to your concealment.

[_P.S._—Do not wear any bright colours about you. I noticed that after
I had been on the sick list and resumed my scouting expeditions, the
enemy caught sight of me much more quickly than they used to, though
I took just as much care, and remained just as motionless; and I then
came to the conclusion that this was due to the fact that I had,
in accordance with the doctor’s advice, taken to wearing a flannel
cummerbund wound round my waist—and the only flannel at that time
procurable was of a brilliant red; and this was what caught their eye.]

Of course, anything liable to glitter or shine is fatal to concealment;
rifle, pistol, field–glasses, wrist–watch, buckles, and buttons should
be dulled, abolished, or held in such a way as not to catch the rays
of the sun by day or of the moon by night.

For efficient scouting in rocky ground, in the dry season,
indiarubber–soled shoes are essential; with these you can move in
absolute silence, and over rocks which, from their smoothness or
inclination, would be impassable with boots.

It is almost impossible to obliterate your spoor, as, even if you brush
over your footprints, the practised eye of the native tracker will read
your doings by other signs; still, it is a point not to be lost sight
of for a minute when getting into position for scouting, and a little
walking backwards, doubling on one’s tracks over rocky ground, lighting
a fire where you are not going to cook your food, or one of an hundred
similar subterfuges may often relieve you from the attentions of a
too–inquisitive enemy.

When they have found you watching them, they will not, as a rule, come
boldly at you, fearing that you are merely a lure to draw them on into
some ambuscade or trap,—for that is one of their own pet games to
play,—but they will work round to get on to the track you have made in
getting to your positions. Having found this, and satisfied themselves
that you are practically alone, their general rule is to lie in ambush
near the track, ready to catch you on your return. Naturally one never
returns by the same path. (_P.S._—Once I had to do it, later on, at
Wedzas, when there was no other way, and nearly paid the penalty.)

[Illustration: THE VALUE OF SKIRT–DANCING
 When pursued by Matabele among the boulders of the Matopo country it was
 of the greatest advantage to be equipped with rubber–soled shoes, and
 to have that command of your feet which is acquired in the practice of
 skirt–dancing.]

Sometimes they try to shoot or to catch one; but so long as one keeps
moving about, they do not seem to trust much to their marksmanship;
and I have heard them shouting to each other, “Don’t shoot at the
beast, catch him by the hands, catch him by the hands!” Then they would
come clambering over the rocks, but clambering awkwardly—for, lithe,
and active though they be, the Matabele are not good mountaineers,
especially in that part of it which Montenegrins say is the most
difficult (possibly because they themselves shine pre–eminently at it),
namely, in getting rapidly downhill. Consequently, if one is wearing
indiarubber–soled shoes (not hobnailed boots, for with them you merely
skate about the slippery boulders), it is not a difficult matter to
outpace them, provided you have the natural gift or requisite training
for “placing” your feet. I am a fair blunderer in most things, but I
was taken in hand in the days of my youth by a devotee of the art of
skirt–dancing, and never, till I was forced by dark–brown two–legged
circumstances to skip from rock to rock in the Matopos, did I fully
realise the value of what I then learned, namely, the command of the
feet.

The enemy are also full of tricks and ruses for catching us by
luring us into ambuscades. Thus they will show scouts, cattle,
women, and, at night, fires, in the hope of our coming close to
capture or investigate, and so putting ourselves in their hands. But
even if we were so simple as to be tempted, we should probably see
something of their spoor which would put us on our guard. And in this
respect the stupidity of the native is almost incredible; he gathers
his information almost entirely by spooring, and yet it is only
occasionally that he seems to remember that his own feet are all the
time writing their message to his enemies. Now and again he thinks of
it, and leaps across a path or sandy patch; but I suppose that, knowing
the hopelessness of trying effectually to conceal his trail, he has
acquired the habit of disregarding its importance.

There is naturally a strong attraction in reconnoitring, for, apart
from the fun of besting the enemy, the art of scouting is in itself as
interesting as any detective work.

It is almost impossible to describe all the little signs that go to
make up information for one when scouting. It is like reading the page
of a book. You can tell your companion—say a man who cannot read—that
such and such a thing is the case.

“How do you know?” he asks.

“Because it is written here on this page.”

“Oh! How do you make that out?”

Then you proceed to spell it out to him, letters that make words,
words that make sentences sentences that make sense. In the same
way, in scouting, the tiniest indications, such as a few grains of
displaced sand here, some bent blades of grass there, a leaf foreign
to this bit of country, a buck startled from a distant thicket, the
impress of a raindrop on a spoor, a single flash on the mountain–side,
a far–off yelp of a dog,—all are letters in the page of information
you are reading, and whose sequence and aggregate meaning, if you are
a practised reader, you grasp at once without considering them as
separate letters and spelling them out—except where the print happens
to be particularly faint. And that is what goes to make scouting the
interesting, the absorbing game that it is.

A small instance will show my meaning as to what information can be
read from trifling signs.

The other day, when out with my native scout, we came on a few
downtrodden blades of common grass; this led us on to footprints in a
sandy patch of ground. They were those of women or boys (judging from
the size) on a long journey (they wore sandals), going towards the
Matopos. Suddenly my boy gave a “How!” of surprise, and ten yards off
the track he picked up a leaf—it was the leaf of a tree that did not
grow about here, but some ten or fifteen miles away; it was damp, and
smelt of Kaffir beer. From these signs it was evident that women had
been carrying beer from the place where the trees grew towards the
Matopos (they stuff up the mouth of the beer–pots with leaves), and
they had passed this way at four in the morning (a strong breeze had
been blowing about that hour, and the leaf had evidently been blown ten
yards away). This would bring them to the Matopos about five o’clock.
The men would not delay to drink up the fresh beer, and would by this
time be very comfortable, not to say half–stupid, and the reverse of on
the _qui vive_; so that we were able to go and reconnoitre more nearly
with impunity—all on the strength of information given by bruised grass
and a leaf.

There should have been no reason for my going out to get information
in this way had we had reliable native spies or fully trained white
scouts. But we find that these friendly natives are especially useless,
as they have neither the pluck nor the energy for the work, and at
best are given to exaggerating and lying; and our white scouts, though
keen and plucky as lions, have never been trained in the necessary
intricacies of mapping and reporting. Thus, it has now fallen to my lot
to be employed on these most interesting little expeditions.

Under present conditions we, staff and special service officers, have
to turn our hand to every kind of job as occasion demands, and one man
has to do the ordinary work of half a dozen different offices. It is
as though, the personnel of a railway having been suddenly reduced by
influenza or other plague just when the bank holiday traffic was on, a
few trained staff were got from another company temporarily to work it.
We find a number of porters, station–masters, cleaners, firemen, etc.
available, but we have to put in a lot of odd work ourselves to make
the thing run; at one minute doing the traffic management, at the next
driving an engine, here superintending clearing–house business, then
acting as pointsmen, and so on.

It makes it all the more interesting, and in this way I have dropped in
for the scouting work.

The net result of our scouting to date is that we have got to know the
nature of the country and the exact positions of the six different
rebel impis in it, and of their three refuges of women and cattle. Maps
have been lithographed accordingly, and issued to all officers for
their guidance. These maps have sketches of the principal mountains to
guide the officers in finding the positions of the enemy.

The Matopo district is a tract of intricate broken country, containing
a jumble of granite–boulder mountains and bush–grown gorges, extending
for some sixty miles by twenty. It lies to the south of Buluwayo,
its nearest point being about twenty miles from that town. Along its
northern edge, in a distance of about twenty–five miles, the six
separate impis of the enemy have taken up their positions, with their
women and cattle bestowed in neighbouring gorges.

On the principle “_Gutta cavat lapidem non vi sed saepe cadendo_,”
we have taken innumerable little peeps at them, and have now “marked
down” these impis and their belongings in their separate strongholds, a
result that we could never have gained had we gone in strong parties.

[Illustration: THE STRONGHOLDS IN THE MATOPOS
 Our outposts were at Hope Fountain, Kami, Mabukutwane, and Fig Tree.
 From these we reconnoitred, passing through the enemy’s scouts on the
 north bank of the Umzingwane, and marking the positions of the impis in
 the hills by their fires, tracks, etc.

 A, Inugu; Imbēsa’s impi of young warriors; women; cattle.

 B, Chilili; women and cattle.

 C, Babyan and Priest of M’limo.

 D, Babyan’s impi.

 E, Sikombo’s women and cattle.

 F, Inyanda’s impi.

 G, Sikombo’s impi.

 H, Mnyakavula’s impi.

 K, Umlugulu’s impi.]

[Illustration: INUGU MOUNTAIN, A]
Commencing at the western end, near the Mangwe road is the stronghold
of the Inugu Mountain (see A in map), a very difficult place to tackle,
with its cliffs, caves, and narrow gorges. The impi occupies the
mountain, while the women and cattle are in the neighbouring Famona
valley.

Five miles N.E. of this is the Chilili valley (B), in which are women
and cattle of Babyan’s impi. This impi is located deep in the hills
near Isibula’s Kraal on the Kantol Mountain (D); while Babyan himself,
and probably the priest of the M’limo, are in a neighbouring valley at
(C).

[Illustration: CHILILI VALLEY, B]
Eighteen miles to the eastward, eight miles south of Dawson’s Store on
the Umzingwane River, we come to a bold peak (F), that is occupied by
Inyanda’s people, with a valley behind it (E), in which are Sikombo’s
women and cattle.

[Illustration: INYANDA’S, SIKOMBO’S, AND UMLUGULU’S POSITIONS
Looking south.]

A couple of miles farther west, Sikombo’s impi is camped behind a
dome–shaped mountain (G) close to the Tuli road.

On the west side of this road Umlugulu’s impi was stationed when we
first began our reconnaissance, but he moved nearer to Sikombo at (H),
with Mnyakavula close by on (K). Each impi numbered roughly between one
and two thousand men. Their outposts were among the hills along the
northern bank of the Umzingwana River. We used to pass between these by
night, arriving near the strongholds at daybreak.

The following account, taken from the _Daily Chronicle_, gives an idea
of what one meets with when out on reconnaissance with a patrol:—

“Is it the cooing of doves that wakes me from dreamland to the stern
reality of a scrubby blanket and the cold night air of the upland
veldt? A plaintive, continuous moan, moan, reminds me that I am at one
of our outpost forts beyond Buluwayo, where my bedroom is under the lee
of the sail (waggon tilt) which forms the wall of the hospital. And
through the flimsy screen there wells the moan of a man who is dying.
At last the weary wailing slowly sobs itself away, and the suffering
of another mortal is ended. He is at peace. It is only another poor
trooper gone. Three years ago he was costing his father so much a year
at Eton; he was in the eleven, too—and all for this.

“I roll myself tighter in my dew–chilled rug, and turn to dream afresh
of what a curious world I’m in. My rest is short, and time arrives for
turning out, as now the moon is rising. A curious scene it is, as here
in shadow, there in light, close–packed within the narrow circuit of
the fort, the men are lying, muffled, deeply sleeping at their posts.
It’s etiquette to move and talk as softly as we are able, and even
harsh–voiced sentries drop their challenge to a whisper when there
is no doubt of one’s identity. We give our horses a few handfuls of
mealies, while we dip our pannikins into the great black ‘billy,’ where
there’s always cocoa on the simmer for the guard. And presently we
saddle up, the six of us, and lead our horses out; and close behind us
follow, in a huddled, shivering file, the four native scouts, guarding
among them two Matabele prisoners, handcuffed wrist to wrist, who are
to be our guides.

“Down into the deep, dark kloof below the fort, where the air strikes
with an icy chill, we cross the shallow spruit, then rise and turn
along its farther bank, following a twisting, stony track that leads
down the valley. Our horses, though they purposely are left unshod,
make a prodigious clatter as they stumble adown the rough, uneven way.
From force of habit rather than from fear of listening enemies, we drop
our voices to a whisper, and this gives a feeling of alertness and
expectancy such as would find us well prepared on an emergency. But
we are many miles as yet from their extremest outposts, and, luckily
for us, these natives are the soundest of sleepers, so that one might
almost in safety pass with clattering horses within a quarter of a mile
of them.

“There must be some merit in wrapping up your head when cold,—even
at the expense of your nether limbs,—for here in Southern Africa the
natives have identically the same way as the men of Northern India
have of keeping up their warmth, and as they feel the cold increase,
so do they ‘peel’ their legs to find the wherewithal to further muffle
up their heads. The keen crispness of the air is in keeping with our
spirits, as, all awake, we trek along the hazy veldt. And what a lot
of foes one sees when one is looking out for them! Surely that’s a
man—yes—no—an upright bush! Ah, there! I saw one move. It is but the
sprig of a nearer tree deluding a too–watchful eye; the Kaffirs do not
move about as a rule alone at night, while if one is seen, you may be
sure there is a party close at hand, and so one needs to keep a very
sharp look–out. By going thus at night, we are hoping that we may slip
past the Matabele outposts stationed on the hills, and so gain the
country that we want to see beyond. Were we to attempt this feat by
day, or with a larger party, we should undoubtedly attract attention
and have to take a longish circuit. As it is, we make our way for some
ten miles along this valley, keeping off the stony path and in the
grass, so as to deaden sound as far as possible. High above on either
hand the hills loom dark against the stars, and on their summits our
enemy’s outposts, we know, are quietly sleeping.

“Now and again we cross a transverse donga or tributary watercourse
that runs into our stream, the donga sometimes rising to the dignity
of a ravine with steep and broken sides. And when we have found a
place, and safely crossed it, we turn and approach it from the other
side, so that should we happen later on to be pursued and want to get
across it in a hurry, we shall know the landmarks that should guide
us to the ‘drift.’ The stars are palpitating now and striving hard to
increase their gleam, which means that dawn is at hand. The hills along
our left (we are travelling south) loom darker now against the paling
sky. Before us, too, we see the hazy blank of the greater valley into
which our present valley runs. Suddenly there’s a pause, and all our
party halts. Look back! there, high up on a hill, beneath whose shadow
we have passed, there sparkles what looks like a ruddy star, which
glimmers, bobs, goes out, and then flares anew. It is a watch–fire,
and our foes are waking up to warm themselves and to keep their watch.
Yonder on another hill sparks up a second fire, and on beyond, another.
They are waking up, but all too late; we’ve passed them by, and now
are in their ground. Forward! We press on, and ere the day has dawned
we have emerged from out the defile into the open land beyond. This is
a wide and undulating plain, some five miles across to where it runs
up into mountain peaks, the true Matopos. We turn aside and clamber up
among some hills just as the sun is rising, until we reach the ashes
of a kraal that has been lately burned. The kraal is situated in a cup
among the hills, and from the koppies round our native scouts can keep
a good look–out in all directions. Here we call a halt for breakfast,
and after slackening girths, we go into the cattle kraal to look for
corn to give our horses. (The Kaffirs always hide their grain in pits
beneath the ground of the ‘cattle kraal’ or yard in which the oxen are
herded at night.) Many of the grain–pits have already been opened, but
still are left half–filled, and some have not been touched—and then in
one—well, we cover up the mouth with a flat stone and logs of wood. The
body of a girl lies doubled up within. A few days back a party of some
friendlies, men and women, had revisited this kraal, their home, to get
some food to take back to their temporary refuge near our fort. The
Matabele saw them, and just when they were busy drawing grain, pounced
in upon them, assegaing three,—all women,—and driving off the rest as
fast as they could go. This was but an everyday incident of outpost
life.

“And having fed our horses, each of us now got his ‘billy’ out,—a
‘billy’ (cooking–tin) is carried here by every officer and trooper
in a case upon his saddle,—and, having lit a fire, we got our coffee
boiled, and breakfast under way. Then two of us, taking with us our
two prisoners, clamber up a koppie, from whose top we hope to get a
view of the enemy’s country. There is something ludicrous in, and yet
one cannot laugh at, this miserable pair. Linked wrist to wrist, they
move as would a pair of sullen Siamese twins. The grass is prickly
hereabouts, and both want to keep to the tiny goat–track that we are
following, and so they have to sidle up like crabs, going hand in hand
along it. At length we gain the top; there is a splendid panorama,
and now that the sun is well up, the mountains out across the plain
look but a few hundred yards away, so clear is every rock, so deep
the shadows. The prisoners have no hesitation in telling us exactly
where their friends are camped upon the mountains, and where they keep
their women and their cattle. We sit and stare for half an hour, and
then agree that, having come so far without accident, we may as well
go farther, and get a nearer view of these redoubtable strongholds.
We return down to our party, and as we descend, we remember that our
native scouts and the prisoners have had a pretty long walk as it is.
They had shown us what we had come out to see, and we now proposed to
send them back.

“So, having seen them shuffling homeward, we turned our horses’ heads
towards the mountains, and continued our way across the open valley.
On and on, keeping everywhere a bright look–out against surprise.
The veldt was rolling grassy downs, all covered, sometimes sparsely,
sometimes densely, with bushes,—mostly thorns. Every open speck of
sand, every track, was keenly scrutinised for ‘spoor’ (or tracks of
men), and though there was not a soul to be seen about the veldt, the
signs of their propinquity were here too glaring to be missed.

“Leaving our horses, with the remainder of the men, well hidden behind
a rise, we two walked on on foot, each carrying a rifle with him. It
was an anxious time, as very soon the bush had shut us out of sight of
our support, but still we kept along, anxious to gain the summit of a
rounded, rocky hill, whence we could see all round, and so foresee all
danger.

“Now, on the paths before us were fresh tracks of an ox, behind whom
had walked a man with naked feet, and going a little lame on one—the
left toes dragged, he used a stick. They had passed along before
sunrise, because across the tracks there ran the spoor of guinea–fowl
heading towards their feeding–ground in yonder patch of maize. A single
ox thus driven in the night assuredly meant a pack–ox smuggling in
supplies to one of the rebel strongholds. More paths converged into
the one we followed, bringing more and more people, women’s feet and
children’s, oxen and donkeys, all fresh, and heading in the same
direction.

“Then, mounting on the rocks, we followed with our eyes the direction
of the path through thicker bush until it reached a solitary mountain.
There we could see a thin wreath of smoke curling up from the bush,
and, looking through our powerful telescope, we soon could see some
other fires high up the hillside close to some mighty caves. Dogs were
barking, cattle lowing, at the back of one particular shoulder of the
hill; and while we stared to try and distinguish figures in the rocks,
a sudden flash up near the mountain–top just caught our eye. Then,
focusing the glass upon it, soon we saw the dark brown figures of some
twenty natives squatting up about the skyline, and the frequent glint
and sparkle showed they carried guns and assegais. Nearer and nearer
we crept, gaining another koppie, whence we had a better view, and
from here we marked the line that our attacking parties ought to take,
and where to post our guns with best advantage. We might have stayed
there longer, for it was a tempting spectacle to sit and watch. But the
niggers in the hills are calling to each other, evidently suspicious,
if not actually aware of our presence—and they have eyes as strong as
telescopes. Now some crows fly startled from the bush a few hundred
yards to our right. Some one is moving there! Up springs a plover
screaming farther on—they’re on the move. We have seen all that we
want to see. To stay in one place for long when scouting is risky at
any time; to–day it looks even dangerous. So we quietly slip away—not
by the path we came—for that is the way you run into your enemy’s
ambuscades.

“Then, as we went along, a novel footprint caught our eye, and struck
us much as Friday’s must have struck old Crusoe. A deep indented
hollow of the fore part of a foot showed plainly in the grass to one
side of the path, heading as to cross it, and in the grass beyond the
other side the deep indent was seen of a heel in the earth. This was
the spoor of a man, running much in the same direction as ourselves,
yet wishing to avoid notice, because he jumped the path. Evidently a
messenger going out the way we had come, and knowing of our presence
there, and on his way to warn the outposts, through whom we had passed
in the dark, to catch us on our homeward road. Our horses now had had
their second feed, the men had had a kind of meal, and so we started on
again. We had to visit two more hills, but found them both unoccupied.
And then we turned our heads for home. Caution became more than ever
necessary now. There was only left the short afternoon of daylight, our
horses were no longer over fresh, and we had five–and–twenty miles to
go, ten of them along a defile valley. So with an advanced file sent
well ahead, and one dropped well in rear, we journeyed on, each man
keeping an ever–restless, bright look–out.

“And though we talked and chatted from time to time for many a weary
mile, you never saw your neighbour’s eyes look at you for a moment.
While talking, one had still to keep one’s eyes afield. And what a
mixture in our little band of eight! Under the similar equipment of
cocked–up Boer or cowboy hat, with ragged shirt and strong cord pants,
with cartridge–bandolier, and belt from which hung knife and pipe,
tobacco–bag and purse, all grimy and unkempt, and sunburnt to a rich,
dark brick colour, each individual was an interesting study in himself.
Here is one with _pince–nez_—(_pince–nez_ on a trooper!)—a Cambridge
man of highest education, who thought he would take to farming in
Rhodesia; but his plans are interrupted by the war, and while that
lasts he takes his place, like others, in the ranks. Beside him rides a
late A.B. seaman in the Royal Navy, a fine young fellow, full of pluck,
who will press on where devils fear to tread, but he is disappointing
as a scout, for, after having been close up to the enemy, he cannot
tell how they are posted, what their strength, or any other points
that the leader wants to know. This other man an architect, and yon a
gold–prospector—in fact, there’s a variety enough among them to suit
almost any taste.

“The sun has set and darkness has drawn on before we are well out of
the defile; but we are now beyond the rebel outposts, and getting
nearer home, so there’s nothing much to—bang! phit!—and a bullet flits
just over our heads! It came from behind; we halt and hear the clatter
of hoofs as the man who was left as rearguard comes galloping up the
road. A moment later he appears in the dusk rounding the next turn. He
no sooner sees us than he halts, dismounts, drops on one knee, takes
aim, and fires straight at us. We shout and yell, but as he loads
to fire again, we scatter, and push on along the road, and he comes
clattering after us. The explanation is that nervousness, increased
by darkness coming on, has sent the man a little off his head, and,
ludicrous though it be, it is a little unpleasant for us. None of his
comrades care to tackle him. ‘It is a pity to shoot him,’ ‘His horse is
tired and cannot catch us up,’ and ‘He’ll be all right as soon as he
has got over the first attack of fright’; and so we leave him to follow
us, keeping a respectful distance. At length the fires twinkle ahead,
and, tired and hungry, we get back to camp.

“At dawn our missing man turned up—without his horse, it had dropped
dead from fatigue. He had a wondrous tale of how he had pursued a host
of enemies. The sole reward he got was a ducking in the spruit.”

A small party such as that mentioned in this account of a scouting
expedition is often necessary, as in this case, for ensuring the safety
of the scouts in getting to and from their work through defiles and
the like, where it might happen that the way would have to be forced
past the enemy’s outposts. But once on their ground, the escort should
be carefully concealed. Their work is over for the time being, and the
essential part of the expedition, that is, the scouting by one or two
trained individuals, has commenced.

The scout must then be left with a perfectly free hand, and must not
be tied to any certain hour for return. He can only judge for himself
later on whether it is necessary to be away for two or three hours
only, or for a whole night, before he comes back to the party. And
that is one of the considerations which make me prefer to start from
home or camp without escort in the original instance, as it leaves one
altogether unfettered by considerations as to the feeding, resting,
etc., of the patrol, or of necessarily making one’s way back to the
exact spot where it would be posted.

_P.S._—As will be seen in the following chapters, the rebel impis and
their women and cattle were all found, when the troops came to attack
them later on, in the exact positions assigned to them in the sketch
map issued. Such “locating” would have been impossible had we tried to
effect it by reconnaissances of the usual kind, that is, by parties
of men. The natives would have gathered to oppose our coming, or—what
is more likely—to prevent our getting away again; instead of gently
stealing our honey bit by bit, we should have brought the whole swarm
of bees about us, and the probability is that they would then have
deserted that hive to take a new and more inaccessible one. Instead
of being able to lead the troops straight to the enemy, we should
merely have been able to say, “There is the spot where we fought them;
they seemed to come from yonder; but it looks as if they had now gone
somewhere else.” And reconnoitring parties would again have had to
follow them, with similar results, probably losing men every time, and
gaining nothing.

The value of solitary scouting does not seem to be sufficiently
realised among us nowadays. One hears but little of its employment
since the Peninsula days, when Marbot gave the English officers
unqualified praise for their clever and daring enterprise in this line.

It is not only for savage warfare that I venture to think it is so
important, but equally for modern civilised tactics. A reconnaissance
in force in these days of long–range weapons and machine–guns can have
very little chance of success, and yet for the same reasons an accurate
knowledge of the enemy’s position, strength, and movements is more than
ever necessary to the officer commanding a force. One well–trained,
capable scout can see and report on an object just as well as fifty
ordinary men of a patrol looking at the same thing. But he does so with
this advantage, that he avoids attracting the attention of the enemy,
and they do not alter their position or tactics on account of having
been observed; and he can venture where a party would never be allowed
to come, since the enemy, even if they see him, would hesitate to
disturb their piquets, etc., by opening fire on a solitary individual,
although they would have no such scruples were a reconnoitring party
there instead.

It is difficult to find in history a battle in which the victory or
defeat were not closely connected with good or deficient reconnaissance
respectively. Good preliminary reconnaissance saves premature wearing
out of men and horses through useless marches and counter–marches, and
it simplifies the commander’s difficulties, and he knows exactly when,
where, and how to dispose his force to obtain the best results.

But, as I have said above, such reconnaissance can often be carried out
the most effectually by single reconnoitrers or scouts. And a peace
training of such men is very important.

Without special training a man cannot have a thorough confidence in
himself as a scout, and without an absolute confidence in himself, it
is not of the slightest use for a man to think of going out to scout.

Development of the habits of noting details and of reasoning
inductively constitute the elements of the required training. This
can be carried out equally in the most civilised as in the wildest
countries,—although for its complete perfecting a wild country is
preferable. It is to a large extent the development of the science of
woodcraft in a man—that is, the art of noticing smallest details, and
of connecting their meaning, and thus gaining a knowledge of the ways
and doings of your quarry; the education of your “eye–for–a–country”;
and the habit of looking out on your own account. Once these have
become, from continual practice, a second nature to a man, he has but
to learn the more artificial details of what he is required to report,
and the best method of doing so, to become a full–fledged scout.

We English have the talent of woodcraft and the spirit of adventure and
independence already inborn in our blood to an extent to which no other
nationality can lay claim, and therefore among our soldiers we ought to
find the best material in the world for scouts. Were we to take this
material and rightly train it in that art whose value has been denoted
in the term “half the battle,” we ought to make up in useful men much
of our deficiency in numbers.

Houdin, the conjurer, educated the prehensibility of his son’s mind
by teaching him, in progressive lessons, to be able to recapitulate
the contents of a shop window after a single look at it; there is the
first stage of a scout’s training, viz. the habit of noticing details.
The second, “inductive reasoning,” or the putting together of this and
that detail so noticed, and deducing their correct meaning, is best
illustrated in the Memoirs of “Sherlock Holmes.”




CHAPTER V

THE REBELS DECLINE TO SURRENDER

_14th July to 18th July_

 Plumer’s Victory at Taba–si–ka–Mamba—How the M’limo Oracle is
 worked—Reorganisation of the Buluwayo Field Force—The Price of Beer—I
 am nicknamed “Impeesa”—The Proclamation of Clemency—The Local Settler’s
 View of it—The Rebel’s View of it—The Enemy hopeful—The General’s
 Plan of Campaign—Reconnaissance of the Central Matopos—Preparing for
 Operations in the Hills—Reconnaissance of Babyan’s Stronghold.


Meanwhile, during the first week in July, the three columns, which had
been out clearing the country to the northward of Buluwayo, returned,
having had a great amount of hard work with only a modicum of fighting.
The rebels of that region had been effectually broken and dispersed
in all direction—except at one spot, near Inyati, some fifty miles
north–east from the town.

[Illustration: CAUGHT IN THE ACT BY A CAPE BOY
 The Cape Boys (natives of Cape Colony), when well led, were found to
 be most useful for attacking the cave strongholds of the enemy. They
 thought it the height of fun to discover a back way into a cave, and
 catch its defenders from an unexpected quarter.]

Colonel Plumer accordingly took a column out there,—nearly 800
strong,—and, after a clever and most successful night–march, surprised
the enemy, at dawn, on 5th July, in a desperate–looking koppie
stronghold called Taba–si–ka–Mamba. There was some tough fighting,
and the newly arrived corps of “Cape Boys” (natives and half–castes
from Cape Colony), much to everybody’s surprise, showed themselves
particularly plucky in storming the koppies; but, as in the case of
most natives, their _élan_ is greatly a matter of what sort of leaders
they have, and in this case there was every reason for them to go
well. Major Robertson, their commandant, an old Royal Dragoon, is a
wonderfully cool, keen, and fearless leader under fire.

In the end the place and its many caves was taken. Our loss amounted
to 10 killed, 12 wounded. The enemy lost 150 killed, and we got some
600 prisoners, men, women, and children, 800 head of cattle, and a very
large amount of goods which had been looted from stores and collected
at this place as the property of the M’limo. It was a final smash to
the enemy in the north, though M’qwati, the local priest of the M’limo,
and M’tini, his induna, both escaped.

The M’limo’s cave was found, a most curious place, which I visited
later on: a sort of anteroom in which suppliants had to wait while the
priest went away to invoke the M’limo’s attention; then a narrow cleft
by which they would walk deep into the rock, and which narrowed till it
looked like a split just before the end of the cave. And through this
crevice they made their requests and got their answer from the M’limo.
In reality, another cave entered the hill from the opposite side and
led up to this same crevice, and it was by this back entrance that the
priest re–entered, and, sitting in the dark corner just behind the
crevice, he was able to personate an invisible deity with full effect.

Of such caves there are three or four about the country, where the
rebels just now get their orders as to their course of action.

Office work still very heavy—especially as we have broken up the
original Buluwayo Volunteer Field Force as an unworkable and rather
overpaid organisation (the troopers getting 10s. a day _and_ their
rations!), and are now busy organising it anew as a regularly enlisted
armed police force at 5s. a day, under military law and discipline.
Nicholson, 7th Hussars, is working this task, and is a first–rate man
for it.

The office work, although exacting, is most interesting all the same;
the only drawback is that there are not more than twenty–four hours in
a day in which to get it done. I certainly do look forward, though, to
the hour of luncheon; yes, it sounds greedy—but it is for the glimpse
of sunlight that I look forward, _not_ the lunch. That is scarcely
pleasant either to look forward to or to look back on—consisting as it
generally does of hashed leather which has probably got rinderpest,
no vegetables, and liquid nourishment at prohibitive prices,—_e.g._
local beer at 2s. a glass. I live on bread, jam, and coffee, and _that_
costs 5s. a meal; and prices are rising! Eggs are 32s. a dozen, and not
guaranteed fresh at that!

Many of the strongholds to which I had at first learned the way with
patrols, I have now visited again by myself at nights, in order to
further locate the positions of their occupants. In this way I have
actually got to know the country and the way through it better by night
than by day, that is to say, by certain landmarks and leading stars
whose respectively changed appearance or absence in daylight is apt to
be misleading.

The enemy, of course, often see me, but are luckily very suspicious,
and look upon me as a bait to some trap, and are therefore slow to
come at me. They often shout to me; and yesterday my boy, who was with
my horse, told me they were calling to each other that “Impeesa” was
there—_i.e._ “the Wolf,” or, as he translated it, “the beast that does
not sleep, but sneaks about at night.”

[Illustration: “IMPEESA”—“the beast that does not sleep, but sneaks
about at night.”
Marking the Matabele camp–fires in the Matopos.]

_14th July._—Last night I was riding alone across the veldt; I came
suddenly upon a Matabele driving a horse and a mule towards the
Matopos. He turned and fled, and I galloped after him to give him a
fright, and then returned to the beasts, which I drove before me safely
to camp. They were our own branded animals, which had been looted.

On getting back to Buluwayo at 9.30 p. m., after having been away for
some days’ solitary scouting, varied by such patrols as that described
in the last chapter, I found that reports had come in from the officer
commanding Fig Tree Fort, saying that rebel impis were on the move
there. Ferguson had at once been sent off by the General, with 50 men
of the newly–formed police, and Laing’s column of about 150, which had
lately come in from the Belingwe District. No sooner had the troops got
there (on the 13th) than they found that the Matabele impis were merely
pictures in the mind’s eye of the commandant, a Dutchman, who had been
imbibing not wisely, but too well.

_15th July._—“Well! of all the murkiest rot that ever I heard of, this
is the murkiest!” These words, and others to the same effect, but,
to use the speaker’s term, “murkier,” saluted my waking senses at an
unseemly hour of this morning. For a moment I was inclined to reach for
my gun, or, at all events, to let fly my feelings at the two loafers
who stood yarning at my window–sill (we live on the ground floor in
Buluwayo, because there is not a second to our house, nor, indeed,
to any house in the place except “Williams’ Buildings,” and they are
“buildings” being not yet built); but presently a lazy feeling of
curiosity got the better of my momentary irritation, and I played the
eavesdropper. It was merely a discussion of the situation between two
late troopers of the Buluwayo Field Force, dealing more particularly
with the “Proclamation to the Rebels,” which had been issued last
night. Their review of it was remarkable, not only for the vigour,
and—well—the originality of their language, but also because it covered
exactly the ground over which all travelled again when they came to
discuss it with me, or in my hearing, during the remainder of the day.
One thing that struck them all was that this proclamation of clemency
which was now to be published to the rebels was made in England and not
in Rhodesia, and that “it was made by people who had no more conception
of how things were in this part of the world than a boiled dumpling had
of horse–racing”; at least, that was what they inferred from the tenor
of its wording. I do not say that they had read and inwardly digested
the exact literal meaning of the wording. I think, on the contrary,
that they had only grasped a general idea of it all; the very heading
of a “Proclamation of Clemency” at such a juncture having filled their
thoughts with rage, and left them to read the rest with biassed minds.

Unfortunately for the proclamation, within a few hours of its
publication there came from Mashonaland another of the horrid
telegrams with which we are only too familiar now. After telling of
three different murders of friendly natives by rebels on the previous
day, it went on to say: “The wife and two daughters of Mobele, the
native missionary, reached Salisbury from Marendellas this morning.
They related how the missionary was killed by rebels while he was
endeavouring to save the life of James White, who was lying wounded.
White was also killed. Then three little children of the missionary
were killed. And the women themselves were maltreated and left
for dead. They did not know their way to Salisbury, so followed
the telegraph line, and travelled by night only, suffering great
privations.”

It is a far cry from Mashonaland to England, and distance lessens
the sharpness of the sympathy, but to men on the spot—men with an
especially strong, manly, and chivalrous spirit in them, as is the case
in this land of pioneers—to them such cases as these appeal in a manner
which cannot be realised in dear, drowsy, after–lunch Old England. A
man here does not mind carrying his own life in his hand—he likes it,
and takes an attack on himself as a good bit of sport; but touch a
woman or a child, and he is in a blind fury in a moment—and then he is
gently advised to be mild, and to offer clemency to the poor benighted
heathen, who is his brother after all. M’, yes! And though woman is
his first care, and can command his last drop of blood in her defence,
woman is the first to assail him on his return, with venom–pointed pen,
for his brutality!

Then my friends at the window went on to talk on the clause which
permitted loyally–disposed natives to carry arms. “Loyal!”—as if any
native could be loyal if it did not happen to suit his circumstances,
and even then, why should he be allowed arms? “He was not likely to be
at war with his brothers and cousins, and the absence of arms would be
a good assurance of peace; whereas, after the late bitter experience,
how would confidence ever be instilled into farmers to induce them to
come and rebuild the blackened ruins of farmsteads whose owners had
been murdered by the selfsame natives glowering yonder, assegais and
gun in hand?”

My friends were deploring the fact that their would–be rulers far away
are quite out of touch with the circumstances of the case. Writers in
the press, they said, gaily condemn the burning down of kraals and
consequent destruction of the grain stores, which are all the natives
now depend upon for food. But burning down a kraal is more or less a
formal act, which has a deal of meaning for the native comprehension.
That the store of grain is lost thereby is quite a fallacy. The grain
is buried here in pits beneath the kraal; grain will not burn in pits,
it can only be destroyed by drowning.

I was glad when at last my early arguers moved on to get their morning
coffee. Had I been so minded, I might have soothed their feelings
by telling them the latest news we had from captured rebels; that
they need not vex their souls over the wording or the terms of the
proclamation so thoughtfully provided for our use by those at home,
for whether put in that or any other form, there was not the slightest
chance of its being seriously accepted by the rebels. Our informants
came from four different ways, and agreed like one in showing that
although North–Western Matabeleland has thoroughly been cleared,
the lower and more trappy part, in the Matopos, as well as the
North–Eastern parts, remain the home of mutiny, and there, at least,
the impis will not think of giving in until the white man comes to
fight them, and they promise boastfully that he shall suffer then.

The proclamation offering terms to the rebels by which they may
surrender has gone forth to them by the best messengers that could be
got, that is, by men who have been captured in the field, or who have
come in offering to give themselves up, and also by native policemen,
who, having been disarmed on suspicion of rebellious tendencies, have
been since retained in open arrest. But so far the result has not been
fully satisfactory, although it has done some good, and undoubtedly
the thin end of the wedge towards peace has been inserted, but it will
yet need some driving to get it home and finally to split the log of
rebellion.

Many of the rebels would probably give in if the leaders would but let
them. They are tired of war, and sick of being hustled about. But then
these leaders have a strong power over them, and they are fighting with
the halter round their necks, for they know their crimes are far too
great to be condoned, and thus they try to carry on until the bitter
end.

In the north, where they have suffered most hard blows, the impis
are much broken up, and there it is that some of the people are
surrendering of their own accord; they are coming in, in driblets and
small bodies it is true, but still this is a beginning. There are,
so far, no chiefs among them. Then, on the other hand, there exists
a large proportion who still have the idea that they yet may beat
the whites, and drive them from the land, and they are encouraged in
maintaining this idea by spies’ reports, which tell them how the white
men are daily going down–country to the Cape. Now that the road has
been rendered safe and open by the operations in the Matopos, hired
waggons, in addition to the bi–weekly coaches, are taking passengers in
scores. The high cost of living at famine prices, and all business at a
standstill, are the reasons for this exodus.

Then the M’limo, fearful for his own old skin, continues to issue most
encouraging news and orders. He has revived with much success the story
that disease is sweeping off the whites in Buluwayo, and promises
that any warrior “doctored” by his charm is proof against the British
bullets, which on his hide will turn to water. They only have to wait
till all the whites are dead or fled, and then they will enjoy the good
things of the town, and live in palaces of corrugated iron. All this
they believe implicitly.

The rebels in the south have every reliance, and with reason, on the
impregnability of their rock–strongholds; and their confidence is
strengthened by their store of grain and cattle, which were being
brought, long before the outbreak, into the hills by the M’limo’s
orders. Of arms and ammunition they have plenty, although the puzzle
is to say from whence they come. But there they are—Martinis,
Lee–Metfords, Winchesters, besides the blunderbusses and elephant guns,
which at the close quarters of this fighting make very deadly practice.

And then our so–called friendlies are known to be supplying them with
information of our moves, as well as with such luxuries as Kaffir beer
and cartridges.

It is only, even now, internal jealousies among the rebel chiefs that
save the whites from being blotted out. The attempt to make Nyamanda
king, if ever seriously intended, fell through abortively; each of the
great chiefs desires that honour for himself, and thus the different
impis do not amalgamate to crush us; but they let our puny force go
round and punch them all in turn, in such a way as breaks them daily
smaller.

The proclamation has gone forth to these men too; but answer comes
there none, except at times when scouting parties meet, and then the
rebels shout to us, from their look–out rocks, such words as these:
“And so you want to end the war, do you? Yes, it will be ended soon,
for none of you will live to keep it on.” And then they add a stream
of highly–coloured threats of personal damage they will do to our nice
white corpses. The tired, desponding tone of impending submission which
one would hope to hear is altogether absent from their talk.

Then, even those who have surrendered have done it in a mere
half–hearted way; that is to say, scarce one among them has produced
his gun. Of course, the terms of their surrender include the giving
up of their arms; but that is an extent to which they do not wish to
yield. They cannot tell when they may want to break out again, and
where would they be then without their guns? That is the way they
reason with themselves. It suits them, for the time, to come and
“konza” to make peace, to save their skins and sow their crops; but,
all the same, they stow away their guns and ammunition in their holes
among the rocks, and hand up, as their “arms,” their oldest assegais
and shields. Thus, even when the present military force has broken
up the impis in the field, and cleared their strongholds out, there
will remain a tale of work for local police to do in carrying out
disarmament. And it is then, and only then, that peace can settle
firmly on the land.

The doses being given now may seem too bitter to our tender–hearted
countrymen at home; but, “though bitter now, they’re better then.” It
seems the only way to get these men to understand there is a greater
power than their M’limo; and once the lesson has been unmistakably
brought home to them, there is some hope that a time of peace _en
permanence_ may dawn for them. It is the end for which we all are
striving here. And the present system of Sir Frederick Carrington is
the most promising that could be devised to suit the circumstances.
With his tiny force, he goes from point to point where impis are
collected; in every case he strikes them hard, and promptly builds a
fort there on the spot, and leaves a party in possession. The people
round are told they may surrender. The forts are then to act as police
posts in the future, to ensure the peace of every outside district, by
standing as a sword of Damocles to all offenders, and a handy tower of
refuge for friendlies who are oppressed.

We shall soon be in a position to judge the value of the rebels’
threats, for all is now prepared for our campaign in the Matopos;
Laing’s column (200 strong) being encamped near the western end,
Plumer’s (of 800) at “Usher’s No. 1,” near the central part. This
latter camp I visited late at night on the 15th.

[Illustration: PREPARING LUNCH
 While out on patrol one day we were invited to lunch by a friendly
 chief. Lunch was prepared at our feet, the whole process from start to
 finish being gone through—from the cutting of the sheep’s throat (as
 above) to his final dishing–up.]

_16th July._—Early this morning I picked up Pyke and Taylor (the Native
Commissioner), and we rode on to inspect the country between the centre
and west of the enemy’s position. At Jozan’s Kraal (friendly), about
four miles north of the enemy, we stopped to talk, get news, and lunch.
Lunch was got for us by our host, Jozan, as follows:—A live sheep was
brought, and laid before us on some leafy twigs; its throat was then
gently cut, the liver taken out, and fried in an iron bowl. Off this
we made our meal, without any bread or other concomitant, excepting
salt, which was held by a human salt–cellar for us. We took our salt by
dipping each his hunk of meat into the nigger’s grimy palm.

We had a good look at the enemy’s position, and then we got thirty of
Jozan’s men, armed with assegais and shields, to go with us across the
neutral valley and examine the great kraal that lay opposite, in which
watch–fires had been burning the night before. As we got near to it,
we spread out our little army into a crescent shape, with two horns
advanced, and we attacked the village in style; but the only enemy
there were two men and one ox, and these cleared out in a great hurry
before we got in. We burned the kraal, and then reconnoitred into the
koppies beyond, where we found another kraal, also deserted, which we
burned. Among other odds and ends of loot in this kraal, we found a
high–jump standard, evidently stolen from the Athletic Sports Ground
near Buluwayo.

But my release from town and office life now came. As I knew the
Matopos country and the enemy’s whereabouts, I was sent to act as
guide to Colonel Plumer, who was to have the immediate direction of
operations in the Matopos, Vyvyan taking the office work off my hands.

[Illustration: A HUMAN SALT–CELLAR
 During lunch one of the natives produced some salt for us, and sat
 holding it for us throughout the meal, so that we could dip our bits of
 meat into it.]

_17th July._—The General now took up his quarters in camp, to direct
affairs against the Matopos. And the following day I took Pyke,
Richardson (interpreter), and four native scouts into the Matopos,
to get a view of Babyan’s stronghold: Babyan’s being the central and
important impi of all, and in close communication with the westernmost
impi at Inugu.

We approached the position through open, park–like country interspersed
with piles of granite boulders a hundred feet in height; from these
koppies we could hear the look–out men calling a warning cry to each
other, and now and again we could see them, perched up on high,
watching our movements. I was sorry then that we had brought natives
with us, as, if the enemy were to come and have a try at us now, it
would be easy enough for us three, had we been alone, to gallop away;
but, having the boys on foot with us, we should now have to stick to
them and help them away. So they hampered us somewhat. But still we
didn’t do badly.

The valley in which the enemy lay was surrounded by rugged koppies;
one of these was a great, dome–shaped mass of granite; we went for it,
as being easy to climb, and less trappy and liable to ambush. Upon its
crest stood the ruins of a farm belonging to Usher, and a path led
up a little gully to the huts. Instead of taking this path, we were
sufficiently wily to go round the hill for a bit; then, leaving our
horses hidden in a clump of bushes, with two sharp–eyed boys in charge,
we quickly scrambled on to the top of the koppie. Two or three of the
enemy, who had been using this as a look–out place, bolted away before
us. We had a very useful view from here of the lie of the ground, and
of the position of the enemy, as shown by the smoke of his camp–fires.
One felt tempted to stay there, and drink in every detail and map it
down; but suddenly I saw the head and shoulders of a crouching figure
dash across the opening between two rocks at the foot of our position,
followed by another, and another—not fifty yards from us. They were
racing to cut us off in the glen! They had seen us on the top, and
guessed that our horses would naturally have been left on the pathway.
But they were sold—as were also another party, whom we could see
hastening out into the bush to cut us off on our homeward path. We gave
them a few shots, and then scuttled down the far side of the rock, got
our horses, sent our boys trotting along ahead of us, and we quietly
got away through the bush by a totally different route to that by which
we came.




CHAPTER VI

CAMPAIGN IN THE MATOPOS[2]

_19th July to 24th July_

 A Night March—Attack on Babyan’s Stronghold—The Cape Boys in Action—No
 Stretchers for the Wounded—Amateur Doctoring—The Enemy’s Attempt
 to cut us off is spoiled—Result of the Action—I am sent to find
 Laing—Laing’s Action at Inugu—His Laager attacked—Fort Usher—Enemy on
 the Move—Sleeping in Camp.


_19th July._—At last our time came. The order was given to the men
in the morning, “Bake two days’ bread, and sleep all you can this
afternoon.” At what was usually our bedtime the whole column paraded
without noise or trumpet call, and at 10.30 we moved off in the
moonlight into the Matopos. I was told off to guide the column, because
I knew the way. I preferred to go alone in front of the column, for
fear of having my attention distracted if any one were with me, and of
my thereby losing my bearings. And there was something of a weird and
delightful feeling in mouching along alone, with a dark, silent square
of men and horses looming along behind one. Neither talking nor smoking
was allowed—for the gleam of a match lighting a pipe shines a long way
in the darkness. Except for the occasional cough of a man or snort of a
horse, the column, nearly a thousand strong, moved in complete silence.
Once a dog yelped with excitement after a buck started from its lair;
the orders for the night expressly stated that no dog should go with
the column, and accordingly this one was promptly caught and killed
with an assegai.

Soon after midnight we were within a mile of the place; the square
halted, and each man lay down to sleep just where he stood—and jolly
cold it was!

An hour before dawn we were up and on our way again, moving quietly
onwards until we were close to the pass among the koppies which led
into the enemy’s valley. Here, just as dawn was coming on, we left the
ambulance and a reserve of men, together with our greatcoats and other
impedimenta, and formed our column for attacking the stronghold.

First came an advance force comprising the two corps of Cape Boys,
Robertson’s and Colenbrander’s. Cape Boys are natives and half–castes
from the Cape Colony, mostly English–speaking, and dressed and armed
like Europeans. There were also 200 friendly Matabele under Taylor,
the Native Commissioner, 20 mounted white scouts under Coope, and a
Hotchkiss and two Maxims under Llewellyn. This force was under my
command.

Then came the main body of white troops under Colonel Plumer; this
consisted of three troops of the newly raised police under Nicholson,
the M.R.F. (Plumer’s corps), with two mountain battery guns. Also a
detachment from the Belingwe column under Sir Frederick Frankland,
which had volunteered to join in the fight (and had had to march all
night from a distant camp to overtake us) and see the fun.

Sir Frederick Carrington was there also, though properly speaking he
was on the sick–list with bronchitis,—not a thing to be trifled with
when you have an old bullet–wound in your lung,—and with him were Lord
Grey and Cecil Rhodes.

And so we advanced in the growing daylight into the broken, bushy
valley, which was surrounded on every side by rough, rocky cliffs and
koppies. Fresh paths and spoor showed that hundreds of rebels must
be living here, and at last I jumped with joy when I spotted one thin
streak of smoke after another rising among the crags on the eastern
side of the valley. My telescope soon showed that there was a large
camp with numerous fires, and crowds of natives moving among them.
These presently formed into one dense brown mass, with their assegai
blades glinting sharply in the rays of the morning sun. We soon got the
guns up to the front from the main body, and in a few minutes they were
banging their shells with beautiful accuracy over the startled rebel
camp.

While they were at this game, I stole onwards with a few native scouts
into the bottom of the valley, and soon saw another thin whisp of smoke
not far from me in the bush; we crept cautiously down, and there found
a small outpost of the enemy just leaving the spot where they had been
camped for the night. At this point two valleys ran off from the main
valley in which we were; one, running to the south, was merely a long
narrow gorge, along which flowed the Tuli River; the other, on the
opposite side of the river from us, ran to the eastward and formed a
small open plateau surrounded by a circle of intricate koppies. While
we were yet watching at this point, strings of natives suddenly
appeared streaming across this open valley, retiring from the camp on
the mountain above, which was being shelled by our guns. They were
going very leisurely, and, thinking themselves unobserved, proceeded to
take up their position among the encircling koppies. I sent back word
of their movements, and calling together the Native Levy, proceeded
at once to attack them. To do this more effectually, we worked round
to the end of the main valley and got into some vast rock strongholds
on the edge of the Tuli gorge. These, though recently occupied by
hundreds of men, were now vacated, and one had an opportunity of seeing
what a rebel stronghold was like from the inside; all the paths were
blocked and barricaded with rocks and small trees; the whole place was
honeycombed with caves, to which all entrances, save one or two, were
blocked with stones; among these loopholes were left, such as to enable
the occupants to fire in almost any direction. Looking from these
loopholes to the opposite side of the gorge, we could see the enemy
close to us in large numbers, taking up their position in a similar
stronghold. Now and again two or three of them would come out of a cave
on to a flat rock and dance a war–dance at our troops, which they could
see in the distance, being quite unsuspicious of our near presence.
They were evidently rehearsing what they would do when they caught
the white man among their rocks, and they were shouting all sorts of
insults to the troops, more with a spirit of bravado than with any
idea of their reaching their ears at that distance. Interesting as the
performance was, we did not sit it out for long, but put an abrupt end
to it by suddenly loosing a volley at them at short range and from this
unexpected quarter.

Then, clambering down among the rocks, we crossed the Tuli River and
commenced the ascent of the towering crags in which the enemy were
located. Of course this had to be done on foot, and I left my horse
tied to a tree, with my coat and all spare kit hung in the branches.

Our friendlies went very gaily at the work at first, with any amount of
firing, but very little result; the enemy had now entirely disappeared
into their caves and holes among the rocks, merely looking out to fire
and then popping in again. Our own niggers climbed about, firing among
the rocks, but presently did more firing than climbing, and began to
take cover and to stick to it; finally, two of them were bowled over,
and the rest of them got behind the rocks and there remained, and no
efforts could get them to budge. I then called up the Cape Boys and
the Maxims (in which Lord Grey assisted where it was difficult to
move owing to the very bad ground); these reinforcements came up with
no loss of time and went to work with a will. It was delightful to
watch the cool, business–like way in which Robertson brought his Boys
along. They floundered through the boggy stream and crawled up the
smooth, dome–shaped rocks beyond, and soon were clambering up among
the koppies, banging and cheering. Llewellyn, too, brought his guns
along at equal speed, and soon had them in position on apparently
inaccessible crags, where they came into action with full effect at
every chance the enemy gave them.

The fight gradually moved along the eastern valley, in the centre of
which was a convenient rock from which I was able to see all that
was going on, and it formed a good centre for directing the attacks,
as the enemy were in the rocks on every side of us. The Cape Boys,
after making a long circle round through part of the stronghold,
reassembled at this spot, and from it directed their further attacks on
the different parts requiring them, and it became the most convenient
position for the machine guns, as they were able to play in every
direction in turn from this point. For the systematic attack on the
stronghold a portion of it is assigned to each company, and it is a
pleasing sight to see the calm and ready way in which they set to work.
They crowd into the narrow, bushy paths between the koppies, and then
swarm out over the rocks from whence the firing comes, and very soon
the row begins. A scattered shot here and there, and then a rattling
volley; the boom of the elephant gun roaring dully from inside a cave
is answered by the sharp crack of a Martini–Henry; the firing gradually
wakes up on every side of us, the weird whisk of a bullet overhead is
varied by the hum of a leaden–coated stone or the shriek of a pot–leg
fired from a Matabele big–bore gun; and when these noises threaten
to become monotonous, they are suddenly enlivened up by the hurried
energetic “tap, tap, tap” of the Maxims or the deafening “pong” of
the Hotchkiss. As you approach the koppies, excitement seems to be in
the air; they stand so still and harmless–looking, and yet you know
that from several at least of those holes and crannies the enemy are
watching you, with finger on trigger, waiting for a fair chance. But it
is from the least expected quarter that a roar comes forth and a cloud
of smoke and the dust flies up at your feet.

[Illustration: THE ATTACK ON BABYAN’S STRONGHOLD: 20TH JULY
 The stronghold was a circle of rocky koppies round a small open plateau.
 Having gained this central position, we directed our attacks against the
 surrounding koppies in turn, and drove the enemy from them.]

It’s laughable to watch a Cape Boy prying into a cave with his long
bayonet held out before him, as if to pick some human form of winkle
from his shell. Suddenly he fires into the smoke which spurts from the
cave before him. Too late: he falls, and then tries to rise—his leg is
shattered. A moment later, three of his comrades are round him; they
dash past him and disappear into the hole, two dull, thud–like shots
within, and presently they come out again, jabbering and gesticulating
to each other; then they pick up the injured man by his arms and drag
him out into the open, and, leaving him there for the doctor’s party
to find, they are quickly back again for further sport. At one moment
they appear like monkeys on unexpected points of rock, at another like
stage assassins creeping round corners and shooting,—or being shot. As
we turn the corner, going up one of the paths, we find ourselves face
to face with a similar string of rebels trotting down the path. For
a moment the thought crosses one’s mind, Shall we stop to fire or go
for them? but before the thought has time to fashion itself, we find
ourselves going for them. Nor do they wait for our bayonets: they turn
helter–skelter, rushing up the path, diving among the rocks and grass,
for though fond of administering cold steel, it is the last thing they
wish to meet with themselves, and so we treat them to the next best
thing, a few well–aimed shots.

Out on our central rock again, we get reports from various detached
attacking parties, showing that at at every point the rebels are being
cleared or killed in their dens; but plenty of individuals of them
still are left, and of this we have practical demonstration in the
frequent visitation of bullets and other missiles, and some of them
do their shooting pretty accurately, the Maxim attracting the aim of
many a marksman among them. One of these marksmen we have nicknamed
“Old Pot–legs,” from the nature of the missile (the iron legs of Kaffir
cooking–pots) with which he treats us at intervals of ten minutes or
so. Another on the other side we have christened “Rinderpest,” because
he is a plague to us with his Lee–Metford rifle.

Meantime, several of our men have got hit, and have been brought in to
our central rock, some of them brought out at considerable risk, too,
by their officers and other men. But there are no stretchers to put
them on, our bearer corps of friendly natives, who had been detailed to
accompany the force, having entirely disappeared during the advance.
(We afterwards found that they had dropped the stretchers in the Tuli
River, and had dispersed themselves into the safest hiding–places they
could find.) Nor was our surgeon here at first, Surgeon–Captain Lunan,
for wherever firing was the hottest, there he went—to try and make it
hotter. So in the meantime we did the best amateur work we could on the
wounded men brought in. Of these there were six, all badly wounded,
in addition to two more killed; and it is a pathetic comedy to watch
the burly Royal Artillery sergeant transforming himself into a nurse
for the occasion with a rough good–heartedness that does not stop to
consider whether his patients are black or white.

[Illustration: AMATEUR DOCTORING
 We had two killed and six wounded. Our doctor was away in another part
 of the field, and our native stretcher–bearers had thrown away the
 stretchers and had bolted. So we established our “hospital” under the
 lee of a rock, and did what we could with “First Aid” dressings.]

At last the firing slackens off; our Maxim and our marksmen have
stopped the fire of “Rinderpest,” “Pot–legs,” and Co. for good, and
our parties return from their attacks in different directions, pretty
tired, but cheerful; and now, having cleared the stronghold, we might
well return to the main body, who are still in the main valley behind,
but without stretchers we cannot carry the wounded, so, while we take a
rest, our flag–waggers signal back for stretchers to be sent with white
men to carry them, and not the useless friendlies.

But, from our apparent inaction, the Matabele, who still are watching
us, gather that we are in some sort of distress; presently they are
calling to one another among the rocks between us and the main body,
and very soon we find that they are collecting in force in the Tuli
River gorge, intent on cutting us off should we attempt to rejoin our
friends.

[The above was written while we paused inactive on the field, waiting
for the stretchers.]

A piquet, which we had posted in this direction, soon became pretty
warmly engaged with them, but the only danger of the situation was the
danger to the enemy themselves, for our main body, quickly realising
the state of affairs, came down upon their rear, and in a few moments,
finding themselves between two heavy fires, this wing of the rebels
broke up in hurried flight, leaving some twenty of their dusky bodies
huddled dead among the yellow grass. Very shortly afterwards a string
of white men carrying stretchers, escorted by a squadron of the M.R.F.
on foot, came up to our position, and soon we were comfortably on our
way to rejoin headquarters.

During the return march I sent the Cape Boys skirmishing into the
strongholds on either side of us, but they found them, in every
case, completely clear of living enemies, though numerous bodies and
blood–trails spoke to the success of the morning’s attack.

On reaching the main body, we lunched and slept, while the surgeons
got to work on the wounded; among these, unfortunately, a number of
amputations were found necessary, on account of the terrible wounds
inflicted by the Matabele missiles.

We learned with much regret of the death of Sergeant Warringham, who,
while we were fighting in the stronghold, had been shot when scouting
down the Tuli gorge, and had been brought in under a nasty fire by
Colonel Bridge, Captain Vyvyan, and others, patrolling near him. The
party, Colonel Frank Rhodes among them, had lost several horses shot,
but, with the greatest luck, came out unwounded themselves, except
Lieutenant Taylor, who was slightly hit.

From daylight up till two o’clock we had been at it, and though
practically only the advanced force had been engaged, the action was a
complete success, and Babyan had been broken up in his own stronghold.
And since he is the great leader among them, having been one of
Lobengula’s most trusted indunas, and also having visited the English
in their own country, his defeat should have a great moral effect among
the remaining rebel chiefs.

During the afternoon we returned to camp, arriving there after dark.
A curious incident occurred on this march back, which might have had
unpleasant effects on the man concerned. Lieutenant Lowther of Coope’s
Scouts was sent on ahead of the column to call up another ambulance
from the camp, but in doing so he lost his way, and was missing for
the next two days, eventually turning up at Fig Tree Fort, some
five–and–twenty miles distant, having met with various adventures with
small parties of the rebels on the way.

_21st July._—It had been part of the General’s plan that while we
were attacking Babyan, Captain Laing with his column should also
simultaneously attack the enemy’s impi on the Inugu Mountain, some
eight miles to the westward. During our attack yesterday morning we
had heard Laing’s guns banging away in a very lively manner in the
distance, so that we had expected, on returning to camp, to get some
news from him, but none came. We accordingly sent off some native
runners to go and find him, and to bring back information, in case he
should yet be among the mountains, and we also sent a mounted patrol
down to where his camp should be had he been successful, and returned
into the main valley of the Malema River.

But we could learn nothing of him; the natives returned and reported
that he was cut off by the enemy from all power of communication.
Naturally this began to make us feel somewhat anxious, as I had already
reported on the danger of the gorges in the neighbourhood of the Inugu,
and of the knowledge the enemy had of their tactical strength. So this
evening the General desired me to take a strong patrol of a hundred
men, and go and find Laing.

We left camp soon after dark, and followed the Malema valley in the
moonlight, until we were in the pass in the mountains which led down
to the Inugu. My idea was to move through the outlying hills to strike
the spoor which Laing had made in going into the hills, and simply
to follow that track until I found him. Even to strike the spoor,
one had to pass through some very nasty country, parts of which were
in occupation of the enemy; but as their main strength would now
be collected against Laing, and those that were left behind would
probably be asleep, I did not expect much opposition on their part.
At length we successfully struck the spoor, but, to my great surprise
and delight, we found it was quite fresh spoor, leading _outward_ away
from the mountains, and it very soon brought us to within sight of his
camp–fires; so, sounding a few trumpet–calls as we went, in order to
show that we were no enemy, we made our way into his camp about eleven
o’clock.

We found he had had a good fight, having been attacked in laager after
he had got well inside the gorge; he had eventually driven off the
enemy with the loss of nearly a hundred, his own losses being three
whites killed and ten wounded, twenty–five friendlies killed or missing
and eighteen wounded, and eighteen horses and mules killed. We did not
wait longer than to hear the good news, but started back at once for
our own camp, which we reached at three in the morning, and, needless
to say, the General was delighted to be roused up to receive the news.

Captain Laing’s column had left their camp in the Malema valley on the
19th, and had gone into the pass alongside the Inugu Mountain, but
without seeing a sign of an enemy. They had gone on to the end of this
pass, hoping to find a route by which they might come into Babyan’s
stronghold from the southward, and thus co–operate with us in our
attack on the 20th. They laagered for the night with their waggons on
the evening of the 19th in the widest part of the Inugu pass.

Just before dawn on the 20th, they had stood to arms, as usual, when
suddenly a number of shots were fired close outside the laager, and
the outlying piquet came running in, accompanied, rather than pursued,
by a crowd of Matabele. No alarm could have been more sudden, but the
men, being all at their places, were able to open fire on the moment,
and their volley checked a rush that had evidently been carefully
organised, when it was within twenty yards of the waggons. Although
checked in their attempt, the enemy did not at once recoil, but kept
up an irregular and hasty fire from what cover they could then gain
among stones and grass; but, disheartened by the readiness with which
they were received, and the telling fire of the defence, they began to
get away by twos and threes into the better cover of the rocks which
commanded the camp on all sides. It was now that the column suffered
most, for the enemy, firing at short range, with good rests and from
safe cover, picked off men and mules with great frequency. At one place
in particular a number of their best marksmen were collected together,
and did great execution until the 7–pounder was turned on them, and,
firing case at 50 yards, effectually stopped their fire. The Maxim gun
had here, too, attracted the special attention of the enemy, and four
successive men were struck down while firing it, until Captain Hopper
himself finally took the saddle.

Then the friendly natives in the laager were sent out to make a
diversion, either to draw the enemy on or to frighten him out of
his position, in either of which cases he would give our Maxims and
rifle fire a chance. The enemy, suspecting they were going to be cut
off, took the latter course; they began to retire in large numbers,
in consequence of which the defenders were enabled to inflict heavy
loss upon them, and sent them flying scattered and disheartened. But
in their short outing a large number of our Native Levy were killed,
wounded, or became missing, probably, in the latter case, taking to
caves on their own account.

The column now continued its original work, namely, that of
endeavouring to get round to Babyan’s stronghold, but, finding their
course altogether barred by mountains, they turned back, and made their
way out to the camp where I found them. Their action had, however, much
simplified ours in Babyan’s stronghold that day, for Babyan, having
heard of the approach of Laing’s column towards Inugu, while as yet
he knew nothing of our moves, had sent part of his impi to assist the
Inugu rebels; this force had come upon the scene of Laing’s fight only
to meet their friends in full flight, and had, therefore, taken no
part in that battle; and in the meantime, during their absence, we had
smashed up their own main body in their stronghold.

_22nd July._—Forgot that I had been up all night, and went for a bit
of solitary exercise into the hills, to investigate some signs I
had noted two days before of an impi camped in a new place. After a
tedious bit of work, I found that they had decamped. I then went to
the neighbourhood of Babyan’s stronghold, but could see no natives
about there. Also, in accordance with the General’s instructions, I
selected a position in which to build a fort to command this portion of
the Matopos. I chose a point where there was open, fairly flat ground
for half a mile in every direction, close to a permanent stream, at
a spot where there was a mighty thorn tree which would serve for a
“crow’s–nest” or raised platform from which a look–out man could see
well in every direction, and where a Maxim gun would command the whole
of the ground round the fort. On return to camp, I drew out the design
and plan of the proposed fort, and in the evening again went out there,
taking with me a portion of Robertson’s Cape Boys to start work upon
it the following morning. This fort was named Fort Usher, being near
the site of one of Usher’s farms.

_24th July._—It is reported that the rebels have again returned to the
Inugu gorge, so Nicholson was sent off to–day with a strong party to
investigate. A second impi is reported to be about the Chabez valley
about twelve miles westward of us in the Matopos; from Buluwayo they
report that a third is near the town (Laing has been ordered to move
in that direction); while a fourth is said to be thirty–five miles
west of Buluwayo, and five hundred of Gambo’s friendly natives are to
go against it, accompanied by Chief Native Commissioner Taylor. This
makes things seem pretty lively, but so very often these reports end in
nothing, especially when they emanate from Buluwayo.

One thing that adds to the excitement this evening, is that on seven
hills around the camp we can see the signal–fires of the enemy burning,
which may mean that they are contemplating a big attack on us. We have
withdrawn the party who were out building the fort, and concentrated
them in camp, and I shall sleep with my pistol–belt on. (I generally
only sleep with my pistol under my pillow and the lanyard round my
neck—this latter precaution I never omit.)

We sleep soundly, yet very lightly, in camp. If any one comes within
ten yards of me,—however softly he may tread,—I wake up without fail.
Bedtime is looked forward to with some zest here, for early rising and
hard work all day make one pretty ready for rest by the evening, and
very soon after supper one makes for one’s blankets.

The bedroom is usually the lee–side of a bush or scherm of cut
branches. The bed—if you are luxurious, and are marching with
waggons—is a valise–roll, comprising waterproof sheet, cork mattress,
blanket, and small feather pillow—but what is more usual, is just your
blanket, and your saddle for pillow. One’s toilet for the night is
simple: doff hat, don nightcap, and loosen your boot–laces, or, if you
have them, change your boots for shoes. Then you are ready to sleep,
and to turn out on the moment if there is a night alarm.

If you have a fire at your feet, you place the butt of the longest log
close to your hand, so that during the night you can keep it stoked
without having to get up for the purpose.

And then you take a last look at the glorious star–spangled ceiling
overhead, and, until all is blurred in sleep, you see in the dark
mantle above you the veil of ignorance that shrouds the earth from
heaven’s light beyond—the starry points of brightness that tend to
light us are holes made in that covering by the work of good men, whose
example and whose teaching encourage us to try and take our little part
in letting in the light in imitation of the greater radiant orb—to
lighten up the darkness till the daylight dawns.




CHAPTER VII

OUR WORK IN THE MATOPOS

_25th July to 2nd August_

 Reconnaissance of the Chabez Valley—Kershaw completes the
 Reconnaissance—War Correspondents—Pack–train organised—A Night March and
 Attack on the Chabez Position—Successful Artillery Work by the Screw
 Guns—Cattle–raiding—Bowled over, but not wounded—Inyanda’s Stronghold
 cleared—Stores of Corn—Scene of Brand’s Fight of 10th April—“The Human
 Animal in Battle”—His State of Mind and Thirsty Condition.


_25th July._—To–day I have had a long day reconnoitring, taking Pyke,
Jan Grootboom, and Tagili. Pyke, as I have before indicated, is one
of the best among a very good lot of young Colonial officers serving
in Plumer’s corps; and a very keen and useful scouting officer. Jan
Grootboom is a Cape Boy of Zulu extraction, and is a man of exceptional
courage and soldierly ability. As one of Grey’s Scouts—and one who
loathed the ordinary Kaffir—said of him: “He is not a proper nigger;
his skin is black, but he has a white man’s heart. I will shake hands
with him.” He is a clever scout, and a daring spy—one who has no
hesitation in disguising himself as a Matabele, on occasion, and going
in among their women to gather information. And he is a first–rate
man in a fight. So, altogether, he was of the greatest service to me.
Tagili is a good native scout, and faithful, but not “in the same
street” with Grootboom.

We went into the Matopos, to the gorge of the Chabez River, about
fifteen miles east of camp. It is a very nasty bit of country, and
we had to keep our eyes open as we went, for we knew the rebels were
about, although we could see nothing of them. This is a particularly
dangerous sign; if they see you are a strong party, too strong for them
to attack or capture, they do not mind showing themselves, and they
come out to get a better look at you; but if it is a small party, and
one which they have hopes of, they will hide and lie low, in order to
get you in their grasp. I think they had hopes of us, for we got pretty
close to their stronghold, and saw where they ought to be, but not one
of them showed up. As we prowled around, we came across frequent tracks
not many minutes old; possibly they went and waited for us on the path
by which we arrived, but if they did so, they were sold, for we came
back by an entirely different route.

The Chabez River rises in the valley of the Umzingwane, and runs south
through the Matopos. It enters the Matopos through an enormous gorge,
in the cliffs and heights of which the rebels have numerous caves,
while they keep their cattle in the thick bush jungle along the river
banks.

We first approached the place by the upper ground among the mountains,
then, making our way round, we got into the Umzingwane valley, from
which we could look into the mouth of the gorge, and could see what an
impossible country it was for working in. We spent some time guessing
at the enemy’s position, determining which would be the best way to
attack them, and in mapping the ground; and then we retired a short
distance across the valley to a koppie, from which we could watch the
place without fear of anybody approaching us unseen.

But the way we had come was an impossible one for waggons, and I
wanted to ascertain whether it was possible to bring them by a better
route along the Umzingwane valley; so, leaving Pyke and Grootboom to
watch the stronghold,—for we hoped that as evening came on, the enemy
would light up their fires for cooking, and would thus betray their
position,—I made my way back along the valley in the direction of our
camp. Here I arrived after dark, having found this way also impossible
for waggons. It would therefore seem necessary to organise some pack
transport to take us to the Chabez stronghold, and afterwards, by the
Umzingwane valley, towards the strongholds of the eastern end of the
Matopos. Once here, we shall be on the Tuli–Buluwayo road, where the
waggons, having gone round by Hope Fountain, or by Buluwayo, could
rejoin us (_vide_ map, p. 103).

_27th July._—Major Kershaw took out a strong patrol for a further
reconnaissance of the Chabez position. He was able to get up to the
high ground overlooking the river gorge, and found that it broke up
into most difficult country, of koppies and bush and deep ravines
leading down to the river. While he was there, a good number of the
enemy showed themselves on the different koppies, evidently watching
his moves, but not inclined to attack him. On his return march to camp,
Major Kershaw, with one or two others, was riding at some distance from
the main party, when he came across a large party of the enemy going
towards the Chabez; he luckily saw them first, and was able to hide
until they had passed by.

Out in camp here Press correspondents have to bring me their messages,
in order to get them signed for transmission by the field telegraph,
and it is most interesting to see what marvellous news some of them
can manage to fake up out of very inadequate material. Anything to
be different from his rival! but is it always certain whether the
information sent is true or not? Poor old Mother Necessity is not “in
it” with a budding war correspondent. Many of them do not seem to
grasp the broader military features of what is going on; but the local
pressmen, being often fighting men themselves, are much the best in
this respect, and it is a great pity that it is not their news which is
cabled home.

_29th July._—To–day, when out scouting by myself, being at some
distance from my boy and the horses, I lay for a short rest and a
quiet look–out among some rocks and grass overlooking a little stream;
and I saw a charming picture. Presently there was a slight rattle of
trinkets, and a swish of the tall yellow grass, followed by the sudden
apparition of a naked Matabele warrior standing glistening among the
rocks of the streamlet within thirty yards of me. His white war
ornaments—the ball of clipped feathers on his brow and the long white
cow’s–tail plumes which depended from his arms and knees—contrasted
strongly with his rich brown skin. His kilt of wild cat–skins and
monkeys’ tails swayed round his loins. His left hand bore his assegais
and knobkerrie beneath the great dappled ox–hide shield; and, in his
right, a yellow walking–staff.

[Illustration: A MATABELE WARRIOR

 In his war–paint of white cows’–tails, and ball of feathers on his head,
 armed with assegais and shield.]

He stood for almost a minute perfectly motionless, like a statue cast
in bronze, his head turned from me, listening for any suspicious sound.
Then, with a swift and easy movement, he laid his arms and shield
noiselessly upon the rocks, and, dropping on all fours beside a pool,
he dipped his muzzle down and drank just like an animal. I could hear
the thirsty sucking of his lips from where I lay. He drank and drank as
though he never meant to stop, and when at last his frame could hold
no more, he rose with evident reluctance. He picked his weapons up,
and then stood again to listen. Hearing nothing, he turned and sharply
moved away. In three swift strides he disappeared within the grass as
silently as he had come. I had been so taken with the spectacle that
I felt no desire to shoot at him—especially as he was carrying no gun
himself.

_31st July._—We started on the war–path again. We broke up camp,
sending the waggons round to go by Hope Fountain on to the Tuli road,
there to meet us two days hence. Colonel Bridge had organised a
pack–horse train, and this now accompanied the column, carrying four
days’ supplies; but, as events proved, the horses, from overwork and
want of food, are scarcely up to the job.

In the evening we started on our march to the eastward, past the fort
which had been erected near Babyan’s old stronghold, and a couple of
miles beyond this we bivouacked, no fires nor lights being allowed.
At 3 a. m. we were roused up and continued the march. There was no
difficulty in finding the way, as I have got to know this ground pretty
well. The only difficulty was to lead so that the column, which was
marching in a big square, ready against an attack at any moment, should
be incommoded as little as possible by the frequent thick patches of
bush.

Just before dawn we arrived on Purser’s Farm, one of the most
delightful spots for a settler that I have seen in this country, but
with its homestead and gardens now all ruthlessly destroyed.

Here we formed ready for the attack against the high ground overlooking
the Chabez, which lay about a mile to our front. Kershaw, having
already been on the ground, was detailed to command the attack, while
I was sent round with Coope’s Scouts to have a look in at the back of
the position and to see whether a second effective attack could be
delivered from that direction. We accordingly got away down to a rocky
ridge which overlooked the entrance of the Chabez gorge; from this
point we had an excellent view of the back cliffs and their caves
which formed the enemy’s lair. And we sent back word to Colonel Plumer
that the guns would have a good opening here, and that the Cape Boys
would probably be able to deliver an effective attack. Presently we
could hear Kershaw’s men opening fire beyond the skyline of the ridge
overlooking the gorge, and we could see the enemy swarming out of their
caves to meet them. We accordingly worked our way nearer and nearer to
them, and for a long time we were unnoticed, but when, after a time,
the main body of our force began to appear in the valley, the alarm
cry of the enemy could be heard echoing along the heights; still they
seemed to consider us too distant to do them any harm, and they took no
precaution to hide themselves from our view.

In an incredibly short space of time M’Culloch with his mule–guns was
clambering up the rugged koppie on which we were posted, and the two
7–pounders were very soon fitted together and ready for action on the
summit of the rocks.

[Illustration:
THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF WAR
A Matabele officer’s lecture interrupted by an overhead shell. As seen
through my telescope.]

Meantime we could hear heavy firing going on among the heights
opposite, but could see very little of what was going on, as most of
it was taking place just over the skyline. But, seeing a small knot of
niggers clustered on one of the nearer ridges, the artillery let fly
a shell or two at them. It was very funny to note the effect of the
first one through my telescope. I was watching three men sitting on
the rock; one of them was talking eagerly to two others, gesticulating
with his right hand and scratching himself with his left. “Bang!” went
the gun close to my ear, but of course the little group before me
did not hear it; the man talked on and scratched away, it seemed for
well–nigh a minute. Suddenly the three of them were sprawling off the
rock in different directions, throwing themselves down apparently head
first, and then running for their lives! the shell had evidently just
passed over their heads. The next two or three shells were similarly a
little high, and burst out of sight on the other side of the ridge. It
afterwards turned out that they could not have been better sent, for,
dropping well into the next valley, they had scattered their charge
of shrapnel over the main force of rebels (four hundred men) who were
gathered there, and who had not then been found by Major Kershaw’s
party. A very few shells were enough for them; they scattered and fled
before they even came to blows with our men, merely given them a good
target as they retired down into the deep gorges of the lower Chabez
River.

This ended the skirmish, and we made our way down to the river and
there bivouacked for breakfast.

Then, leaving the dismounted men and guns and baggage, the mounted
part of the force went on for a raid towards the cattle valley near
Inyanda’s stronghold. We moved along the open valley close under the
foot of the Matopo Mountains for about four or five miles, till we
came on some cattle–paths leading from the grazing–grounds into the
hills. Following up the main one, we (Coope’s Scouts) found ourselves
in a very nasty little gorge leading in between the mountains. Leaving
our horses under a guard at the entrance, we clambered in amongst
boulders and thick jungle that blocked the little path. For about
half a mile it was as nasty a place to be caught in as one could wish;
then, getting on to rocks where the gorge opened out a little, we could
hear the cattle lowing, dogs barking, women and boys yelling, as they
evidently drove the herd from the farther end of the valley deeper into
the mountains; and, at the same time, along the heights on either side
we could see the Matabele gathering and moving to cut us off at the
entrance. Seeing it was useless to try and follow the cattle in such
a place, we amused ourselves in checking the boldness of the rebels
moving on the heights by throwing in our shot among them.

Then we made our way out again, and, remounting, continued our way
along the foot of the hills.

Riding along by myself in the bush, my heart jumped with joy when I
suddenly came upon the fresh spoor of cattle and of men leading into
another small valley; I sounded my whistle and started along on the
spoor, the scouts rounding up to me and taking up the trail just like
a pack of hounds. After tearing through the bush for a short distance,
we presently came upon a kraal in a secluded spot among the rocks; and
there were the cattle right before us, with the men driving them! The
men did not stop for us to catch them, but took refuge among the rocks,
and while one part of the scouts dismounted to cover the operation with
their fire if necessary, the remainder circled round the cattle and
headed them back from the hills, through the bush, out into the open
valley. One or two of the niggers in the rocks fired at us, and as we
were advancing towards them to dislodge them, I suddenly felt a blow on
my thigh as though someone had struck me with a hammer; it knocked me
down, and I turned round, thinking that I must have run against a tree
stump, but none was there; and then I realised that I had been struck
with a stone covered with lead, fired from one of these big bore guns.
It did not even cut me, but my thigh is now a mighty bruise, black
and blue all over and very stiff. Our only other casualty was Bodle’s
horse, which was struck with a Lee–Metford bullet through the hoof. In
the course of the intermittent firing which was going on I had to use
“Rodney” pretty freely, but it was for the last time, for, in helping
the men to catch some goats among the rocks, I broke his stock, and he
was useless to me for the rest of the campaign.

It was now getting late, and though part of our scouts had got among
the outlying kraals of Inyanda’s stronghold, we had now to make our
way back to camp, some six miles, very pleased with ourselves and very
tired.

_2nd August._—Started at 5.30 from our bivouac on the Chabez. As we
intended to camp the night on the Tuli road at the point where it
passes the Umzingwane River (at Dawson’s Store), we sent our pack train
direct to the spot, some twelve miles across the valley, while our main
body went on to complete yesterday’s reconnaissance. We moved along to
Inyanda’s stronghold, which is a lofty mountain of great pinnacles of
rock with jumbled boulders, caves, and bushy gorges (_vide_ map, p.
103).

First, we shelled the front of it, where the main kraal was situated,
until the rebels evacuated this point, and made their way to the back
of the mountain. A flanking patrol of ours to the right was suddenly
attacked by a strong party of the enemy, but the patrol held its own
well, and extricated itself cleverly from the difficult ground it was
in, without any casualties, having killed five of the enemy.

[Illustration: A CHANCE SHOT
 While investigating Inyanda’s stronghold after its capture, Captain
 Lloyd, our signalling officer, was struck by a chance shot through the
 leg. We found here a great store of grain packed in huge grass–woven
 baskets and stowed in the driest parts of the caves—as above shown.]

On the left we worked round through the bush to the rear face of the
mountain. Here were the caves which formed the grain–stores of the
rebels, and after shelling these for a short time, we sent up parties
to capture them. The enemy made no attempt to hold the place, but had
retired over the back of the mountain by the time our men had got up
to the caves; but one of them, firing a parting shot, wounded Captain
Lloyd, our signalling officer, through the lower part of the thigh.
Once more my pocket–case of bandages came in useful, as there was no
medical officer up there with us, but the wound was not a serious
one. We found very large stores of grain here, packed in immense
neatly–woven grass baskets made with a small mouth which was sealed
up with mortar; there were mealies (maize), inyaooti (Kaffir corn),
monkey–nuts, rice, dried melons, and Mahoba–hoba fruit, etc., these
were all stored in large, dry caves, of which the entrances had been
stockaded. We found many cooking–pots, shields, assegais, clothes, and
even children’s dolls; these latter were merely little clay models of
bodies with short arms and legs, but no heads, and these are said to be
of precisely the same pattern as the dolls of the ancients which have
been excavated in some of the old ruins of the country.

From Inyanda’s we moved on to the spot where I had formerly located
Sikombo’s impi. This we found deserted, but the size and extent of the
scherms still standing there showed that at least two thousand men must
have been lately in camp in them. We burned these, and, continuing our
march through the hills for another mile or two eastward, we came out
on the Tuli road just at the spot where it enters the Matopo Pass.

[Illustration: OUR FIELD TELEGRAPH
 The Engineer Corps (Volunteers) rigged a most effective and useful field
 telegraph between Buluwayo and field headquarters. The line was largely
 composed of ordinary fencing wire, and was reeled off from a home–made
 drum carried on an ordinary mule–waggon.]

It was here that Brand’s patrol was attacked on the 10th April by
overwhelming forces of rebels, and had a very tough fight of it before
they succeeded in getting clear of their attackers and in making their
way back to Buluwayo. Out of their party of a hundred and fifty, they
had lost five killed and fifteen wounded, and some thirty horses
killed; the dead had to be left on the ground, and there was only one
two–wheeled cart and a Maxim gun on which the wounded could be carried.
As no force had been out here since the fight, we halted for a space,
and went over the ground, and buried the remains of the killed. It
was very easy to follow the course of the fight by the footprints and
wheel–marks of the Maxim, which still remained, and by the carcasses
of the horses which were lying about the veldt. In the evening we made
our way back along the road to Dawson’s Store (ten miles), where our
pack–train had been joined by our waggons.

We have supped, and most of us are asleep, although it is not eight
o’clock yet.

       *       *       *       *       *

I have seen in the _Fortnightly_ an article on “The Human Animal in
Battle.”

It is interesting, but it doesn’t exactly tally with the impressions
gleaned from experiences here. Allowance must be made, of course,
for individual constitutions, but the author seems to imply that for
the generality, “courage is a powerful exercise of will to overcome
the more natural tendency to run away”; but it seems to me to be an
exercise that is put into practice very promptly and automatically by
some people.

He talks of the soldier as going into a fight with his mind full of the
question as to whether he is going to be killed, and if so—why? That
he then discovers that fighting is not pleasure, it is not sport; he
merely gets dazed, and all his senses are blurred.

As far as I know, men going into action are, as a rule, thinking of
anything but getting killed, and they are anything but dazed. If they
happen to think at all about anybody being killed, they do so as in
ordinary life—and death: they reckon on their neighbours dying, but not
on themselves.

There is naturally a sort of excitement which takes possession of one,
and which, I think, works on you to the same extent as a couple of
glasses of champagne. You forget all fatigue, and your wits are more
than usually sharpened.

This brightening of the wits is similar to that which occurs in the
case of an actor on the stage. Ask him in the wings, just before he
goes on, what are his next few lines, and he probably could not tell
you: he steps before the footlights, and at that same moment his mind,
I suppose, concentrates itself on the matter in hand, the lines come to
him without effort of memory, and his wits are about him to the extent
that if one of the “gods” interrupts with a bit of chaff, the actor
can rap back a repartee at him that would take him a month to work out
in cold blood. In the same way, one’s wits brighten in a fight: one
seems to see clearly in every direction at once, to grasp what the
enemy is at, and also what is wanted on one’s own side, before, around,
and behind one. The mind is clear and not confused, and is buoyed
with a feeling of elation and cheery excitement, but with a cruel
under–current, close below the surface, which the Kaffirs so aptly
describe as “seeing red.”

A little instance in a fight two days ago will illustrate my meaning.
A trooper coming back from the firing line with a message to the rear,
saw, as he passed, one of our Cape Boys skulking under cover behind
a rock. “For’ard on, Alexander!” he shouted cheerily, and picked up
a stone to playfully enforce his command. At this moment a Matabele
in a cave close by fired and just missed him; he merely altered the
direction and the force of his throw, and hurled the stone hard at the
cave instead of at the Cape Boy. Then with eager haste, mad with rage,
and swearing volubly, he dashed up the rocks to “give the nigger snuff.”

This sudden change from cheery light–heartedness to blood–thirsting
rage is one of the peculiarities of the mind during a fight.

Another curious statement in the article is that in action fear plays
some game with one’s secretion of saliva, and that an intense thirst
results. Speaking for myself, I have been in as great a funk as any
man of my weight and years; but I do not recollect any particular
thirst connected with it. I have for my part never seen much difference
between the thirst of the battlefield and that of the polo–field, the
cricket–field, or any other field, except perhaps one, the pig–sticking
field, which certainly can produce a thirst peculiarly its own, and one
which transcends that of any other pursuit—but even that thirst is not
the result of fear.

[Illustration:
Signaller  Baden–Powell, 13th Hrs. Turner, 42nd
Fraser, 7th Hrs. R. Moncreiffe Col. Plumer, Y. & L. Rgt.  De Moleyns, 4th Hrs.
(lying down)

COLONEL PLUMER AND STAFF

Watching a fight in the Matopos.]




CHAPTER VIII

FIGHTING IN THE MATOPOS

_3d August to 5th August_

 Scouting in the Matopos—An Enemy’s Lure—A Gallop after a Lady—Umzava,
 a Lady of Rank, tells us the latest Matabele News—Plumer marches
 against the Combined Impis under Sikombo—Beresford takes up Detached
 Party—Beresford’s Party attacked—A Tough Fight—The Main Body makes a
 General Attack—Our Scouts fight a Duel on the Mountain—A Beautiful
 but Tantalising View—The Cape Boys to the Fore again—Retreat of the
 Enemy—Our Return to Camp.


_4th August._—To–day we had a delightful patrol. At one o’clock this
morning I left camp (at Dawson’s Store on the Umzingwane), with
Richardson as interpreter, Jan Grootboom, Jonas, and three other
native boys, and went across the valley eight miles to the foot of the
Matopos. Our fighting against Babyan, and our subsequent raids along
the Matopos, had evidently disturbed the rebels at the eastern end
of the mountain. We knew that Sikombo, Inyanda, and Mnyakavulu had
retired from their original positions, as marked in my map (p. 103), to
a position a little more retired within the Matopos, but we were not
sure whether Umlugulu had also joined them in their concentration, and
I was now anxious to ascertain this, and at the same time to capture
one or two prisoners, if possible, who might serve as guides, or give
us information regarding the new positions taken up by the enemy.

As we got near to one of the hills, close to which I had already passed
on one or two occasions, we saw the twinkle of a watch–fire, and just
before dawn about half a dozen were lit there in succession, but
apparently lit by one or two men only, probably as a lure or a blind to
us. However, at dawn, we saw what they were, and we passed on _viâ_ the
Tuli road. At the point where this road passes through the end of the
eastern hills was the scene of Brand’s fight of the 10th of April. Jan
Grootboom had been with this column, and gave us a most circumstantial
account of the fight, taking special care to show us his own horse
where it lay shot dead. Father Barthelemy, who is with our force now as
chaplain, was also in this action, and did grand work, so they all say,
in helping the wounded and giving the last rites to those who wanted
it, whatever their creed.

[Illustration: MY BOY PREPARING BREAKFAST
 An important item in the day’s doings when out scouting was breakfast.
 For, as a rule, we had marched a good part of the night, and had
 reconnoitred during the early morning, so that by breakfast–time we were
 getting ravenous. A place had to be selected where we should be safe
 from surprise, and while one of us kept a look–out, the other lit the
 fire and boiled the “billy.”]

As we went down the road through the pass, we found the road barricaded
with trees which had been felled in such a way as to lie across it;
evidently a plan of the enemy’s to prevent Brand’s force from turning
back and escaping by the way they came. Just beyond one of these
barricades, we found the remains of a white man who had been killed in
that fight, a young fellow with light curly hair. The other bodies had
been buried during our visit of the 2nd inst.

We went on till we came to the ruins of a roadside hotel and store well
in among the mountains. Here we began to find fresh spoor of natives
moving about. After a short rest and breakfast, we went in closer to
Umlugulu’s stronghold, and by dint of careful climbing about the rocks,
and by spying with a good glass, we were able to see not only that the
enemy were there, but pretty well how they were located.

So that part of our work was accomplished; but I still wanted to catch
a prisoner—though I did not at first see my way to doing it. However,
in the course of our prowl, we presently came on fresh well–beaten
tracks, evidently of women and children going to and from the outlying
country, probably bringing in supplies. This seemed to offer us a
chance of catching some of them coming in, although, as the sun was
up, we had little hope of being very successful.

But luck was with us again, and we had hardly settled ourselves near
the path when I saw a couple of women coming along with loads on their
heads. The moment they saw us, they dropped their loads and ran, but
Richardson and I galloped for them, and one, an elderly lady, gave
herself up without any fuss; but the other, a lithe and active young
person, dived away at a tremendous pace into the long grass, and
completely disappeared from view. We searched about, and kept a bright
look–out for her, but in vain.

Then Richardson questioned the old lady, who proved to be very
communicative; she was apparently superintending the supply department
of Umlugulu’s impi, and was now returning from a four days’ visit of
inspection to the supply base in some of his villages in the district.
She was a lady of rank too, being a niece of Umzilikatze, and we should
not have caught her, so she said, had her escort not been a pack of
lazy dogs. She had four Matabele warriors with her, but they had
dropped behind on the path, and should not now be far off. This was
good news to us, and, calling up our Boys, we laid an ambush ready to
catch the escort.

[Illustration: RUNNING AFTER A LADY
 An unsuccessful attempt to capture a rebel girl. It was a race for the
 enemy’s stronghold, and the young lady won.]

While this was being done, I happened to catch sight of our young lady
stealing away in the distance. She was getting away at a great pace,
her body bent double to the ground, taking advantage of every bit of
cover, more like an animal than a human being. Away I went after her
as hard as I could go, and I had a grand gallop. When she found that
concealment was no longer any use, she straightened herself, and just
started off like a deer, and at a pace equal to my own; it was a grand
race through long grass and bush, the ground gradually getting more
rough and broken as it approached the hills, and this told in her
favour, for as her pace slackened for want of breath, my horse also was
going slower owing to the bad ground. So she ran me right up to the
stronghold, and just got away into the rocks ahead of me. I had, of
course, then to haul off, as to go farther was to walk into the hands
of the impi. The bad part of it was, that she had now got in there, and
would spread the news of our being about, and they would probably come
out and upset our little plan of catching the party on the road.

Then I made my way back to my patrol, but, finding that the enemy did
not come along, we guessed that they must have seen us and were hiding
themselves somewhere, and accordingly we spread ourselves out and
proceeded along their route for some distance, examining the grass and
bush as we went; but we failed to find them. (_P.S._—One of our scouts
in searching the bush actually came across them, but, being cut off
by them, hid himself in the neighbouring koppie till nightfall, when
he made his way back to camp and told us how the four Matabele were
stalking us when we thought that we were stalking them.)

Eventually we came out on to the plain by a different path than that
which we used on entering, and got back to the main body about noon,
having been out eleven hours.

The main body had now moved its camp to within a couple of miles of the
mountains, preparatory to attacking this end of the Matopos.

The old lady whom we had brought into camp, whose name is Umzava, is a
charming old thing, and after a good feed of meat is very communicative.

This afternoon I went for a short ride into the hills with De Moleyns
and Pyke; we got three shots at rebel scouts who were watching our camp
from the neighbouring heights, and we saw a good number on the hills
farther off; so they are evidently on the look–out for us.

Umzava, over a tin of meat this evening, confirms our idea that there
are five impis collected in the position within the hills near us. Many
of the rebels would like to give in, but their chiefs will not let
them. They are all much disheartened by the rapid successive blows that
they have had in the Matopos, especially as they had looked upon these
mountains as impregnable strongholds. The defeat of Babyan especially
had been a very severe blow; a large number of their best men had been
killed here, including five chiefs; and Huntwani, their leading induna,
had been severely wounded in the leg. The rebels are pretty well off
for meat, food, and ammunition, but are getting tired of war, as it
prevents the sowing of next year’s crop, and they are beginning to lose
faith in the M’limo, who had promised that all the whites should die of
rinderpest, instead of which the whites seem to be increasing every
day in numbers.

_5th August._—The column paraded in the dark at half–past four in the
morning, and moved off silently, without lighting fires or pipes, as
we were close under the heights occupied by the enemy’s look–outs. It
fell to me to act as guide, since I knew something of the country to be
traversed and the point where the enemy were posted. It meant passing
through the two outer ranges of hills and through a wooded pass into a
semicircular valley or amphitheatre, two sides of which were occupied
by the rebel impis. At sunrise we arrived in the pass leading into this
valley, where we were completely sheltered from view by the bush. The
back of the valley was formed by a single high ridge of smooth granite,
and from it five offshoots ran down into the valley like fingers from
the ridge of knuckles. At the tip of each of these fingers rose rocky
peaks among the bush and jungle of the lower valley; these peaks and
the fingers themselves form the strongholds of the individual impis. It
was evident that if we could get our guns into the commanding position
afforded by the knuckles, they would be able to bring an effective
fire to bear on each of the strongholds in turn, and thus prepare
the way for our storming them from the valley. Our force consisted
of the M.R.F., some of the police, Coope’s Scouts, Robertson’s and
Colenbrander’s Cape Boys, two mountain guns, the Maxims, Hotchkiss, and
rocket tubes, with friendly natives to carry them.

[Illustration: THE BATTLE OF AUGUST 5TH
 The sketch above will explain the nature of the operation which led to
 Colonel Plumer’s victory on August 5th—probably the most serious and
 important engagement which has been fought throughout the campaign in
 Matabeleland. Five allied impis of Matabele were attacked and completely
 routed. The position of Colonel Plumer’s main body at 7.30 a. m. is
 shown right in the foreground. At six o’clock the infantry, together
 with two screw guns, was detached under the chief command of Captain
 Beresford, with orders to advance to the right for the purpose of making
 a detour and shelling the valley preparatory to the general advance.
 While this force was moving forward, and as the guns were being taken
 over a small isolated koppie, the Matabele, who had carefully concealed
 themselves, made a sudden and determined dash upon them. It was then
 that Lieutenant Hervey was mortally wounded, several other officers
 and men being hit at the same time. The enemy were eventually beaten
 off, but Beresford was unable to advance until supports had been sent
 to him. At eleven o’clock Major Kershaw stormed the range of hills to
 the left, and here, while gallantly leading his men, he was shot dead.
 A cross marks the spot where he fell. Robertson’s attack was made at
 twelve o’clock, and at one o’clock the Matabele were in full retreat.
 The enemy’s total force was estimated at 4000 men and their losses at
 from 200 to 300. Our force numbered 760, of which we lost six killed and
 fifteen wounded.]

Colonel Plumer, who was commanding the force, now ordered the guns,
with a strong escort of one hundred and thirty men under Captain the
Hon. J. Beresford, 7th Hussars, to endeavour to gain a position on
the ridge, moving up that shoulder of it which might be termed the
thumb. With Beresford I sent two of my boys as guides and scouts, and I
told Beresford to keep a good look–out in going out, as he might find
Inyanda’s impi on the right of his path, while the remaining four were
away to his left.

At 7.30 this party moved off to our right front. The main body meantime
were to remain concealed where they were until the guns got into
position for shelling the strongholds, upon which it would move forward
and attack them in succession.

While we were waiting, I climbed up on to a neighbouring koppie to
have a look round with my telescope. On almost every hill I could see
natives, and on one hill in particular which overlooked the path where
I had been scouting yesterday, and by which they evidently expected us
to arrive, were collected a large number of their scouts. It was great
fun watching them through the glass, as they seemed so close to one,
and were entirely unconscious of one’s presence. One or two kept an
anxious look–out to the eastward (we were due west of them), while the
remainder in a hidden position were having their breakfast. Presently
the glint of the arms of Beresford’s party attracted their attention,
and their consternation was almost ludicrous to watch; on all the other
koppies one could see that the alarm had spread, and without noise or
shouting the rebels were stealthily collecting together under arms.

Beresford had been gone for nearly an hour, when presently we heard him
open fire; there was a rattle of a few shots, quickly followed by a
roar of volleys and rapid sustained fire; this, echoing back from the
hills around, developed into a continuous roar, which was added to by
the roll of the Maxims and the booming of the bigger guns. This was a
sound we had not expected to hear, as we thought there could not have
been any very serious attack so early in the day in such an outlying
portion of the field, but we had not reckoned upon the rapidity in
which the enemy would move this day.

So soon as we recognised that serious fighting was on hand, Colonel
Plumer sent Captain Coope with a patrol to see how Beresford was
getting on. Coope worked his way round, and later on reappeared with
the information that Beresford in the course of his march had been
suddenly attacked by the enemy converging on him from three sides at
once; he had formed his small party into a square on a convenient
plateau, and there for over an hour remained hotly engaged, the enemy
rushing up to within a few yards under the good protection afforded
by the boulders and bush. It was a stiff and plucky fight on both
sides. The enemy, rushing on in great numbers, seemed confident of
overwhelming the little force opposed to them; but the whites were
ready for them, and opened a steady, destructive fire on them, which
checked them time after time. Some natives having effected a lodgment
in some rocks commanding the position, Lieutenant Hervey was ordered to
dislodge them with a few of his men, and it was while dashing forward
to do so that his sergeant–major was shot dead, and he himself fell
mortally wounded through the body. His place was at once gallantly
taken by Mr. Weston Jarvis, who had sauntered out with a gun to look at
the fun, but proved himself a cool and able leader in a tight place.

At one moment, seeing a volley from the enemy was imminent, the order
was given by one of the officers to his men to take cover. The men in
charge of the Maxim by mistake took this order as applying to them and
left the Maxim, in order to take cover as directed; in an instant the
rebels saw their chance, and made a rush to get the gun. Llewellyn,
the officer in charge, saw their move, and jumped forward himself and
alone to counteract it. It was a race for the gun; Llewellyn was there
first, and, jumping on to the saddle, turned its stream of fire on to
the natives, who were within a few yards of him, and they turned and
fled, falling to the fire. The native muleteers behaved very pluckily,
taking their carbines and assisting in the defence; the friendly
natives who had been employed in carrying the Maxims and Hotchkiss
showed very little heart; they crept in and took cover under the back
of the mules, excepting one or two, who, when the enemy were close up,
got away and joined their ranks. The guns were excellently served,
firing case into the enemy at 50 yards; both the officers in charge of
the guns—Lieutenant M’Culloch, R.A., and Lieutenant Fraser, West Riding
Regiment—were wounded, but both continued to work with the battery.

[Illustration: AFTER THE FIGHT
 Scene of Beresford’s fight in the action of 5th August, with the
 1–pounder Hotchkiss (on the left), a rocket trough, and 7–pounder (on
 the right), still in position. The gully in front of the guns is that in
 which the enemy concentrated for their attacks. They lost heavily when,
 on account of a flank attack by our main body, they had to retire over
 the rise beyond. The bald rock mountain at the back (much reduced from
 its proper proportion by the camera–lens) is where we (Coope’s Scouts)
 got to eventually and had our “duel.” The trees in the foreground were
 all ripped and torn by bullets.]

At one time a war rocket was fired, partly as a signal and partly
to obtain a moral effect, and it certainly succeeded in the latter
respect, for after its unearthly bang a dead silence seemed to come
over the scene, both sides ceased firing as if by common consent, and
then the weird notes were heard of Sikombo’s war–horn reverberating
through the mountains with a sound like that of a steam siren, calling
up reinforcements for the fight.

But meantime, hearing what was going on there, Plumer ordered an
immediate advance of his main body. Coope’s Scouts were to lead the
way, supported by the two corps of Cape Boys, backed up by the M.R.F.
As we came out into the valley from our position, we could see the
enemy collected in front of Beresford; they were not then actively
attacking him, but they were evidently ready and awaiting further
reinforcements, but our appearance soon changed their plans. Retreating
hastily from the immediate neighbourhood of Beresford’s position, under
fire of his Maxims, they retired on to the next ridge (or fore–finger)
to him, many of them getting into position at the koppie at the end of
it. This ridge we at once attacked; pressing on with Coope’s Scouts, we
were at the foot of the ridge almost as soon as the enemy were on to
the upper part of it, and here the fun began. Dismounting and leaving
our horses under cover of the rocks, we commenced to clamber up the
hill, firing whenever we got a chance. They were firing back at us,
but, as a rule, well over our heads; we were in much greater danger
from our friends behind. The Cape Boys, who were supporting us, came
swarming across the open at the double, every man firing as he ran; men
100 yards in rear as gaily as those who were leading the rush, none of
them stopping to take much aim. However, the moral effect on the enemy
was all that could be desired. He had not settled himself into position
on this ridge before he found the swarm of whites and Cape Boys
assailing it, and it required very little pressure to make him quit and
take up a better position with the supporting impi on the next ridge.

But those of the enemy who had succeeded in getting into the koppie
at the end of the first ridge were evidently determined to hold their
own there, and they opened an unpleasantly accurate fire upon us from
this coign of advantage. During a pause for breath in the course of the
rush, I was talking to Schroeder, the war correspondent, when a fellow
had a crack at us from the koppie and cut up the sand between our feet;
we then adjourned our conversation to the lee–side of a big rock.

[Illustration: THE DEATH OF KERSHAW
Shot while leading his squadron to the attack of some caves.]

Kershaw’s squadron was now called up to assault this koppie, while I
was recalled to take Coope’s Scouts round by Beresford’s position,
and, if possible, to work round the flank and rear of the enemy, to
observe and report what was going on in that direction. I gathered my
party and rode off accordingly, and a parting salute from the defenders
of the koppie whistled harmlessly over our heads as we went. It was
shortly afterwards, in carrying out the storming of this koppie, that
poor Kershaw was shot with two bullets through him at the entrance of
the main cave, and his sergeant was shot through the head at the spot
where I had been talking to Schroeder, probably by the same man who had
fired at us.

On passing through Beresford’s party, I only stopped a few moments to
hear his report and to say a word to the wounded, and then rode on,
after a handshake with one or two friends. The curious look in the eyes
of some of these men who had been near to death haunted one for some
time after.

After leaving him, for about half a mile we began the ascent of the
ridge, and a very nasty place it was. It was a single narrow track
going diagonally up the face of the cliff, very steep and rocky,
so that we had to go in single file, leading our horses. We were
completely at the mercy of any enemy who liked to come and fire down
upon us from above, or who liked to cut in on the path after we had
passed up it. In order to prevent this as far as possible, and also to
guide supporting parties on to our track, we left one or two men at
points along the path.

Finally, on nearing the top, we halted and concealed our horses in
the bush. Coope went on ahead as leading scout, and had a look over
the crest, and returned to say that the enemy in long strings were
retreating across the ridge about half a mile beyond, and that if we
could get a few men up to assist us,—we did not number more than half
a dozen at this point,—we should have a grand chance at them. He also
said that there were some goats close by, and he thought he had heard
men’s voices.

I then went up with him to have a look, and could see the enemy getting
away as he described. To get up here we had quitted the path for the
last 40 yards, and had climbed on to some rocks overlooking it; and
now, when Coope went back to bring up the men, I came in for a little
fun on my own account.

The bleating of goats was continuous close by, and then I saw the
reason: two goats had been tied up, twenty yards apart from each other,
in order to make them bleat. Close by, behind a rock, were seated eight
niggers, evidently lying in ambush waiting for us to come up the path,
following the attractive sound of the goats’ voices, and here was I
in a position where they did not expect me! Suddenly one of them saw
me, and they took the alarm and dived down to the other side of the
rock, but one with a gun stood for a moment looking for me, and gave
me a very good chance; he did not join the others behind the rock, but
dropped where he was.

They then opened fire on me, but I was in long grass, and merely had
to lie down to be quite safe, shifting my position a few yards each
time before I returned their shots. I was very quickly joined by half
a dozen men, and we had quite a little duel with this piquet of the
enemy; but it had the bad effect of bringing more of them upon the
scene, and although they had not the pluck to come out and drive us
back, they effectively barred us from getting any farther forward.

However, from where we were, on the summit of the ridge we had a
splendid bird’s–eye view of the whole of the battlefield, and a good
view also of those parties of the enemy who were already in retreat.
Too good a view, in fact; it was like a bad dream to see this beautiful
opportunity for a pursuit, and yet to find oneself tied by the leg from
want of men.

[Illustration: CAPE BOYS BARING THEIR FEET FOR THE ATTACK
 The rocks were so smooth and steep that the Cape Boys took off their
 boots to get a better foothold.]

I now began to signal down to Plumer, telling him the state of affairs
up here, and asking for more men to come and join in the pursuit, but
the reply came back that every man was now employed in making a final
attack on the koppies in the valley below; and from where we stood we
had a beautiful view of what was going on.

The Cape Boys had worked their way round to the enemy’s right as far
as the third and fourth ridges, and did some pretty hard fighting as
they went. In one place they found the rocks so steep that they had to
take off their boots in order to obtain sufficient foothold, and at one
point a counter attack on the part of the enemy in overwhelming numbers
pressed them back for a bit. Robertson, Serjeant, and Hubert Howard led
this attack, the latter getting wounded in the foot.

The M.R.F. and the police attacked the central portion of the enemy’s
position with great steadiness and determination, and drove him out of
one position after another, until at last the enemy seemed to give up
all hope of continuing the struggle, and strings and parties of them
could be seen making off over the hills in all directions, followed
wherever they made a good target by the fire of the Maxims and the
7–pounders. Had we had more men where I was, we could have carried out
a most effective pursuit; but, after all, the smashing they got was
sufficient in itself, and after a time the firing died down, and we
could hear the trumpet sounding the recall.

Making my way down to Plumer in response to a signal from him, I found
him on the knoll where Beresford’s party had been attacked. Although
naturally satisfied with the result of the day’s work, Plumer was
evidently affected by the loss of his friend and right–hand man,
Kershaw.

We now found that out of our force of seven hundred, five had been
killed and fifteen wounded, and among the latter was Lieutenant Hervey,
for whom there is little hope. The enemy’s force was estimated at from
four to five thousand men, and of these we killed between two and three
hundred.

To our great surprise, we found that it was already three o’clock;
the day had flown by very quickly. We then reformed the column for
marching back to camp, the wounded being taken on stretchers carried
by Cape Boys; and I was placed in command of a strong party to act as
a rearguard to prevent any attacks from the enemy when moving through
the defiles. As we moved slowly away, burning everything inflammable as
we went, in the way of huts or long grass, we could see small parties
of the enemy going about the field picking up the dead and wounded,
and at one point one of our parties engaged in the same work was fired
upon by some of the enemy in a koppie, and the rearguard went to their
assistance; we found they were bringing out the body of Sergeant
M’Loskie laid across the saddle of a spare horse.

[Illustration: IN THE MIDST OF LIFE
 The above shows the mule battery moving off from Beresford’s position
 after the fight of 5th August. The grave is that of one of the men who
 had just before been killed in the action—but previous to leaving we
 took down the cross again, as it could only show the enemy’s stragglers
 where a white man was buried, and they were always anxious to exhume
 bodies for the purpose of making fetish–medicines from them. (It will
 be seen that the mule beyond the grave has a carbine strapped on to its
 pack–saddle; this had carelessly been left loaded and at full–cock,
 consequently, when passing the next bush, a twig caught the trigger and
 fired the carbine—the bullet hitting the grave. Many a man has nearly
 been shot by an ass, but I claim to have been nearly shot by a mule.)]

[Illustration: BRINGING AWAY THE DEAD
After the action at Sikombo’s, 5th August.]

Just as we were leaving the hills, a fairly large party of the enemy
appeared, following us up and jeering at us. Our boys shouted back
at them, and discovered that they were part of Umlugulu’s impi, who
had been detached early in the morning to a distant point in another
direction where they had expected our attack to come from, and they
only arrived on the scene now, to find it was all over. We gave them
a parting long–range volley, which effectually stopped them from
following us any farther, and just as darkness was coming on, we got
out on to the open beyond the mountains.

It was long after dark before we got back into camp. And it was then
a curious contrast to see the men being cheered into camp by those
who had been left as camp guards, as they marched in singing “The Man
who broke the Bank at Monte Carlo,” while here and there between the
flickering camp fires the heavy stretchers could be seen slipping
quietly past to the hospital.

The following was our roll of casualties in this fight. It is curious
what a large proportion of them are officers and non–commissioned
officers. Seven officers, eight non–commissioned officers, and three
troopers.

_Killed_, 5.

 Major F. Kershaw, 2nd Battalion York and Lancaster Regiment.

 Sergeant Oswald M’Loskie,—

 Sergeant William Gibb,—

 Sergeant Innes Kerr (all of the Matabeleland Relief Force), and

 Battalion Sergeant–Major Alexander Winstree, Matabele Mounted Police.

[Illustration: THE OPERATING TENT
 The night after the action was a busy one for the doctors. The bad
 wounds inflicted by the enemy’s curious guns and missiles necessitating
 very numerous surgical operations. Luckily, the medical staff organised
 by Dr. Strong, assisted as it was by two skilful surgeons of the Red
 Cross Society, Messrs. Sutcliffe and Redpath, was quite equal to the
 occasion.]

_Wounded_, 15.

 Sergeant–Major W. M. Josephs, M.R.F., slightly.

 Sergeant Arthur E. Brabant, M.R.F., slightly.

 Trooper W. M. Currie, M.R.F., severely.

 Troop Sergeant–Major Rawlings Dumeresque, M.R.F.

 Trooper Alfred John Evelyn Holmes, M.R.F., severely.

 Trooper Thomas Gordon, M.M.P.

 Captain Windley, B.F.F.

 Lieutenant the Hon. Hubert Howard, of Robertson’s Cape Boys.

 Lieutenant Robert H. M’Culloch, Royal Artillery.

 Lieutenant Norman Warden Fraser, 2nd Battalion Duke of Wellington’s West
 Riding Regiment.

 Captain Charles H. Fowler, M.R.F.

 Corporal Richard Turnbull, M.R.F., and two Cape Boys, slightly.

 Lieutenant H. J. Hervey, M.R.F., dangerously (since dead).




CHAPTER IX

THE FINAL OPERATIONS IN THE MATOPOS

_6th August to 10th August_

 Patrol to the Back of Umlugulu’s Stronghold—We toy with the
 Enemy—Capture their Cattle—Reconnaissance in the Matopos—Night March—Do
 not speak to the Man at the Wheel—Delays in a Night March—The Penalty
 of Non–Alertness in a Piquet—Mnyakavula’s Stronghold—More of Umlugulu’s
 Cattle captured—Duels with the Enemy—Enemy serenade us in Camp—A chilly
 Night—Hints to young Leaders.


_6th August._—It is a sad shock to sit in one’s little mess of half
a dozen comrades once more, and to find two of them are missing from
the meal. Poor Kershaw and Hervey! Now and then one is on the point of
calling to the usual sleeping–place of one or other of them to bid him
come and eat, when suddenly the grim, cold recollection strikes you—“He
is yonder—dead.”

Poor Hervey took his mortal wound as though it were but a cut finger,
yet knowing that he was fast passing away. Now and then he sent
for those he knew to come and see him and to say good–bye. He was
perfectly possessed and cheery to the last, and happily without much
pain.

Poor chap, this was his first fight. He had been the paymaster to the
forces, and had asked me to get him some appointment in the field. When
he joined us in camp, I could not for the moment find a billet for
him, till it occurred to me that there was a small company of men who
had come up from Kimberley without an officer. They were so deficient
in belts and bayonet scabbards that they always went with bayonets
“fixed,” and had thus gained for themselves the nickname of “The
Forlorn Hope.”

On suggesting “The Forlorn Hope” to Hervey, he was delighted, and it
was at their head he so gallantly met his death.

His death is to me like the snatching away of a pleasing book half read.

And Kershaw was the very type of a cool, brave, energetic officer. His
loss to our little force is irreparable.

Colonel Plumer sent me to–day in command of a patrol of a hundred
mounted men, to go round by a new way to the back of the position
occupied by Umlugulu; to burn kraals, etc.; to ascertain whether the
rebels were still there, and if so, to show them that we were none
the worse for yesterday’s fight. As soon as we got round the end of
this mountain, we found numerous tracks of people going in there,
fresh that morning, and we could see smoke rising from several parts
of the stronghold; and presently the appearance of scouts on various
points of the ridge showed us that the rebels were still there. At one
point I climbed a small mountain to have a look round, while the men
dismounted, and rested their horses at the bottom. A few minutes after
I had started to go up, De Moleyns followed me. I did not know till
afterwards that we formed quite a little procession. First I came;
then came one Matabele, followed by a second, assisting him,—they were
stalking me from rock to rock; after the Matabele came De Moleyns,
similarly stalking them. Near the top I suddenly changed my course, and
came back unexpectedly on the flank of the two Matabele, who thereupon
took to their heels in another direction.

From my look–out place I could see a gorge leading into the mountains
at the back of Umlugulu’s stronghold; I accordingly mounted the men,
and proceeded warily, under cover of the bush, to this valley. On
arriving near the entrance of it, two or three of us dismounted, and
climbed to the top of a small koppie which commanded a view of the
stronghold. Here we could see a good number of Matabele collecting on
the heights as well as on the lower slopes. Taking a few mounted men,
we made a show of entering the valley, whereupon those of the enemy
who were on the heights proceeded to show themselves conspicuously,
evidently hoping to draw us on to attack them, while those in the
bottom of the valley took cover and concealed themselves in the bush to
form an ambuscade, to catch us on the one path which we should have to
follow. So we played with them for a bit.

Suddenly De Moleyns, who had been scouting farther along the range,
came galloping in, to tell us that a herd of cattle were being driven
in from the plains towards the mountain at racing pace. Leaving one
troop to keep the attention of the enemy engaged in the valley, I made
a dash with the remainder of the squadron to intercept the cattle. Such
a yelling from the women on the hill–tops, and counter–yelling from the
men in charge of the cattle! For some little time we could not see the
cattle, owing to the thickness of the bush, and fearing lest it might
only be a ruse to draw us on, I kept part of the squadron back as a
reserve; but this yelling of the ladies persuaded me that they were
really alarmed for their cattle, and when a bit of open ground showed
us that it was a good herd of mixed cattle and sheep, I saw that no
trap was intended, and that we really were on the track of their meat
supply. In a few minutes more, after an exciting race, our leading
troop succeeded in heading the cattle, just as they were entering a
small hidden gorge in the mountain, and we brought them triumphantly
away. Then, withdrawing the remainder of my force, which had continued
to toy with the enemy in the main valley, we made our way home.

This loss of their cattle had evidently violently enraged the rebels,
and they ran along the heights parallel to our march, calling us all
sorts of names and yelling dire threats. This practice of shouting
defiance and insult is very common with the Kaffirs; but their wit is
not, as a rule, of a brilliant order, and we can generally produce
something better on our side, which effectually silences the enemy. One
remark which never fails to make them squirm, and which we therefore
generally reserve for a telling “last word,” is the following pertinent
question:—“Why are your crops not sown yet? Are your prospects of a
harvest very gaudy, now that you are living shut up among the rocks
like ‘dassies’ (rock–rabbits), and dare not show your faces in the
fields?”

To–day, again, the enemy recognised me individually, and saluted me
with threats, yelling my name, “Impeesa,” with savage intensity.

As we should have to traverse a somewhat dangerous path before we
could arrive at our camp,—the same pass, in fact, in which Brand had
been attacked, and so nearly done for,—I sent on a message to Plumer,
asking for a few men to be sent there to cover our passage through it.
Meantime, as we went along, we destroyed seven of the enemy’s kraals,
and added to the picture by burning much of the long grass _en route_.
Although the enemy gathered in some numbers about the pass, having seen
that we were reinforced, they did not venture to attack us, and we got
back into camp all safely with our loot shortly after dark. The cattle
formed a very welcome addition to our commissariat.

_8th August._—I was sent to find a good road by which the column could
gain a commanding central position among the strongholds of the enemy.
I had with me Captain Coope and several of his scouts. We made our
way by various tracks and gorges to a koppie near to where Captain
Beresford had his fight on the 5th. From the top of this koppie we
were able to see the line of country the column would have to take; and
from it I could see the spot where the enemy’s piquet had laid their
trap for us in the fight of the 5th. Through my glasses I could see
that the piquet was still posted there, and that among their number was
a Cape Boy dressed in European clothes. While watching them, I noticed
ten Matabele sneaking down towards the foot of our koppie from another
direction, and we did all we could to entice them to come at us; but
they were too suspicious, and gave no chance to our hidden escort of
capturing them. So, having seen for ourselves all that we wanted, and
having taken the necessary bearings, we made our way back to camp.

That night reveillé was whispered at 11.30. It was a curious time for
reveillé, and utterly puzzled our cook; we had supped at seven, and it
was not time for morning coffee; however, Rose (Rose was not a clean
white–capped and aproned maid, but a horny–handed pioneer) was equal
to the occasion, and hatched us out some bovril in a pile of embers
(for no fires were allowed). Taking with us two days’ rations, we moved
off silently, on foot for the most part, only the scouts taking their
horses, and these, for the present, were led in rear of the column.
So silent was our departure that my two native trackers did not awake
to accompany us, and I presently found that the task of guiding fell
on my shoulders alone, which is all very well for a bit, but becomes
tiring when carried on for some hours; the strain of constant attention
is very great, and the want of trustworthy assistance to confer with at
doubtful points becomes much felt.

I was finding my way chiefly by the stars, and, during the first part
of the march, by our old spoor. But now and again men would come up
to advise me, with the comforting assurance that we were going wrong,
and would endeavour to put me on the right line,—one, indeed, had his
advice prevailed, would have taken us directly into a camp of the enemy.

Nothing is more distracting than such interruption, and nothing is more
calculated to make one really lose one’s bearings.

The maxim, “Do not speak to the man at the wheel,” should ever be
borne in mind, and acted up to, by those with a column who think they
know better than the guide. If they think that he is going wrong,
they should hold their tongues, but should also note every mark by
which they may find their way back on to the right line, should he
eventually have to confess himself lost.

But no interference with him should be allowed by word or move. This
applies equally by day as by night. Over and over again I have found
myself confused or harassed by amateur scouts and guides crowding on to
one, and sometimes even going ahead, talking and joking, not the least
recognising the state of mind of the man responsible for the direction
of the column.

However, we got along all right, over villainous ground; but the way
was not hard to find, because I had merely to follow our own spoor of
the morning, and this I did by feeling it through my thin–soled shoes,
rather than by finding it with my eyes, for which the night was very
dark.

The column came along in the following order: first, Coope’s troop of
scouts, then a squadron of the armed police, the corps of Cape Boys,
the screw–guns on mules, four squadrons of Plumer’s corps, followed by
the led horses of the scouts and the rearguard.

The pace, as is always the case in a night march, was exceedingly slow;
every small stream, or ridge of rocks, or piece of tangled bush caused
long delays, and the head of the column had continually to halt, or
to move at a very slow pace, in order to enable the rear to close up.
In Ashanti, where, similarly, we had to move in long strings in single
file, I have found it necessary to halt the head of the column for as
much as an hour after getting over a fallen tree with a small brook
alongside, so long did it take the column to get over the obstacle in
the dark and to close up to its proper distance again. Similarly, in
this case we came to a small rocky pass, of less than fifty yards,
which delayed us for an hour. Much of the delay was caused by horses
losing their footing and getting down among the rocks; the battery
mules, wonderful beasts that they are, came over without a mishap, but
the horses seemed perfectly helpless in the dark, and eventually got so
far behind that they lost touch with the column. The officer in charge
of them, finding himself hopelessly detached, made all snug for the
night, and eventually got back to camp in the early dawn. Luckily, my
orderly, Parsons, who had charge of my horse, and consequently of my
two days’ food, managed to keep touch with the column, as did also the
leaders of four or five other horses.

The difficulties of keeping up connection were increased by our
having to maintain absolute silence, and not showing lights of any
description. Close above our path we could see the smouldering
watch–fires of the enemy, and it speaks well for the order of the force
that it passed so near to them without arousing their suspicion.

At length, after struggling on through thorny bush and over broken,
hilly ground for six hours, we found ourselves, an hour before dawn,
at the foot of the ridge which commands this part of the Matopos. Here
we rested a while, hoping that the horses might rejoin us. I was but
lightly equipped for this night march,—a flannel shirt and breeches
well–ventilated by wear and tear; as long as we were moving, I was all
the better for it, but when it came to lying about in the chill of
the early morning, I began to feel the cold, and as I lay in the long
grass, I wrapped it round me to form a kind of blanket. As the dawn
came on, we proceeded to ascend the ridge by the narrow path along the
face of the cliff, which my party had taken in the fight of the 5th. We
approached the top with all precaution, and surrounded the spot where
we expected to find the Cape Boy and his piquet, but to our regret
we found they were not there; this evidently was their post by day,
whereas their night quarters were somewhere farther back. And shortly
afterwards we found them. There was a lively ten minutes between them
and our Cape Boys among the rocks, and just as we were about to send
reinforcements, our boys returned jubilant, having driven out the
Matabele, killing four and getting one of their number wounded,—the
bullet having struck his bandolier and glanced through his arm.

From our position on the top of the ridge we had a splendid view of
jumbled mountain–tops and rocky, bush–grown gorges stretching in every
direction,—a brutal country for military operations, but a splendid one
from a rebel’s point of view. The ridge itself forms a kind of backbone
or watershed through the mountains, and is passable throughout its
length for troops and mule–guns.

Passing round the scene of the fight of the 5th, we came to the
mountain which formed Mnyakavula’s stronghold, a place covered with
huts among the bush and boulders, and evidently full of caves. It
was practically deserted, but still one or two niggers were to be
seen about, so we fired a few shells into it to show there was no
ill–feeling, and then sent some Cape Boys to examine it and to destroy
the kraal. In going over it we found innumerable fresh blood–stains
about the rocks, showing where wounded men had been brought in, and in
two of the caves we found a number of dead bodies,—all showing how
heavily the garrison of even this one small stronghold had suffered on
the 5th.

Here we halted for breakfast, each of us boiling our own “billy,”
but having to share our eatables to a certain extent with those
unfortunates whose horses had been lost during the night.

Then we pushed on again towards Umlugulu’s stronghold, the same which
we had reconnoitred from the rear the day before yesterday. Here we
hoped to find some enemy, because this impi was one which took no real
part in the fight of the 5th, and had therefore not been broken up by
us. As we approached the place, we could see numbers of men gathering
both on the right and on the left of our mountain; dogs were barking to
the left, and women yelling. The guns were quickly unlimbered, and were
soon sending their shells crashing into the gullies of the opposite
mountain. A futile fire was returned, the distance was too great, and
presently the enemy could be seen creeping away by twos and threes to
safer and more distant retreats.

Once more my telescope did me a good turn. I saw a very
suspicious–looking stone deep down in the canyon below us. I aimed the
glass for it, and my heart jumped when I saw it was what I had hoped
for, a cow looking out of a hole in the rocks. I could then see that
there were others in the cave behind it, and, sending down a party of
Cape Boys, they soon were in possession of a herd of thirty head.

[Illustration: SHELLING THE ENEMY OUT OF THE MATOPOS
 The artillery gun is called by English–speaking natives “the By–and–by,”
 because after it has been fired there is a pause, and “by and by” the
 shell arrives at its target. The 7–pounder mountain gun has proved most
 useful from its portability and accuracy.]

Then I went on with three others to find a fresh position for the guns,
and to reconnoitre a neighbouring valley. We found a place for the
guns, and sat there admiring the view, while De Moleyns went off about
two hundred yards from us to find a way down between the rocks into the
valley. We saw him coming back towards us, and just as he got within
fifty yards, there was a yell, two shots, and De Moleyns, hatless, came
galloping in like mad. Some half a dozen Matabele were stalking up to
us among the rocks; he had come unexpectedly among them, and they had
missed him at about ten yards. We banged away at where we saw their
smoke, and they replied, but very soon their firing ceased, and we saw
them streaking away over the next hill. We then went to have a look at
this valley, and while studying the far side with our glasses, we saw a
number of Matabele creeping down to lie for us among the rocks. A very
pretty sight they were, lithe and active, bounding down from rock to
rock, their dark skins shining in the setting sun and showing off their
white war–ornaments. But we did not admire for very long, for, noting
that they seemed to gather in one particular spot among the rocks, we
put a few well–directed shots into it at 900 yards, and they quickly
scuttled out again and went back the way they came, one dropping in his
tracks to a shot from Coope. After this we stood up boldly on a rock to
admire the view at leisure, till suddenly there was a ragged volley and
the “phit–phit” of bullets overhead; these came from some niggers we
could not see, but we fired back at the koppie which we suspected, and
then gracefully retired to a less exposed position.

We took a circuit round and burnt a hut or two, and then went down to
the water in a bog about four hundred yards from the camp; here we
watered and grazed our horses, bathed ourselves, filled up our billies,
and cut a lot of grass to make our beds with on the hard rock platform
that was to form our bivouac for the night. Suddenly our peaceful
operations were interrupted by first one shot and then another fired up
at the camp. These shots were soon followed by a more regular rattle
of musketry, then came volleys in which the jolly Maxims joined, and
finally the solid bang of the 7–pounders swelled the chorus. We were
missing all the fun; we soon got mounted, gathered up our grass and
our billies, and made our way up to the camp.

What I call a camp is hardly what the ordinary mind would picture:
there are, of course, no tents or other such luxuries; the force is
merely formed in an extended square with guns and Maxims at each of the
corners, and where each man happens to stand in the ranks, there is his
place to cook his food, to eat, and to spread his blanket for the night.

The spot we were camped on was a huge, open, flat rock, closely
approached on three sides by broken rocks and bush, and in this broken
ground a small but daring party of the enemy had crept up and were
endeavouring to exact satisfaction for the loss of their cattle. It
was curious to see how calmly the men in the square took it all; only
that side of the square on which the enemy appeared bothered themselves
to notice him, the other three sides went on with their cooking and
suppers just as if the bullets whizzing over their heads were swallows
flying through the air at sunset. After five or ten minutes the enemy
retired and the firing died away. Half an hour later, just after dark,
it suddenly broke out again; the enemy had crept up once more within
fifty yards, and were firing at our fires. They seemed to become
accustomed to the fire of the Maxims, but when we let them have it
with the 7–pounder, loaded with case, at fifty yards, they did not like
it, and when the Cape Boys made a sortie round their flank, they fled
for good, leaving four dead on the ground; but as they went, they found
time to shout “good–night” to us, telling us to sleep well, since that
night would be our last—they “would have our livers fried for breakfast
in the morning.”

[Illustration: A COMFORTABLE CORNER ON AN UNCOMFORTABLE EVENING
 When the enemy opened fire on our camp in the evening, it was very
 refreshing to see how quietly the men took it. Only those belonging to
 the face of the square that was being fired at took any practical notice
 of it. The remainder went on cooking and eating as if nothing were
 happening.]

This was not quite the last we had of them that night, for a party
went down with an escort to get water at the bog, but there they met
with a pretty warm reception, and soon came back to camp swearing,
with water–bottles empty, but luckily with no one killed. Then we
coiled down to sleep, and did pretty well till midnight, when a storm
of wind arose, accompanied by thunder and a sprinkling of rain, and we
got the full benefit of it in our exposed position. Personally, I was
very comfortable in my bed of broom–bush and grass, with my saddle as
a protection against the wind, so that I did not feel the cold to the
extent that some poor fellows did.

_10th August._—We hoped to be attacked at daybreak, but it never came,
and as we marched back during the day, we never saw another nigger.
They had cleared out altogether, and we got back to our standing camp
outside the hills about midday.

And then I rode thirty miles into Buluwayo during the night, in order
to report to the General that the enemy in the Matopos were now
completely broken up, and probably willing to surrender if we gave them
a chance.

_12th August._—Instead of starting for grouse–shooting or any other
form of shooting, I am, on the contrary, settling down to office work
to–day, but I find it more irksome than usual, as I have a slight
touch of fever and dysentery, and a certain feeling of over–tiredness
which keeps me lying up during my spare moments, and yet I don’t feel
inclined to sleep at all; and I find my temper a little short to–day,
as the following extract of a letter which I have sent to one of the
patrolling column will show:—

“If you want to catch the niggers, you will have to move more quickly
and more secretly, that is, by night. It is no time now to save horses,
but to make use of their condition; do not think that because you
cannot see an enemy, there is no enemy there. We had our laager fired
into three times the other night when there was not an enemy to be
seen, so take care that your laager is guarded, and do not leave it to
chance. If you let the men smoke on a night march, you might as well
let the band play too.”




CHAPTER X

THE SITUATION IN MATABELELAND AND MASHONALAND

_16th June to 28th August_

 We open Communication with the Rebels in the Matopos regarding their
 Surrender—Rhodes commences the Peace Indabas—Imperial Troops arrive
 in Matabeleland—The State of Affairs in Matabeleland—I am on the
 Sick–List—Stout–Heartedness of the Rebels—Opinions on the Peace
 Negotiations—Our Supply Difficulties—The Origin of the Outbreak in
 Mashonaland—Difficulties of Supply in that Country—Early Defence
 Measures—The Relief of Salisbury by the Imperial Troops—Sir Frederick
 Carrington’s Task—What kit to take: I. On yourself; II. On your horse.


I said that when I left camp to come into Buluwayo, on the 10th, it
seemed a good opportunity for accepting the surrender of the rebels,
if they liked to come in. They had suffered a succession of severe
blows, and, while still in a state of disruption consequent upon them,
would probably be only to glad to surrender. But if they were left to
themselves for a short time, they might reorganise their forces and
continue to give endless trouble in the Matopos, which might mean a
great deal more expense to us of time and men.

So, before leaving camp, I had made a few preliminary arrangements, in
order that no time should be lost in opening communication with the
rebels. We had, as a prisoner, Inyanda’s mother, and I sent her with a
few men to the site of his kraal, which was close under the mountain
where his people still hung out. There the men built a small hut for
her, gave her a supply of corn and meat, and an old half–witted woman
to grind the corn for her, and, hoisting a big white flag on the tree
above her hut, they left her to be called for. As they came away, they
shouted to the rebels up on the hill, telling them that if they wanted
peace, they might come down and talk to the old lady, as she would give
them all information about it.

It was necessary to do something of this kind to induce the natives
to believe anything we said on the subject of peace; they were too
suspicious of a trap if we went and tried to talk to them ourselves.
This plan eventually succeeded; her people came down to talk to the old
woman, took her away with them to consult with the chief, and finally
sent messengers, carrying the white flag, to our camp, to say that they
were ready to talk.

[Illustration: THE PEACE INDABA WITH THE MATOPO REBELS
 Mr. Cecil Rhodes carried out the peace negotiations with the
 Matabele chiefs. He was assisted by Dr. Sauer (on his left) and
 Capt. Colenbrander (on his right), and accompanied by Mr. Stent (war
 correspondent of the _Cape Times_). These officers went unarmed among
 the rebels, in order to show their peaceful intent. After five weeks,
 the negotiations resulted in the surrender of the chiefs.]

Unfortunately, I was not able to have any further say in the matter
myself, as I was now down with dysentery, and on the sick–list. But,
eventually, on the 22nd August, Cecil Rhodes, with Dr. Sauer and
Captain Colenbrander, went into the Matopos to meet the rebel leaders,
near the koppie where Kershaw was killed on the 5th.

Jan Grootboom, the native scout, was sent on into the hills to summon
the indunas, and presently they appeared, following Grootboom,
who carried the white flag at their head, with an air of immense
importance. Among the chiefs were Umlugulu, Sikombo, Somabulana, Hliso,
Manyoba, Malevu, Inyanda, Babyan, and over thirty other indunas. Rhodes
sat on an ant–heap, with Dr. Sauer on his left, Colenbrander on his
right, and Stent, of the _Cape Times_, just behind him.

Rhodes got up to salute the chiefs in their own language, and stood out
in the centre to do so; all were in silence awaiting his opening word.
He stood, and paused, and, smiling, had to turn and ask, “What _is_
that word?”

[It was “Umhlope,” which is the usual salutation of peace after war.]

Somabulana then opened the indaba (conference), and, as spokesman for
the Matabele, said that they had been driven to rebellion chiefly by
the official bullying on the part of the Native Police. When he had
done, Sikombo went on to charge five of the Native Commissioners with
abuse of their powers. The chiefs wound up by saying they merely wanted
justice, and would be glad to end the war. Rhodes promised there should
be an alteration as regards the Native Police, and said that if they
intended now to lay down their arms, their complaints would all be
taken into consideration. Sikombo laid down his gun and assegai at
Rhodes’ feet, and said that this indaba represented the nation “as its
eyes and ears,” and that all they wanted was to live at peace with the
whites. Then he was asked why it was that the Matabele, in breaking
out, had exceeded the usual rules of war, and had murdered women and
children? And he said it was because white men had been reported to
be doing the same thing. It was then pointed out to the chiefs that
nothing could be done unless they and all their people laid down their
arms; and the chiefs agreed to bring all their people out of the hills
within the next few days, and so that conference ended.

[_P.S._—It was not till 13th October, after many further conferences,
that a final settlement was come to.]

A squadron of the 7th Hussars now arrived at Buluwayo, under Major
Ridley, having completed a long patrol through the Guai district,
finally breaking up such small parties of rebels as remained there, and
bringing about their general surrender.

The situation in Matabeleland now is as follows:—

The whole of the north of the country is clear and peaceful; in the
south the rebels are treating for peace in the Matopos; but, in the
east and north–east, bodies of them are still massed in the outlying
districts. In the east, in the Belingwe district, about a hundred miles
from Buluwayo, Wedza still remains in active rebellion, supported by
various small chiefs occupying mountain strongholds. In the Selukwe
district, just south of Gwelo, two chiefs, Monogola and Indema, still
resist all efforts to reduce them. To the north–east of Gwelo, in
the Maven district, at least one strong impi is collected; and the
Somabula forest, north–west of Gwelo, and a hundred miles north–east
of Buluwayo, is reported to be full of rebels. On the borders of this
forest is the great grain district belonging to Uwini, who has several
different tribes dependent on him for their supply and direction.
Moreover, M’tini, who had been defeated in July at Taba–si–ka–Mamba,
has retreated on to the Shangani, and now has his impi in full work
there, under the orders of M’qwati, the local M’limo, and it maintains
small posts on all the chief paths to prevent well–disposed natives
from coming in to surrender or to take refuge with us.

Colonel Paget, with a column of Imperial troops (7th Hussars and
Mounted Infantry), is moving through South Matabeleland, _viâ_ Tuli and
Victoria, to Gwelo.

Such is the situation to–day (22nd August); and Ridley’s column of 7th
Hussars and Mounted Infantry, having completed their work in the Guai
district, are at Buluwayo, and will now be sent against the Somabula.
And, were I well enough, it is probable that I should be sent in
command; but here I am on my back, limp and washed–out, and really thin
this time! And only a short time ago I was thinking that I had never
been so fit in my life, and certainly never burnt so brown a colour! I
am having a poor time of it, but it is not so bad as it might be; Sir
Frederick is more than kind to me, and spends all his leisure alongside
my bed, at all times of the day and at odd hours of the night, telling
me how things are going on, and soothing my disappointment at not being
able to get out into the field. Then, I am wonderfully lucky in having
an excellent doctor, Dr. Strong, and a most excellent cook—not that I
require much, but that little has to be of the right kind. This is not
a very large world, and the lady who runs the neighbouring restaurant,
being told to supply me with invalid food, came in to see me, to
inquire into my symptoms herself, as she had formerly been a hospital
nurse, and therefore thoroughly understood what one ought to take; but
before becoming a hospital nurse, she had learned the art of cooking in
the kitchen of the Powells of Dorking, our cousins. Having made this
discovery, and having thereby gained a personal interest in me, she has
exerted herself to the utmost, and has fully succeeded in supplying me
with the most appetising food possible under the circumstances.

_26th August._—Ridley’s column started to–day for the Shangani, and
though I am now feeling quite well, the doctor would not allow me even
to think of going with it. I have seldom felt so down about my luck
before.

Meantime, in the Matopos, negotiations are still going on about the
surrender, but the rebels do not seem over anxious to give in. At an
indaba to–day, a hundred young warriors, with two chiefs, met Cecil
Rhodes and party, and talked to them pretty cheekily. They said that
unless they had their rights they had no desire to come in. All these
men carried rifles and bandoliers full of cartridges.

One of them, named Karl Kamarlo, had been captured by us in the early
days of the outbreak, had been tried and been sentenced to be shot;
he was taken outside the town by two troopers, and was there shot by
them. One shot struck him in the forehead and apparently came out at
the back of his head, and the other struck him through the shoulder
and he was left lying on the ground. When the burying party came out
for him, they could not find him. It appears that the bullet which
struck him on the head was not strong enough for his skull, and merely
glanced round under his scalp without breaking the bone, and came out
through the skin at the back, giving the appearance of a shot clean
through his head. By this wound the man was merely stunned, and when
his executioners had retired, having, as they thought, carried out the
penalty of the law, he got up and walked off in the other direction.
It is now said that he intends to sue the Company for assault and
personal injury! Another man present at the indaba asked if our doctor
could do anything for him, as in the fight of the 5th he had been
standing almost in the line of fire of the Maxim, and in one instant
had received nine wounds in his side and leg, most of them very slight;
he had been practically crimped as if with an iron rake.

There seem to be various opinions here as regards the surrender.
One says that the rebels should be made to surrender entirely
unconditionally, and should only be allowed to do so on condition of
their giving up their arms, and such of their number as are guilty of
murder. Others say that that is right enough in theory, but if the
rebels refuse, as they very probably would, it means part of the force
trying to fight them during the rainy season, while the other part will
have to be withdrawn from the country owing to inability to supply
them. Sickness and reverses will probably result, and in the end the
murderers will not have been caught; whereas, if told that they can now
surrender and reoccupy their kraals and sow their crops, the capture of
the murderers and the thorough armament can afterwards be effectually
carried out by the police. And the police, by occupying fortified posts
in all the grain–growing districts, will thus have the whip hand of the
natives, as they can prevent them from sowing or from reaping any crops
at will.

This question of supply and transport is very pressing. We are using
all the transport we can lay our hands on, and yet we can only manage
to keep our present wants fairly well supplied; while the reserve which
we want to lay down, ready for the rainy season, is only being formed
at a very slow rate. Towards the end of November the rains will set in,
the roads then become impassable, and the mules die of horse–sickness.
We therefore want to lay down a sufficient reserve of food in the
meantime to carry us through the four months at least of rains; but
we cannot get contractors to tender for the transport, and it is very
difficult to purchase even in Cape Colony. The oxen up here are all
dead, and ox waggons coming up from the Cape are not allowed to return
thither, for fear of spreading the rinderpest. The Transvaal border
touches ours near Tuli, and we might get supplies in that way but the
Boer Government will not allow the export of food stuffs from their
country, fearing famine for themselves.

[Illustration: ROUTES TO MATABELELAND AND MASHONALAND
 The above sketch shows the approximate distances that supplies had
 to travel from Cape Town in order to reach the respective centres at
 Buluwayo and Salisbury—Cape Town to Buluwayo, 1487 miles; Cape Town to
 Salisbury, 2050 miles.]

Meanwhile, great events have been going on in Mashonaland. Rebellion,
as I said before, broke out there on the 16th June. Bands of Matabele
rebels had made their way to Mashonaland after the first defeats near
Buluwayo. They spread reports among Mashonas that the whites had all
been killed in Matabeleland, and that now was the time to rise and
similarly put an end to their rule in Mashonaland; and they threatened
that, in the event of the Mashonas not rising, the whole of the
Matabele nation under Lobengula _redivivus_ would shortly be down on
them. A few Native Commissioners in touch with their people might have
counteracted these reports, but none did so, and consequently rebellion
broke out, as it had done in Matabeleland, with the sudden and brutal
murders of whites—men, women, and little children—in all parts of the
country.

Townships went into laager, local defence forces were organised to the
number of eight hundred men, Judge Vintcent being Commandant–General.
Rescue patrols went out to bring in outlying settlers and miners. But
here again arose the insurmountable difficulty of transport. There was
only one road, namely, that _viâ_ Umtali to the coast at Beira, by
which food could come. This road extended for over 200 miles across the
veldt, and then met the railway in Portuguese territory which partially
connected it with the coast; thus the whole distance for Mashonaland
supplies to come was: Cape Town to Beira, 1700 miles; by river, 50
miles; by rail, 100 miles; by road, 200 miles; total, 2050. This road
was intercepted near Umtali, and held by a powerful tribe of rebels
under Makoni.

Reserve supplies in the country did not amount to anything dependable,
and could only last the defenders for a few weeks at most.

The rebels in Mashonaland occupied chiefly the districts round
Salisbury and the Salisbury–Umtali road, and the district east and
south–east of Charter. They are by nature far less warlike than the
Matabele, and are not given to attacking in the open, but content
themselves with murdering helpless farmers, waggon and other small
parties, and then retire to their fortified kraals and cave strongholds
if attacked.

On the 18th June, Captain Turner, who was on his way through
Mashonaland with a troop of fifty Natal volunteers for Matabeleland
when the Mashonas broke out, went to the rescue of White at the
Beatrice Mine, but was attacked in some narrow gorges by masses of
rebels, and compelled to retire with a loss of three killed and three
wounded.

On the 19th June, Captain Nesbit made a very plucky dash with thirteen
men to rescue some white settlers, including two women, at Mazoe,
thirty miles north of Salisbury. He had to fight his way through the
rebels to get there, and the party had a running fight of it for
nearly the whole way back against heavy odds, the enemy rushing up
to within a few yards at the time. Gallant work was done on this
occasion by Messrs. Ogilvy and Harbord, who acted as advanced guard to
the party. The waggonette in which the women were conveyed had been
“armour–plated” with sheets of corrugated iron, but nearly all the
mules were killed or wounded. Five men were killed and five wounded,
and eight horses killed. But in the end the gallant little band got
into Salisbury.

Captain Bremner, 20th Hussars, whose services had been placed at the
General’s disposal, was, in accordance with Sir Frederick’s directions,
making his way to Salisbury to act as staff officer there. He was
caught by the rebels _en route_ and killed, together with one or two
settlers at whose house he was resting. The loss of this useful officer
was a great blow to us, especially at this juncture, when things wanted
organising in Mashonaland.

Towards the end of June the following relief parties arrived in
Mashonaland from Matabeleland:—namely, Beal with 133 men, Watts 100,
White 65 (Grey’s and Gifford’s Scouts); the latter column especially
made a wonderfully rapid march, and did some dashing work. And from the
Cape there arrived, _viâ_ Beira, 500 Imperial troops under Colonel
Alderson. These consisted of 240 mounted infantry, 100 R.E. and R.A.
and M.S.C., 150 West Riding Regiment, 50 York and Lancaster Regiment.

Their disembarkation and transport by rail was effected under great
difficulties, owing to want of proper tugs, lighters, wharves,
rolling stock, etc. One lot stuck in the mud in the Pungwe River for
twenty–four hours; a train ran off the line and killed several of the
horses, another train collided with the wreckage, and Colonel Alderson
and others on the engine had to jump for their lives. But in spite
of all obstacles the force made its way rapidly into Mashonaland. It
turned and attacked Makoni’s position, defeating him and taking his
fortified kraal; 200 of the enemy were killed, 350 head of cattle and
a number of prisoners taken, our losses being 4 killed and 5 wounded.
Among the killed was Captain Haynes, shot while escalading the wall
of Makoni’s head kraal. The force then went on attacking various
other tribes along the road, establishing frequent fortified posts as
it went, and in this way secured the safety of the supply route to
Salisbury, and brought much–needed supplies into that place.

Alderson is now in local command of all the forces in Mashonaland,
receiving his instructions from the General here by telegraph. By
means of strong columns he is now breaking up the rebels in various
directions, and forcing them out of their strongholds. But this latter
is a particularly dangerous and unpleasant work, since the strongholds
in Mashonaland consist, as a rule, of koppies undermined in all
directions with caves and crannies, in which a very few determined
men can hold their own against almost any number. But Tommy Atkins is
reported to be quite equal to the occasion, and apparently delights in
the novel form of getting killed. Alderson’s total force amounts to
2200 men and 580 horses.

Sir Frederick Carrington’s management of this extended force operating
in a country which is equal in size to Spain, France, and Italy put
together, is like a man playing on a small piano to a large room full
of people. Our room is over 600 miles in length, and the piano a very
small one, because the doorway (the transport and supply) is too small
to admit a larger one. The piano’s notes are eight small field columns,
seven laagered towns, and twenty–four fortified posts. He plays them by
telegraph from his music–stool at Buluwayo, and has to make them reach
every corner of the room. He burns to be out himself with one or other
of the columns, but it cannot be; he has to sit here to read the music
and to play the notes accordingly, to pull the ropes, to consult with
the other heads who have to be consulted, and to be at the end of the
wire for communication with the High Commissioner at the Cape.

 EXTRACT FROM A LETTER HOME

 _“28th August._—.... Your two letters of 17th and 24th July just
 received. Yes, you are quite right. We would do much better here if we
 had three times the number of men. BUT—we could not by any possibility
 feed them if they _were_ here. Even to feed our present force through
 the approaching wet season, when roads will become impassable, requires
 four million pounds of food extra to what we have got here and on the
 road—_i.e._ 600 extra waggons; and we cannot get anybody to tender for
 the job. There are so few oxen left in South Africa. That is why we have
 to go on as best we can with this little force.

       *       *       *       *       *

 “You ask about our climate here. Well, what is your ideal of a perfect
 climate? Because that would about express it. Bright sun always, breeze
 all day, thermometer 70° in the shade at midday, cool nights. Doors
 and windows _always_ open. In town the dust is the only drawback to it
 all. In camp there is not a tent or any shelter, except a few branches
 to keep off the wind. We all live entirely in the open, and it is
 delightful.

       *       *       *       *       *

 “I am keeping an illustrated diary for you.”

 It may be of use, in case of future expeditions of this kind, to jot
 down what kit I have found best for the work.

 I. _On yourself._

 _Hat._—A “cowboy” broad–brimmed felt hat with ventilating holes punched
 in the crown, and a brown silk puggree. The hat is better than a helmet,
 because it shades the whole of the face, and so prevents the awful
 infliction, veldt sores on the face, cracked lips, and burned nose; and
 it protects the nape of the neck and temples from the sun; can be slept
 in, and suffers no damage from rough usage, and does not interfere with
 the aim when shooting; it is light, and so does not cause weariness or
 headache as the helmet often does; it protects the face and ears better
 than the helmet does in going through thick bush, the brim turning down
 with the pressure of the branches.

 _Neckerchief._—A grey–coloured handkerchief loosely tied round the neck
 prevents sunburn, and can be tightened up at night as a comforter.

[Illustration: OUR WORKING KIT]

 _Shirt._—Brown or light–grey flannel.

 _Cummerbund._—Grey or brown flannel cummerbund saves dysentery, chills,
 etc., especially at night.

 _Breeches._—Kharki cord, with back pocket to hold notebook and field
 bandage.

 _Gaiters._—Brown soft leather (some men prefer putties, but I think
 gaiters best for coolness, ease in taking on and off, and for
 circulation of the blood). Instead of breeches and gaiters, many men
 wear trousers of moleskin or other strong material.

 _Boots._—Shooting boots, strong, well–dubbed. In wet weather indiarubber
 soles are very slippery, but in dry weather, on rocks, they are perfect.
 Rubber–soled shoes should be carried on the wallets.

 _Spurs._—The Colonial fashion of wearing one spur only is not a bad
 one where mounted infantry work is to be done. The spur should be very
 short, so as not to trip you when on foot.

 _Coat._—Burberry kharki gabardine, carried by day rolled up on the
 pommel of the saddle. Nightcap in one of the pockets, also a warm
 muffler.

 _Waistcoat._—A Cardigan waistcoat or a sweater (grey or brown) is a very
 great comfort—can be carried rolled inside the coat during the heat of
 the day.

 _Watch._—Wrist–watch, with very thick hands, and lever action, as made
 by Dent (Charing Cross).

 _Belt._—Brown leather, with rings or dees to hang things on. These
 include—

 _Revolver._—Service pattern in an open “cowboy” holster, with cord
 lanyard round your neck.

 _Whistle._—Secured to the belt (or round the neck) by a cord
 sufficiently long to allow it to reach your mouth.

 _Knife._—Comprising tin–opener, turnscrew, corkscrew, skinning blade,
 borer, tweezers, etc.

  _Flint and Steel._     }
  _Compass._             } In a pouch on the belt.
  _Revolver Cartridges._ }

 _Pipe and Tobacco._—Ditto.

 II. _On your horse._

 _Saddle._—The Colonial military saddle.

 _Wallets._—Slung across the cantle, where they are far more handy than
 in front (see photo).

 _In near Wallet._

  Spare flannel shirt.
  Socks.
  Spat Gaiters.
  Toothbrush   } wrapped
  Tooth–powder }   in a
  Soap         }  towel.
  Hair–brush   }

 _In off Wallet._

  Sketchbook.
  Map.
  Quinine.
  Camera.
  Housewife.
  Tin of cocoa.
  Tin of bovril or potted meat.
  Bread.
  Knife, fork, and spoon.

 Much of the above can be carried in the pockets of the coat if more room
 is wanted in the wallets for rations.

 _Cooking “Billy”_ in leathern case on the cantle. The Bechuanaland
 Border Police pattern of “billy” is very good, and carries its own
 drinking–cup. Your ration of meat can be carried in the “billy.”

  _Water–bottle_ }
  _Telescope_    } On near side of saddle.
  _Nosebag_      }
  _Field–glasses_  }
  _Axe_            } On off–side of saddle.
  _Carbine Bucket_ }

 _Shoes with indiarubber soles_ strapped on outside the wallets.

 _Carbine._—Lee–Metford Sporting Magazine Rifle, or the cavalry L.–M.
 carbine are very good, but involve carrying a bandolier. A Colt’s
 repeater carries its own fourteen rounds, but if it jams or gets out of
 order, is difficult to repair on the veldt. The carbine bucket is merely
 a shoe in which the butt of the rifle rests, while the barrel is kept
 near the side under your arm or attached to the arm by a loop of cord.

 The carbine should be fitted with a brown leather sling by which it can
 be carried across the back when climbing or when riding (where there is
 no possibility of meeting an enemy or a buck), or it can be hung from
 the point of the shoulder, ready for immediate use.

 _Blanket_ is worn under the saddle, with a numnah between it and the
 horse’s back to prevent its becoming wet and sour with sweat.

 _Bridle._—Ordinary military head–collar with a “9th Lancer” or “Pelham”
 bit, and a “reim” (thong) for tying up or knee–haltering the horse.




CHAPTER XI

THE DOWNFALL OF UWINI

_8th September to 14th September_

 Start for the Somabula Forest to find Ridley’s Column—Native
 Pantomimic Description of a Battle—The British
 Subaltern—Taba–si–ka–Mamba—Bread–Making—Difficulty in Finding the
 Column—A Vision Fulfilled—A Man’s Toys—Meeting with Vyvyan—Join, and
 assume Command of the Column—The Wounded Men—How Uwini was captured—Why
 he was tried—Cutting off the Enemy’s Water–Supply—The Somabula
 Forest—Execution of Uwini—A Soldier Missing—A Fruitless Night March—A
 Battle between Friends—Start for the Somabula—We raid Lozan’s District.


_6th September._—I am now back at work again in the office, but only
doing it indifferently well; Vyvyan is away with Ridley’s column,
and meantime Nicholson is helping me in the office. He has been
marvellously quick at picking up the threads of the office work, and
consequently is of the greatest assistance.

_7th September._—Sir Frederick has to–day given me a better tonic than
any which the combined medical faculty of Buluwayo could devise.
He has told me that he is anxious for me to go and take charge of
the column which is now under Ridley in the Somabula Forest. He has
privately consulted Dr. Strong, who has been looking after me, and he
considers that I may now safely go. After hearing this, it did not
take long for me to get ready. Packing my kit on one horse and riding
another, I said good–bye to Buluwayo, and with my nigger Diamond riding
a third horse and leading a fourth, I started this afternoon, and am
now camped for the night on the Umguza River, where some of Plumer’s
men are stationed.

_8th September._—Took with me three of Plumer’s men as escort, viz.
Troopers Abrahamson, White, and Parkin, each with two horses and three
days’ rations. We started at sunrise to follow up Ridley’s column. I
could picture nothing more to my taste than a ride of from eighty to
one hundred miles in a wild country, with three good men, and plenty of
excitement in having to keep a good look–out for the enemy, enjoying
splendid weather, shirt–sleeves, and a reviving feeling of health and
freedom. Everything promised to make it one of the delightful times
of my life. But before we had gone ten miles, I found I wasn’t very
fit; at sixteen miles we off–saddled, and a cup of tea refreshed me,
but I could not eat. I began to have thoughts of sending back for a
cart to bring me ignominiously home again. However, after an hour’s
rest, I reflected that it was only a natural weakness after being so
long on the sick–list. So we went on for nine miles, to where Mr.
Fynn was camped on a farm belonging to Arthur Rhodes (better known
as “the M’limo”). Fynn is here collecting together native prisoners
and refugees, and giving them ground on which to sow their crops. My
thanks to you, Fynn, for that arm–chair where I slept most happily, and
then the excellent tea and boiled rice, followed by another spell in
the arm–chair! While resting here, three rebels came in to surrender,
and they told us how the white troops, meaning Ridley’s column, were
several days on ahead, and that two days ago they had surrounded the
rebels and had kept firing on them for the whole of one day and part of
the next; one of the niggers went through a pantomime descriptive of
the battle, and showed us how, during the fight, he himself lay low in
a donga, and heard first the single shots of the white men replied to
by the deeper bang of the native muskets, then the increasing rattle
and roar of musketry, then the rapid tap, tap, tap of the Maxim,
mingled with the crack of volleys and the roar of 7–pounders. He
imitated all the sounds beautifully, as well as the crouching attack
of the skirmishers, the falling of the wounded rebels, and the flight
of the remainder. His action was perfect, but I eventually discovered
it was all a lie from beginning to end. No such fight had taken
place—he merely made it up, as he hoped to please us; but meantime I
was miserable at the thought that the action had come off and I was too
late for it. At the same time, it aroused my impatience, and we pressed
on that evening eight miles farther to the Bembezi River. There we
off–saddled and coiled down in the dark, taking turns to keep watch. It
was a lovely night, but was rather spoilt during my watch by a beastly
hyæna coming and sniffing around, and growling and snarling at us every
now and then.

_9th September._—Started at daybreak, and got to Inyati (fourteen
miles) by eight o’clock. Here we found Terry of the 7th Hussars with
six men occupying a small fort. Their life did not seem too cheery;
small fort, open flat, blazing sun, and flies innumerable. Rudyard
Kipling would well describe this young sprig, fresh from Charterhouse,
accepting the surrender of numbers of Lobengula’s trusted old warriors.
He had under his charge in the fort stores of food and grain, for the
better protection of which he had drawn largely on the roof of the
mission church across the flat. After breakfasting here, we pressed on
again under a blazing sun, hoping for water, but finding none. On and
on over yellow, grassy, bush–grown flats for fourteen miles, till we
struck a river bed in which were a few pools of water. Here I lay down
utterly done up, but after a wash in a pool and some tea, I soon got
all right, and in the cool of the evening we went on another four miles
to the Longwe River. Like nearly all the so–called rivers here, it was
but a river bed of sand, in which one had to dig for water. We found
here a convoy of four waggons with supplies for Ridley’s column, but
they could give us no information as to where he was camped, or how far
ahead he might be; they were merely following along on his track. They
had a strong escort, and were quite prepared to take care of themselves
in the event of an attack. Among the troopers on escort was one Madden,
an old Swaziland acquaintance. Our two days’ journey had brought us
respectively thirty–three and thirty–two miles from Buluwayo,—a total
of sixty–five.

[Illustration: GIANTS’ PLAYTHINGS
Specimens of fantastic granite rocks seen in Matabeleland and
Mashonaland.]

_10th September._—Again we started at daybreak, and passed by
Taba–si–ka–Mamba, a mass of jumbled–up koppies, six miles by three,
which had formed one of the chief rebel strongholds in this part of the
country, until Plumer’s force had stormed the place, and driven the
enemy out, on the 6th July last. The rocks and koppies here, like those
in the Matopos, are piles of granite boulders, and in many cases assume
most fantastic forms. Here and there they look like castles on the top
of peaks; in other places, like gigantic loaves of bread, and in one
place there was a tower of five of them placed one on top of the other
for a height of nearly a hundred feet. We rode on until we came to
the next river, the Umsangwe, a distance of ten miles; it was blazing
hot, and I now began to feel a very poor creature. It was too far to
go back again, and we could only hope that the column was not very far
ahead, especially as we had not too much quantity or variety of food
with us. I lay up during the heat of the day with a waterproof sheet
spread over a thorn–bush as a shelter from the sun. The men dug water
in the sand, washed, and baked bread. To bake bread, lay your coat on
the ground, inside upwards, mix the flour and water in it (it doesn’t
show when you put the coat on again); for yeast or baking powder use
the juice of the toddy palm or Eno’s Fruit Salt to make a light dough;
scrape a circle in the ashes of the fire, flop your lump of dough down
on to it, flour the dough, spread fine sand all round and all over it,
then heap the embers of the fire on to it; in half an hour an excellent
flat loaf of bread results. It requires scrubbing with a horse–brush
before you eat it. At half–past three we saddled up and trekked on
to the Shangani River, which was only four miles farther on. It is a
mighty river on the map, but is nothing more in nature than the usual
sand river–bed with occasional pools, the sand being about a hundred
and fifty yards wide, with reed–grown banks on either side. To get
water, you have to scrape out a hole of two feet deep, and fairly good
water comes immediately. We had brought a nigger guide with us from
Inyati, and he said that Ridley’s column would be found on the Uvunkwe
River, and that this was only a short distance on from the Shangani;
so we pressed on. But as night closed in, our nigger got frightened,
and he told us that there were Matabele about. We replied that that was
exactly the reason why we had come there. Then he said that the next
water was so far off, that if we trotted the whole night, we should not
get there till long after sunrise next day. We tried for a bit to get
on in the dark, but rain had fallen since Ridley’s column had passed
along and had destroyed the spoor; we had no water, and only two days’
food; our nigger guide was evidently unreliable: so we turned back to
the Shangani, and there bivouacked for the night, taking it in turns,
as usual, to keep watch.

_11th September._—My anniversary of joining Her Majesty’s Service,
1876–1896—twenty years. I always think more of this anniversary than
of that of my birth, and I could not picture a more enjoyable way of
spending it. I am here, out in the wilds, with three troopers. They
are all Afrikanders, that is, Colonial born, one an ex–policeman,
another a mining engineer (went to England with me in 1889 on board the
_Mexican_), the third an electrical engineer from Johannesburg,—all of
them good men on the veldt, and good fighting men. We are nearly eighty
miles from Buluwayo and thirty from the nearest troops. I have rigged
up a shelter from the sun with my blanket, a rock, and a thorn–bush;
thirteen thousand flies are unfortunately staying with me, and are
awfully attentive.

One of us is always on the look–out by night and by day. Our stock
of food, crockery, cooking utensils, and bedding does not amount to
anything much, as we carry it all on our saddles.

Once, not very long ago, at an afternoon “At Home,” I was handing a cup
of tea to an old dowager, who bridled up in a mantle with bugles and
beads, and some one noticed that in doing so my face wore an absent
look, and I was afterwards asked where my thoughts were at that time.
I could only reply that “My mind was a blank, with a single vision in
it, lower half yellow, upper half blue,” in other words, the yellow
veldt of South Africa, topped with the blue South African sky. Possibly
the scent of the tea had touched some memory chord which connected it
with my black tin billy, steaming among the embers of a wood fire; but
whatever it was then, my vision is to–day a reality. I am looking out
on the yellow veldt and the blue sky; the veldt with its grey, hazy
clumps of thorn bush is shimmering in the heat, and its vast expanse
is only broken by the gleaming white sand of the river bed and the
green reeds and bushes which fringe its banks. (Interruption: Stand to
the tent! a “Devil,” with its roaring pillar of dust and leaves, comes
tearing by.) I used to think that the novelty of the thing would wear
off, that these visions of the veldt would fade away as civilised life
grew upon me. But they didn’t. They came again at most inopportune
moments: just when I ought to be talking “The World,” or “Truth,” or
“Modern Society” (with the cover removed), and making my reputation as
a “sensible, well–informed man, my dear,” with the lady in the mantle,
somebody in the next room has mentioned the word saddle, or rifle, or
billy, or some other attribute of camp life, and off goes my mind at a
tangent to play with its toys. Old Oliver Wendell Holmes is only too
true when he says that most of us are “boys all our lives”; we have our
toys, and will play with them with as much zest at eighty as at eight,
that in their company we can never grow old. I can’t help it if my toys
take the form of all that has to do with veldt life, and if they remain
my toys till I drop—

  “Then here’s to our boyhood, its gold and its grey,
  The stars of its winter, the dews of its May;
  And when we have done with our life–lasting toys,
  Dear Father, take care of Thy children, the boys.”

May it not be that our toys are the various media adapted to individual
tastes through which men may know their God?

As Ramakrishna Paramahansa writes: “Many are the names of God and
infinite the forms that lead us to know of Him. In whatsoever name or
form you desire to know Him, in that very name and form you will know
Him.”

In the afternoon I rode out with one of the men some ten miles down
the Shangani River, to see if we could find any spoor of the enemy
crossing the sandy bed or coming to get water there, but we only found
the separate tracks of three men at all fresh, though we found hundreds
of old tracks. As we came in sight of our bivouac on our return, my man
said, “There is a strange horse grazing with ours; someone has come to
the camp;” and it was true enough—we had a visitor. Vyvyan, who was
acting as staff officer to Ridley, had received my note which I had
sent on by runners, saying that I was coming out to take command of the
column, and that he was to return to Buluwayo to act as chief staff
officer. From him I ascertained that the column was only twenty–five
miles away, and had not yet had a big fight, although it had lost a few
men in taking some of the innumerable koppies in which the rebels of
that part had taken refuge. So towards evening we saddled up and moved
on, Vyvyan going on to Buluwayo with one man as escort, and I and my
little party continuing our way eastward. We went on for three hours
until the moon set, and then bivouacked for the night.

_12th September._—On again at daybreak, through thick bush country,
in which were numerous granite boulder koppies. Everywhere we found
more or less recent tracks of natives, and the wheel–marks of Ridley’s
waggons once more became pretty well defined. Our horses were now
beginning to get done—indeed, one of mine was doing his best to die;
so, knowing that we must be near Ridley’s camp, I pressed on ahead
of the party leaving them to follow more leisurely. Presently I came
across two niggers hiding in the bush, but evidently unarmed and afraid
to run away. From them I managed to elicit that the camp was not far
off, and they soon put me on the right path to it, and I got in in time
for a late breakfast. The laager was formed in an open spot, surrounded
on all sides at a short distance by eight koppies which formed the
strongholds of the enemy. One of these koppies had been attacked and
taken two days previously, and the chief of the tribe had been there
captured. But we had lost one man killed and four wounded, and there
still remained seven koppies to be taken. One of my first acts in camp,
after taking over command of the column, was to visit the hospital,
where I found one man with his hand amputated; he bore it very well,
and, being one of the best football players of the 7th Hussars, he
was in good training, and therefore but little affected by it. When I
said I hoped it would not spoil his football in the future, he laughed
and said that as he played the Association game, he would be all the
better without a hand. Another poor chap had a great double wound in
his thigh (all unbandaged for my edification); and another, who was
yesterday a particularly handsome young hussar, has to–day a horrible
caricature of a face, with the whole of his lower jaw shot away. And
with what object? Merely to get half a dozen frightened niggers out
of their holes in the rocks. Then I was shown the chief who had been
captured—Uwini by name. He was badly wounded in the shoulder, but,
enraged at being a prisoner, he would allow nothing to be done for
him; no sooner had the surgeon bandaged him than he tore the dressings
off again. He was a fine, truculent–looking savage, and boasted that
he had always been able to hold his own against any enemies in this
stronghold of his, but now that he was captured he only wished to die.
His capture had been most pluckily effected by Captain van Niekerk
and two of his men. When his kraal was taken by the troops, Uwini had
scrambled down into the labyrinth of caves which ran through the rocks
on which the kraal was built. Trooper Halifax and another crawled in
after him, and followed him from one point to another of his refuge,
often firing and being fired at by him. After some hours of this game
of hide–and–seek, Halifax had managed to wound the chief; they then
followed him up with a lighted candle, tracking him by his blood spoor,
until they finally cornered him in a cleft of the rocks from which he
could not escape. He was so disabled by his wound as to be unable to
fire on them, and they made him a prisoner.

It now rested with me to decide what should be our next step. We had
lost five men killed and wounded in taking one koppie, and there
still remained seven to be taken, which were just as strongly held as
the first one; consequently we must expect to lose a number of men
before we finally effected our purpose, and the probability was that
we should not do this before we had first killed a large number of
the rebels. The Native Commissioner of this part had been murdered by
the rebels and his police had joined them, so that civil power in the
district had ceased to exist. There was in camp, however, an acting
Native Commissioner, Mr. V. Gielgud, who was to assume the post of
Commissioner so soon as the rebels could be induced to surrender. This
officer was most anxious that I should try Uwini by court–martial,
for the following reasons:—Uwini was not only the leading chief of
that part of the country, but was one of the four chiefs of the whole
of Matabeleland who were supposed to be specially endowed by the
M’limo, the god of the people; he was therefore in their eyes sacred,
invulnerable, and infallible. He was well known to be the instigator of
rebellion, and of several specific murders of whites in the district.
His immediate punishment, then and there, would do more than anything
else to restore our prestige and bring about the surrender of rebels,
not only of his own tribe, but probably of the neighbouring tribes as
well.

The chief, when asked by us to call upon his people to surrender, now
that he was captured, absolutely declined to make any such proposition
to them. He said that he had ordered them into rebellion, and had
told them to fight to the last, and he was not now going to go back
on his orders. He is a plucky and stubborn old villain. Time is very
pressing, as we are getting constant information of rebels massing in
three directions within reach of us, and to catch them we ought to be
on the move at once; so I have determined to try him by court–martial,
as any deserved punishment would certainly save much bloodshed on
both sides, would save much valuable time that would otherwise be
lost in operations against the stronghold, and should bring about the
rapid pacification of the whole district and the restoration of our
prestige in these parts. There is no civil power to refer the case to,
and by military law Uwini is a prisoner of war, and liable to trial
by a military court; we are over a hundred miles from the General’s
headquarters, so that I could not refer the case with any certainty of
getting an answer within reasonable time; and also, I know of several
other similar cases having been tried lately by court–martial (_P.S._—I
had not then heard of any exception having been taken to this course),
and I have therefore given the order for his immediate trial by Field
General Court–Martial.

[Illustration: COLD AND HUNGRY
Clothing a little rebel prisoner. (For sequel see page 293.)]

[Illustration: WARM AND COMFORTABLE
The little prisoner shows appreciation (with his right hand) of the
late contents of the jampot in his left.]

Uwini’s kraal, like most others in this part of the country, was a
large collection of thatched circular huts built on inaccessible crags
of a small mountain; and above the kraal, on points of rocks, so as
to be well out of the reach of thieves and marauders, were perched
numerous corn–bins. These latter we could only reach by hoisting men
up with ropes, but we were lucky in obtaining from them very large
supplies of grain. Much of this we have used for feeding the women and
children whom we had captured from this kraal, and these, spreading the
news to others in other parts of the stronghold, have induced a good
many of them to come and give themselves up to us.

In order to help the rebels to make up their minds about surrendering,
I have ordered piquets to be posted at all places from which they
draw their water supply; these are generally small wells in the
neighbourhood of the koppies occupied by them, and their usual time for
getting water is during the dark hours of the night, so I hope that
to–night we shall considerably astonish them when they come to get
their supply for to–morrow.

My force here consists of a squadron of the 7th Hussars under Captain
Agnew, a company of the York and Lancaster Mounted Infantry under
Captain Kekewich, a strong troop of the Afrikander Corps under Captain
van Niekerk, three Maxims, a 7–pounder under Captain Boggie, field
hospital under Surgeon Lieutenant–Colonel Gormley, ambulance, and
waggons carrying about a month’s stores, a total of 360 men and horses.

_13th September._—During the night a lot of shots were fired by our
piquet on the stronghold. I visited them at dawn and found they had
killed two rebels who had come out to get water. I had a long talk with
the prisoners and refugees who were in camp, and learned from them that
the mass of the Matabele were now spread about in the Somabula Forest.
This forest extends in a semicircle for a distance of over a hundred
and fifty miles from Gwelo down to the Shangani, and varies in width
from fifteen to thirty miles. It is not, as a rule, inhabited, owing
to the dearth of water, but the enemy had now taken to it, hoping to
find a safer refuge there. Our present camp is close to the edge of the
forest, and is on the bank of the Uvunkwe River. This river runs along
the side of the forest until it joins the Shangani some fifty miles
from here. It seems to me that, by following down the Uvunkwe River for
a short distance, and then striking through the forest to the Gwelo
River, we should be able to come upon a large mass of the rebels who
are said to be occupying a strong position in the hills.

The court–martial assembled on Uwini this morning, and tried him on
charges of armed rebellion, for ordering his people to murder whites,
and for instigating rebellion in this part of the country. The court
martial gave him a long hearing, in which he practically confessed to
what was charged against him, and they found him guilty, and sentenced
him to be shot. I was sorry for him—he was a fine old savage; but I
signed his warrant, directing that he should be shot at sundown.

During the day I went over the koppie that had formed Uwini’s main
stronghold. It is a wonderfully strong mass of boulders about half
a mile long and six hundred feet high. The approaches to it were
strengthened by breastworks of stone and timber, and the mountain
itself is honeycombed with caves. The cave in which Uwini was captured
runs all through the mountain with innumerable ramifications. It is so
narrow that in many places we had to crawl, now and then climbing up on
our hands and knees, and sometimes having to creep down rough ladders
made of tree–trunks. It was only then that we realised the difficulty
that the men had had in effecting his capture, and their pluck in
following up an armed and desperate man in such a very nasty place.

On my arrival in camp yesterday, it had been reported to me that one
man of the Mounted Infantry, while out on patrol in the forest, had
become separated from his party and was missing. Additional patrols
had been sent out to search for him and though they had followed up
his spoor for some distance, they had been unable to find him. To–day,
again, patrols had gone out accompanied by native trackers, but towards
evening they returned, having again been unsuccessful in finding him;
they reported that his spoor led back in the direction of the camp, and
so they had hoped he would have returned before them, but he has not
yet returned. Luckily, he was carrying on his saddle the day’s rations
for the other three men of his section, so that if he can only keep his
head, and not overwork his horse, there is every hope that he will turn
up again. But that is the worst of these men when they get lost,—they
seem to lose their heads, and tear off in all directions, until they
exhaust themselves and their horses, when they become a prey to the
enemy or go out of their mind. At night we send up rockets and fire
guns in order to show the wanderer whereabouts the camp lies.

At sunset all the natives in camp, both friendlies, refugees, and
prisoners, were paraded to witness the execution of Uwini. He was taken
out to an open place in the centre of his stronghold, where all his
people who were still holding out could see what was being done, and he
was there shot by a firing party from the troops.

I have great hopes that the moral effect of this will be particularly
good among the rebels, as he was the head and centre of revolution in
these parts, and had come to be looked upon by them as a god. No doubt,
when they have realised that he is after all but a mortal, that he has
succumbed to our power, and that they have no other head to take his
place, they won’t delay long to surrender.

Indeed, I sent one old lady out to the rebel stronghold to–day to
advise them to give themselves up, and to assure them that they could
do so with perfect safety, but the old girl returned from her mission
without bringing any of them with her. As she came back into camp,
carrying her pass in a cleft stick, I was amused to hear one of the men
say to her as she passed, “Hullo, old girl, are you back off furlough
already?”

[Illustration: NO RESPECTER OF PERSONS
 “Hulloh, old gal! Back again off furlo’?” is the greeting of Tommy
 Atkins to an aged princess returning from a mission to the rebels.]

I had proposed to start off some of my column to the northward this
evening, but in the afternoon a small boy came into camp and reported
that there was a party of Matabele camped about fifteen miles away to
the southward, on the Uvunkwe River, so I got Ridley to take fifty men
and make a night march to attack them. The patrol started after dark,
at seven o’clock, and very soon after they had left camp, we heard
rapid firing in their direction. On sending out to ascertain the cause,
we found that Ridley’s party, in passing near to the piquet which was
guarding the enemy’s water–supply, had been mistaken by them for
Matabele, and had been fired on, but luckily no one was hurt. I ran in
the officer of the piquet, and after hearing his explanation of how the
mistake arose, I abused him roundly, not for making the mistake, for we
are all of us liable to do that at times, but because, when he opened
fire, his men were not able to hit the hussars. This hurt him more
than the most violent reprimand, because he prided himself on the good
shooting of his men.

_14th September._—Firing was kept up during the night by this piquet at
frequent intervals. It was evident that the rebels were getting very
thirsty; for two days and nights now they had not been allowed to get
any water. During the few hours of darkness, just before dawn, numbers
of them slipped away, and the remainder came and gave themselves up,
many of them bringing in their arms. Thus, within a very few hours of
his execution, the death of Uwini began to have its effect.

Through the break–up of Uwini’s stronghold, large stores of grain fell
into our hands, and as we have over a thousand prisoners and refugees
now in camp, we have plenty of assistance in gathering it into a
central store.

Early in the morning Ridley and his patrol returned from their night
march. They had found the enemy’s scherms deserted, the spoor showing
that the Kafirs had cleared into the forest; they had had their long
ride for nothing, and the only excitement they had encountered was that
of being fired upon by our own piquet just after starting.

Again the search party, which had been sent out to look for the missing
man, returned unsuccessful; no further signs of him had been found, and
I fear that he must have fallen into the hands of the enemy.

[Illustration: THE SHANGAN COLUMN
 Sketch map showing the country visited by this column. The dotted line
 shows the route of that patrol of the column which I accompanied,
 Kekewich’s and Ridley’s patrols working to our right rear, through the
 forest. Scale approximately 20 miles to 1 inch.]




CHAPTER XII

SHANGANI COLUMN—THROUGH THE FOREST

_14th September to 19th September_

 We commence Operations in the Somabula Forest—We seize Lozan’s
 Cornfields—Remains of Murdered White Men—We divide the Column into
 three Patrols and a Reserve—We come on the M’limo’s Impi—Hunting the
 M’limo—Our daily Routine—We capture some Kraals and Prisoners—Another
 Murdered Farmer—A Night March through the Forest—Our Horses begin to
 give out—We reach the Gwelo River.


_14th September._—To–day we have started operations against the
Somabula Forest. Taking with me 160 men, hussars and mounted infantry,
with two guns, an ambulance, and four waggons lightly loaded, I have
marched away to the northward, leaving near Uwini’s stronghold, under
command of Captain Agnew, the remainder of the force, to complete the
collection of grain and obtain the surrender of rebels. I propose now
to break up the rebel impi said to be collected near here; to drive
the rebels out of the Somabula Forest; and to break up posts which
have been established on the main paths in this district, to prevent
would–be surrenderers from coming in to us.

_15th September._—Before dawn this morning we made a rapid march across
the Uvunkwe River and through the bush to the grainfields and villages
of Lozan. These we found deserted, but fresh spoor of a large number
of people, all making for the forest, showed that they had been there
the previous day, but had got wind of our movements in time to make
their escape. We managed to capture a few women, some of whom had come
from the impi in the Mashene Hills, which I had proposed to attack, and
they saved me much trouble by telling me that that impi was already on
the move north–westwards, because of a strong column of white troops
which was approaching it from the eastward, with the evident intention
of attacking it. This, I concluded, was Colonel Paget’s column, which
had been coming up from Victoria, _via_ Gwelo, into the Maven district;
so my obvious course was now to make for the north with all speed, and
cut off this impi in its flight. But in doing so, I should have to pass
through the most occupied part of the Somabula Forest, and I consider
the most effective way of doing this will be to divide my force into
three patrols, to move rapidly on parallel courses through the forest,
as lightly equipped as possible, leaving the waggons with another
party to follow along a central route in rear, to form, as it were, a
supporting depôt and reserve.

At Lozan’s kraal we found ourselves well in the Somabula Forest, but
it is scarcely a forest in the usual sense of the word. The trees are
quite small and growing close together, more like a pheasant cover in
England than a great forest, but without much undergrowth and with
sandy soil under foot; an easy place to lose your way in, and an
unpleasant one on account of the want of water. But this same want of
water should very much simplify matters when we are seatching for the
rebels, as we have simply to go to the few existing water–places to
find their tracks, which we can then follow up, with the certainty of
discovering their hiding–place.

Our camping–place for the middle of the day is on the drift where
the Hartley Hill road crosses the Uvunkwe River, and the Native
Commissioner (Gielgud), my orderly, and I were making our way back from
Lozan’s to this camp by a roundabout route through the bush, in the
hopes of picking up more prisoners, when we suddenly came on a couple
of koodoo, splendid great brindled buck. I had a hasty shot at one
with my Lee–Metford, and luckily struck him through the upper part
of the forelegs, breaking both of them, and so disabling him. I was
thus able to go up to him and finish him with another bullet, which,
however, passed clean through him, making but a very small hole. The
probability is that, had I hit him through the body in a non–vital
spot, he would have gone on his way rejoicing. We soon had him cut
up and slung over my horse for conveyance to camp. On getting to our
outspan near the drift, we came on the remains of three white people,
who had been murdered here by rebels. One poor chap had evidently made
a hard fight for his life, being at some distance from the others under
a tree. There was not much by which to identify the bodies, but one had
his teeth peculiarly stopped with gold, and a half–sovereign was picked
up with some markings on it.

This evening I started off my patrols to operate through the forest;[3]
the right–hand patrol, consisting of about thirty mounted infantry
under Captain Kekewich, is to go through the forest and follow the
course of the Gwelo River, which forms the right–hand boundary of the
forest. He is to gain touch, if possible, with Colonel Paget, and
also to work out that side of the forest as much as possible, getting
his water in the Gwelo River. The second patrol, forty men under Major
Ridley, is to keep along the Uvunkwe River, which forms the left–hand
boundary of the forest. His duty will be to patrol into the forest from
this side, follow up and drive out all rebels, getting his water–supply
in the Uvunkwe. The third patrol, of forty of the 7th Hussars under
Captain Poore, with which I am going, will press on at a rapid pace
down the Uvunkwe and through the forest on to the lower part of the
Gwelo River, where we shall be in a position to cut off all parties of
rebels who may be retreating before Colonel Paget’s attack and those
of our other two patrols, and we shall there be able also to get on
to the path which leads to the one great refuge in the north, the
grain–bearing district of Inyoka. Meanwhile, the waggons, guns, and
ambulance, with a sufficient guard, will follow leisurely along the
Uvunkwe River, so as to be at hand with further supplies or assistance
if required by any of the patrols. Each patrol takes with it as much
food as the men can carry on their saddles, which, however, does not
amount to more than four days’ supply.

I started after dark with my patrol, and we did eleven miles in the
moonlight before we off–saddled for our first bivouac.

_16th September._—This morning by dawn we were pushing our way along
the Uvunkwe, but could find no sign of the recent presence of the
natives. The river holds plenty of water, and is a very pretty one,
full of long reaches and pools fringed with green reeds and overhanging
trees; the scenery round is generally undulating yellow grass veldt,
thickly dotted with grey thorn–bush; it is all parched and dry as a
bone. As we got farther on our way, the thorn–bush became thicker,
and at last we got into a forest of thorns which defeated us. We had
to lead our horses and to struggle at a very slow pace through this
dense, prickly bush, and finally had to give it up as a bad job. We
then made our way with difficulty down into the river bed, where
the going was more open. Just as we were crossing the sandy bank, I
saw that which made my heart stand still. A path of perfectly fresh
tracks leading from the water up into another part of the same bush
from which we had just emerged; so fresh were they that the water in
some of the shallower puddles was still muddy, and a dog was quietly
trotting along the path towards the bush. We did not wait one instant;
Poore and I tore up the path, followed by the hussars, as fast as we
could go. Dashing along the spoor like a pack of hounds, we very soon
found ourselves in the bush, and among a lot of huts and scherms; but
too late! We could hear the crackling of twigs as the niggers bolted
in front of us into the deep, thick bush. All their fires were left
burning, and cooking–pots full of pumpkins and mealies were boiling
merrily on the fires; their clothes and clubs, assegais and loot, were
lying about in heaps; there were army greatcoats, white men’s and
women’s clothes, axes, saws, tinned provisions, and other articles,
evidently spoils of murdered whites; and among other things I picked up
a trinket which had its meaning for us, and that was a small necklace
of peculiar black beads; this necklace was of the kind which only a
certain regiment of Matabele were allowed to wear, namely, M’tini’s
regiment, which acted as the bodyguard of M’qwati (M’qwati is the
high priest of the M’limo in these parts). We were in luck indeed if
we could but catch these men; it is this impi which provides posts in
different parts of the country with orders to kill any of the natives
who desire to make peace with the whites, or to come in to surrender. I
brought away with me a rhinoceros–hide sjambok (whip) and an induna’s
staff. From these evidences, and from the appearance of the huts, we
guessed that this camp was the headquarters of M’tini, the leader
of the regiment; but we knew from reports of prisoners that M’qwati
usually lived at some little distance from M’tini, in a safer spot, so
we hoped that with a little searching we might find him. Therefore,
leaving Poore with his men to destroy the huts, I took two or three
hussars with me, and followed the spoor for nearly another three
miles alongside the thick bush. But by this time the sun had set,
it was getting dark, and I could see no further sign of the rebels.
I therefore reluctantly abandoned the chase for the time being, and
returned to Poore, who had now gone into bivouac on the river bank.
Knowing that the rebels would probably remain in the thickness of the
bush, but would have to come to the river to get their water, we lit up
a line of fires after dark all along the river bank for nearly a mile
opposite the spot where the bush came down to the river. This was to
frighten the enemy from trying to get water, as they would think we had
a number of men near each fire. As a matter of fact, so soon as we had
finished supper we continued our march in the darkness down the river,
and bivouacked again when we had got below the junction of the Uvunkwe
with the Shangani River.

[Illustration: FOLLOWING UP THE SPOOR
 Spooring or tracking the enemy was our usual way of getting to him. With
 a little practice spooring can be carried out with great certainty, and
 at a good pace.]

_17th September._—I started before dawn this morning with a patrol of a
dozen men to resume my hunt for M’qwati, going back to the spot where I
had broken off yesterday evening. Poore meanwhile took another patrol
up the Shangani, in order to intercept these rebels should they think
of retiring in that direction. On my way back I saw Ridley’s patrol in
the distance, and accordingly went across to him and arranged that he
should further investigate this patch of bush, and cut off its water
supply again that night, both from the Uvunkwe and from the Shangani.
Then I went on and struck yesterday’s spoor, and followed it into the
bush; as this got too thick for the horses, we dismounted and pressed
along on foot. Fresh spoor struck in on to the old, and every minute
the scent, as it were, seemed to get hotter and hotter. We shoved along
faster and faster, tearing along and being torn. Suddenly I see smoke
through the bushes, then the yellow thatch of huts. I jump forward,
leaving my hat in a Wacht–een–Beetche thorn–bush. I don’t care—can’t
stop. There they are! I can see two men at anyrate dodging about—there
may be more. One fine big fellow in European clothes clashes out of a
hut and makes off with a gun in his hand. I yell to him, “Imana, andi
bulali!” (Stop, I am not going to kill you!). But he does not stop,
and I try not to keep my promise, but unfortunately I have one of the
new–fangled guns that I do not understand—slipperty–flip, click–clack
and tick!—but there’s no report; three times I cover him with my
sights, aiming nice and low, just about the small of his back, but each
time my gun refuses to go off. I have forgotten to turn on or off some
little gadjet or other, and the man escapes. Curious that the momentary
failure of a spring to act should spare a man to live to enjoy many
years of domestic bliss or—to murder a few more fellow–creatures!

And that was the last we saw of these rebels. Of course we burnt their
huts and followed on the spoor, and twice again we came upon others of
their camps, but in each case they had suspicion of our coming, and
managed to get out of the way as we arrived upon the scene, and it was
impossible to pursue them with any hope of success in that impenetrable
bush. However, I sent back a further message to Ridley by my orderly,
informing him that the enemy still were in this tract of bush, and
telling him how best to deal with them. [The orderly who took this note
came across a lion on the way, and had a shot, but missed him.]

I then went on with my patrol, back along the Uvunkwe, to meet a party
who had been sent after us from the waggons with additional supplies of
flour and coffee on pack–horses, and we met them at the place agreed
upon. During our midday halt for lunch and siesta, I found a snake had
had the impertinence to come and lie alongside of me for his afternoon
nap, and so I killed him. Later on I strolled down to the river, to
bathe in a large and tempting pool, in which several of the men had
already been having a swim. The first object that met my view on
arriving there was a leery–looking crocodile, who seemed to be winking
at me with one eye; I had a shot at him (which missed), and then I
sought another pool to bathe in; this one happened to be close to
the enemy’s watering–place, so, while undressed, I took care to leave
my boots and rifle very ready for use in case of a surprise. Bathing
became interesting when one had to keep a look–out with one eye for
Matabele creeping through the reeds, and with the other for crocodiles
rising from the water.

In the afternoon we started again with our newly–received supplies,
to overtake Poore and the rest of our party, the men who had brought
the supplies meanwhile returning to the waggons. Before leaving the
neighbourhood, however, we got up a grand sham fight, and we fired
volleys and independent firing. This was done with the idea of alarming
the rebels in the bush, and of letting them know that we were here in
some force, and probably firing on their friends; they would therefore
probably not venture out at this end of the bush, and the other end was
meantime being taken care of by Ridley and his party. Late that night
we rejoined Poore, tired out, and heartily glad to turn in to sleep.

[Illustration: THE HORSE GUARD
 Vedettes are invariably posted in different directions while the horses
 are grazing, to ensure their not straying, and to guard against their
 surprise and capture by the enemy.]

_18th September._—Our usual daily march goes thus: Reveillé and stand
to arms at 4.30, when Orion’s belt is overhead. (The natives call this
“Ingolobu,” the pig, the three big stars being three pigs, and the
three little ones being the clogs running after them; this shows that
Kaffirs, like other nations, see pictures in the constellations.) We
then feed horses—if we have anything to feed them with, which is not
often; light fires and boil coffee; saddle up, and march off at 5.15.
We go on marching till about 9.30 or 10, when we off–saddle, and lie
up for the heat of the day, during which the horses are grazed, with a
guard to look after them, and we go on breakfasting, bathing, and in
theory writing and sketching, but in practice sleeping, at least so
far as the flies will allow. At 3.30 saddle up and march till 5.30,
off–saddle and supper; then we march on again, as far as necessary,
in the cool hours of the early night. On arriving at the end of our
march, we form our little laager; to do this we put our saddles down in
a square, each man sleeping with his head in the saddle, and the horses
inside the square, fastened in two lines on their “built–up” ropes.
To go to bed, we dig a small hole for our hip–joints to rest in, roll
ourselves up in our horse–blanket, with our head comfortably ensconced
in the inside of the saddle, and we would not then exchange our couch
for anything that Maple could try and tempt us with.

This morning we started as usual at 5.15, and continued our way
northward down the Shangani. We were now getting into a more tropical
climate, and slender palm trees began to vary the woodland scenery, and
dwarf palms and ferns abounded among the smaller bush. Everywhere we
found spoor of big buck, and also of lions.

At last we came to the spot where we considered it desirable to leave
the Shangani and strike across through the forest to get to the Gwelo
River, where we should be in a position to cut off the retreating
enemy. The map showed this to be a distance of about twenty–five miles;
but the maps of this district are naturally not to be relied upon,
since it has only been very sketchily surveyed, if surveyed at all.
We had not left the Shangani a mile behind us before we came across a
small affluent stream, and here we came on the spoor of natives not
twenty–four hours old. As we were rising the bank of this stream, we
saw a woman on the path. She was too frightened to move, or even to
speak, when we had captured her; but she had a baby on her back, and,
seeing that I began to play with the child instead of eating it, as she
had probably expected, she found her tongue, and was able to answer our
inquiries. She told us that she belonged to a party of M’tini’s impi,
which was camped a short distance farther on in the bush; and she told
us that the party that we had already surprised in the thick bush on
the Uvunkwe was also the other portion and headquarters of that impi.
While we were talking, one of the men said he saw a native running
across the veldt. Galloping in that direction, I came across the spoor
of a boy, which I followed till I ran him to earth in a thick bunch of
grass, where he was lying completely hidden. On questioning him, he
corroborated what the woman had said. He was a plucky youngster, and
faithless to his friends, for he at once volunteered to guide us to
the spot where they were camped, and showed but little alarm on being
hoicked up on to the front of one of the hussars’ saddles. Dividing
ourselves into two parties, we went forward in the direction indicated,
and, passing a ruined farmstead on our way, we presently got into a
tract of thick bush, and came suddenly upon a kraal in the heart of
it. The people in the kraal were taken completely by surprise; they
had not time to take up their arms, but dashed into the jungle, eager
to make their escape. The hussars were, however, too quick for them,
and, diving through the bush at a splendid pace with drawn swords, they
succeeded in surrounding them before they could get away, and brought
them all back into the kraal. Our detached party, in making a wider
movement round this kraal, came upon a second, and similarly captured
it and its occupants, together with a goodly flock of goats.

We then took our prisoners back to the water–place, and, as our horses
were rather tired with their morning gallop, we halted there to take
our midday rest. Our prisoners showed no signs of being sorry at their
capture; in fact, they appeared rather glad than otherwise. The women
built us shelters from the sun with branches and palm leaves, the men
killed and cut up goats for us to eat, the children lit the fires and
boiled the kettles; and so we made a peaceful, friendly–looking party.

In talking things over with the leading man among them, we found that
they were tired of war, and were only anxious to surrender, but were
kept from doing so by the orders of their chiefs, backed up by piquets
placed on all their paths. They told us, too, that the path on which
their encampment was, was a new one lately made by their co–rebels for
getting to the northward to Inyoka; and that if we followed this path
that night, it would bring us by the morning to the Gwelo River, and
that there large parties of them were massed. Naturally, we determined
to push on that evening, taking two men with us to act as guides; and
we ordered the remainder to go down to our waggons, and there report
themselves as prisoners, which they were quite willing to do. The two
men we took with us were Umtenti and Umbalena.

Before starting on our evening march, we went and examined the
homestead that we had passed in the morning, and found it was that of
a white man, whose remains were lying in the garden. He had evidently
been murdered there, and the place ransacked by rebels. We buried him,
and put up a roughly–made cross above his head, and then started on
our way into the Somabula Forest. But now the horses were beginning
to feel the effect of hard work and want of proper food. We had no
grain for them, nor could we carry it if we had—their only forage
was the withered, parched–up grass, which had no sustenance in it;
watering–places were few and far between; the atmosphere was hot, the
sand was soft and heavy under foot; so that, after we had been marching
for some hours, I was not surprised to hear that one of the horses had
given out, and could go no more; and several of the men, finding that
their horses were but staggering on under them, got off to walk. Our
pace was very slow, and the way was dark amongst the trees; the spoor
was very hard to follow, and thus it took us a long time to get over
any distance. At last we called a halt in a slightly open spot where
there was grass, the horses got a bite of food, and we lay down and
slept in our tracks for about an hour. Then on again till long past
midnight. I was hoping all the time that we might arrive at dawn upon
the Gwelo River, and thus surprise the enemy encamped there; but I now
saw that the horses were too done for any active work unless they had a
rest; and so we halted, off–saddled, and bivouacked, having done about
forty miles to–day.

_19th September._—Starting before dawn, we pressed on again through the
forest, and emerged after about three miles on the bank of the Gwelo,
passing through numerous deserted scherms of the enemy, but without
seeing any signs of his recent presence there. Our guide now told us
that if the enemy were not here, they would be at a little stream about
a day’s march the other side of the Gwelo; but while we were examining
the drift, where the track of the Matabele crossed the river, we found
a fresh spoor of two men going north, and our guides immediately said
it would be no use to follow up the enemy along that path, because
these tracks meant that two men had made their escape from the kraals
we had captured yesterday, and had gone on ahead to put the remainder
on the _qui vive_; and with our horses in their present state, I saw
it would be useless to go farther away from our base on so doubtful a
venture.

The Gwelo River itself is not a pleasing one; it is chiefly a bed of
hard, black mud, lying between black, shiny rocks, with a few pools
here and there, with an unpleasant smell about it. The sun, too, is now
very powerful, and we are all feeling tired.

It has been an immense disappointment to all of us not to find the
enemy here, but the hussars are first–rate fellows, and are cheery in
spite of all their hard work and absence of reward. Most of them walked
the greater part of the march on foot, in order to save their horses.
They all work so well and quietly, no order even in daytime or in camp
is given above the ordinary tone of voice, but it is always heard and
obeyed at once; naturally it is a great comfort to have such men with
one, for things are looking a bit more difficult now. We have placed
twenty miles of waterless forest behind us, we have only three days’
groceries with us and no meat, and our horses are very weak.

[Illustration: “A MERCIFUL MAN,” ETC.
 Our horses gave out from want of food and overwork, though the men cared
 for them in every way, walking in their holey boots, and sharing with
 them their small ration of bread.]

But though we have not encountered the enemy, they know of our presence
in this out–of–the–way part of the world, and our spoor on their
main path to the north will deter any more fugitives from coming up
this way. Our next course will be to move down the Gwelo River until
we come to the one other path which leads to Inyoka. This path is
somewhere near the junction of the Gwelo and Shangani, and not far from
the place where Wilson’s patrol was massacred in the first Matabele
war. By getting on to this, we shall be enabled to stop any other
northward movement of the rebels, and it should bring us back on to the
Shangani in the direction of our waggons. The only drawback is that
our horses are giving out, and we have no meat, therefore we are now
going on half rations, though I hope we shall manage to get some game
to eat, as this is a celebrated game country. Nevertheless, I realise
that there is some responsibility in having sole charge and guidance of
so large a party of men, deep in an enemy’s country, and one which is
practically a desert, with no water except in the one river, and our
maps cannot be depended upon as reliable to guide one. Our two natives,
never having been in this country themselves, can only guess at our
whereabouts.




CHAPTER XIII

SHANGANI PATROL—RETURN MARCH

_20th September to 1st October_

 We try to reach the Shangani, but fail—Reduced to Horseflesh—Our
 Difficulties—Searching for Water—Gielgud volunteers to bring
 Assistance—We find Water—The Shangani at last—The Doings of our other
 Patrols—Lions everywhere—My Column, reunited, moves towards Inyati—We
 capture some Rebel Koppies and Caves—A Funeral by Night—Our Enemy thinks
 Discretion the better part of Valour, and surrenders—A new Expedition
 organised—We drink Her Majesty’s Health.


_20th September._—Woke up this morning much refreshed, after a good
rest all yesterday and last night. Owing to the amount of lions’ spoor
about the place, we kept fires going all night as a precaution against
them.

This morning we marched at five, after destroying large numbers of
old scherms which had been occupied by the enemy, and we followed the
course of the river for some miles, intending then to strike across
country and make a short cut to the Shangani, as all maps, though
differing in other details, showed this to be possible. However, we did
not find it possible. We struck boldly out into the forest, and marched
along at our best speed, which was not very great. Gradually, the heat
of the day began to affect the horses; again, we were on foot leading
and driving them through the heavy sand; but after going about six
miles, we saw it would be impossible to reach the Shangani that day.
We had already abandoned two horses, and several others seemed quite
done up; our only chance now was to hark back to the Gwelo. Another
unpleasant item had been added to our experiences this morning, and
that was the finding of several carcasses of koodoo which had evidently
died from rinderpest, so that there was little hope of our getting any
fresh meat by shooting game in this district. I therefore gave orders
that one of the horses should be shot, cut up, and issued as rations
for the men, and it was quite a cheering sight to see the squadron
butcher get to work in a professional way on that horse, and to hear
him sing out when all was ready, “Now, boys, roll up for your rations.”

[Illustration: FRESH HORSE–BEEF
 We eventually had to take to horseflesh. The farrier and the squadron
 butcher did the necessary preparation, and it was very cheering
 presently to hear their cry, “Now, boys, roll up for your rations.”]

I now wrote a note to the officer in command of the waggons, telling
him that we should make our way to the Shangani, and should proceed
along its bank towards him, but that, being short of food, we should
hope for him to send a few pack–horses with fresh supplies to meet
us. Then, loading up the two native guides with as much horseflesh as
they could carry, and filling up a tin biscuit–box with water from our
water–bottles for them, we sent them off, taking their direction by
the sun, to find the waggons and deliver the note. Then we ourselves
turned again and made our way back to the Gwelo, and there halted for
our midday meal and rest. This was our _menu_: weak tea (can’t afford
it strong), no sugar (we are out of it), a little bread (we have half a
pound a day), Irish stew (consisting of slab of horse boiled in muddy
water with a pinch of rice and half a pinch of pea–flour), salt, none.
For a plate I use one of my gaiters: it is marked “Tautz & Sons, No.
3031”; it is a far cry from veldt and horseflesh to Tautz and Oxford
Street!

Our great difficulty is topographical information. Our two prisoners,
whom we had now sent away, had been worse than useless as guides,
because they had no idea of distance; our two maps differ widely as to
the relative positions of the two rivers, and our view of the country
is limited in all directions by bush. The natives, before they left us,
told us that if we kept along the bank of the Gwelo until we came to a
path turning off southwards at the foot of a tall fruit tree, it would
bring us in a very short walk to the Shangani River, and we hope to
strike that path to–night. We are all right so long as nobody gets sick
or wounded, if we manage to get a tussle with the niggers (and I am in
great hopes that when we strike the path, we may just drop on to them
coming up it). Another difficulty is that our messengers may not prove
faithful in taking our note to the waggons. Nothing like looking at the
cheery side of things!

In the evening, we moved on again along the bank of the Gwelo, and
soon after sunset we came across a path leading southwards from the
river, and near the path was a tall palm tree, which we took to be the
tall fruit tree spoken of by our two natives. This path was to take us
in a very few miles to the Shangani, so, after supping at this spot,
we started with light hearts to follow the track as it turned deep
into the forest again. Every man was now walking, and either leading
or driving his horse, and as we formed a long single string in the
narrow path, our progress was extremely slow. On and on till past
midnight, and by one in the morning we reckoned we had done about eight
miles; but we ought, according to our guide’s report, to have struck
the Shangani long ere this. But no Shangani nor any sign of it was in
sight; so, calling a halt, I told Poore to rest the men and horses,
while Gielgud—who was an old American scout—and I went on ahead, to see
if we could find the river within a reasonable distance.

We two were mounted on ponies, which seem to stand the hard work far
better than the horses of the hussars, and having bright moonlight to
show us the track, we pressed along at a fairly good pace. The sameness
of the forest scenery was very tiring and very depressing, and we only
longed to come upon the enemy, or for them to come upon us, to give a
little variety to the monotony.

On and on we went, until we calculated we had done another nine miles,
but never a sign of water. The moon was then getting low, and we
agreed the only thing to be done was to turn back while there was yet
sufficient light to see the track to rejoin the patrol, and to turn
them back once more for a second time to the Gwelo River. My idea,
then, was that one of us should take the two best horses and ride for
the direction of the waggons to try and get help, while the patrol
should keep along the river bank, so as to be sure of its water, and
simply live on horse until relieved. Gielgud very kindly volunteered
to make the attempt to ride for the waggons. We had not gone very far
on our way back towards the patrol, when the moon went down, and left
us in the dark; but it only wanted a quarter of an hour to dawn, so we
made a fire, and boiled our cocoa, in the course of which operation I
fell fast asleep.

_21st September._—As the dawn came on, I climbed a neighbouring tree
and looked all round to see if there were any signs of the river, but
nothing but an unbroken line of tree–tops met my gaze.

As I was coming down from the tree, a jingling in the bush a short
distance away attracted my attention, and there, to my horror, I saw
the whole of my patrol had followed after us. This settled the question
of whether to go forward or to go back; we must now press forward, even
if it meant losing horses.

Again halting the party to give them a rest, Gielgud and I resolved to
make one more effort to find water, not by going on along the path,
but by striking off to one side where the ground appeared to slope
downwards. It was heart–breaking work: every rise seemed to promise a
valley on the other side, but we only topped it to find an ordinary
dry, baked, grass valley beyond. After going some miles without success
we sorrowfully allowed that no more could be done; our ponies were
getting fagged out, and we must try and get back to the patrol, with
every prospect of having a bad day pushing on for water.

Poor Gielgud was now asleep on his horse. I was leading the way back,
and his horse following mine wearily, when I chanced to notice on
the ground the place where a buck had been scratching in the sand; I
thought to myself that he would not scratch there for nothing, so,
dismounting, I continued the scratching with my hand, and after
digging for some little time, I came to damp ground, and a little
deeper the water began to ooze in. Then I saw two pigeons fly up from
behind a rock a short distance from me, and, going there, I found a
little pool of water. You may guess how much we were relieved; it
reversed the whole of the dilemma. An hour later we had got the party
off–saddled there, watered and camped for the day, and here I am under
my blanket shelter, scorching hot day, flies innumerable stopping all
our efforts to sleep, and the prospect of another night march before
us, which we sincerely hope will bring us out of this beastly forest
to the river. We have now got only one pound of bread left for each
man, a little tea, a spoonful of rice, and plenty of horseflesh; no
salt, sugar, or coffee—these luxuries are past; and we expect nothing
more for the next three days. Yet the men are singing and chaffing away
as cheerfully as possible while they scoop the muddy water from the
sand–hole for their tea.

I am mounting Gielgud and Corporal Spicer of the 7th on my ponies, and
they are going to start to ride for the waggons as soon as the heat of
the clay is over. I shall not leave the men myself, but shall probably
have to walk on foot; this I would not mind but my boots are already
very holey, and only the ankles of my socks remain, the feet have
become most delicate lace.

At 4 p. m. we again moved on, having bid good–bye to Gielgud and his
man, who have gone on ahead. Gielgud is a fine young fellow, Native
Commissioner by occupation, American by birth, cowboy by education, and
gentleman by nature.

We held on steadily to the south and eastward till long after dark, and
again a brilliant moon helped us on our way. In fact, we do far more
marching by night than by daytime. At last a halt was called, because
two more horses had given out, and we had to transfer their saddles to
other horses, which in some cases were already carrying two or three
saddles on their backs, for we may as well try to save what Government
property we can. I took the opportunity of this halt to go forward
again to look for water, and I was not out of sound of the men’s voices
when I came on the wide expanse of river bed lying in the moonlight
before me. I _was_ glad. All my anxiety was now over. We camped then
and there on a tree–shaded, rocky knoll overlooking the river. Poore
and I have a splendid log fire between us. I boiled up my last spoonful
of cocoa, which I had been husbanding for a great occasion like this,
and after a nugget of rock–like bread and a fid of horse, I am going to
bed WITH MY BOOTS OFF! I do not care for Matabele now; I am going to
try for a good sleep, and I will “see that I get it.”

[Illustration: A NEW ENEMY
 Lions were common in the Shangani country. I got a shot at a very good
 one when out with a small patrol of 7th Hussars. But, although badly
 wounded, he got away.]

_22nd September._—We had what in India would be called “a Europe
morning,” that is to say, we lay in bed longer than usual by half an
hour, and did not get up till five. Then we marched for two hours
along the Shangani; we were now out of the forest, but in pretty thick
thorn–bush country. We now kept a good look–out for the enemy, hoping
to catch them about the river, and patrolled into all likely–looking
country on both sides of the river, as this was a part of the country
in which Forbes’s column in ‘93 met with several attacks from the
enemy on their way back after the Shangani disaster. But we could not
even find a sign of the rebels, although we saw what was also very
interesting, and that was the spoor of lion. I had taken a patrol of
three men across the river to examine some bush, and in coming back
on to the river bank, one of my men cried out, “There is a lion!” and
sure enough there was a fine great dark–coloured lion strolling along
on a small island in the middle of the river bed, about a hundred yards
away. I thought he would like to have some notice taken of him, so
jumped off my horse to salute him, and the corporal with me did the
same, and we both fired almost simultaneously. One bullet struck the
ground under him and the other struck him in the ribs, rather far
back, as for a moment he sank on his haunches, and then sprang forward
among some rocks and was immediately lost to sight. I put my hussars
up on different rocks to keep a look–out for him, and the main body
of the patrol on the other bank of the river kept the look–out there,
and I went down among the rocks of the river bed to look for him, but
could not find him. Poore joined me there, and also his sergeant–major,
and the farrier, who came armed with a revolver only. But though we
searched every corner of the rocks, we never saw the beast again.
But we heard of him, for later on, when I resumed the search in the
afternoon, one of the men whom I had posted on the look–out asked how
many lions I expected to find there, as the one I had shot at in the
morning had gone away up the river dragging his hind–quarters after
him. The man had supposed that I saw him too, and so said nothing!

We killed another horse to–day, and I took in my belt another hole. I
seldom measured less round the waist than I do now.

Had a delicious bathe in the river. The only drawback to bathing is the
difficulty of getting back into one’s soleless socks again; next time
I bathe I shall not take them off, but will bathe in them.

The river is a big sandy bed with piles and ledges of grey granite
rock, low banks covered with thorn jungle, occasional pools among the
rocks. Some of the hussars, fishing in these pools, have managed to
catch some good–sized barbel. It is wonderful what soldiers manage to
carry as part of their kit,—here is a man carrying fish–hooks with him
in this wilderness, just as in India, I remember, a man had a pair of
skates among his things, which, however, came in useful when he got up
to Kandahar in the winter–time. The men are certainly thin, but very
healthy and hungry. When a man is hungry, it is curious to see how he
furtively watches his neighbour eating, especially if he (the watcher)
has already finished his meal.

I know you will ask, what is horseflesh like? Well, it is not so bad
when you have got accustomed to it, and especially if you have a little
salt, mustard, vegetables, etc., to go with it, and also if you did not
happen to know the deceased personally. None of these conditions were
present in our case. It is one thing to say, “I’ll trouble you to pass
the horse, please,” but quite another to say, “Give me another chunk of
D 15.”

During the afternoon march I again took a patrol away to the flank
of my main party, and had not rejoined it when darkness set in,
consequently, in the main party, they began to fire some signal shots,
to show me where they were, and I replied to these. For signal shots
we generally fired three shots in rapid succession, but, to my great
surprise, my signal was not only replied to by the patrol, but also by
a volley fired in the darkness some distance ahead of us. The volley
was immediately followed by the bright flare of a signal fire. I very
soon rejoined my patrol, and together we pressed on in the direction of
the fire. More shots were fired, to which we replied, and, on reaching
the place, we were delighted to find our relief party, which had been
sent out, under De Moleyns, to meet us. Here were camp–fires ready lit,
bully–beef, sugar, flour, cocoa, laid out all ready for issue, and
nosebags, stuffed with mealies, standing ready for the horses. It was
a goodly sight, and what a meal we all made! The luxury of bully–beef!
And while we ate, De Moleyns gave us all the news of the other patrols
which had gone out; the one which Kekewich had taken away to our right
had communicated with Paget beyond the Gwelo River, and had then made
a dash for a rebel impi, which was camped near the “Lion Koppie,”
some forty miles down the river, and had totally surprised them. The
Mounted Infantry had charged as cavalry, fixing their bayonets, and
using their arms as lances; they had killed some twenty of the enemy,
and taken many prisoners, corn, and cattle. The prisoners whom our
patrol had captured had duly given themselves up at the waggons, and
our two native messengers had faithfully carried out their mission,
and brought in the note asking for supplies. All the patrols had met
with lion adventures, one small party from Ridley’s lot having walked
into a family party of nine lions lying down; when the lions got up and
stretched themselves and yawned, the scouts thought it time to retire.
Another lion visited the waggons, and was wounded by a sentry firing on
him at five yards’ distance, but he got away; and even here, where we
now were camped, the lions were round about; big fires were therefore
kept going all night by the sentries. But we did not sit up late to
talk over lion stories; all anxiety being at an end, we coiled down,
put our feet to the fire, and slept like logs.

_23rd September._—Leaving Poore and the patrol to rest and feed, and
to follow on by slow stages, I got a fresh pony from De Moleyns, and,
accompanied by him and by the party of men who had brought the food to
us, I rode back to the waggons, twenty–two miles. There I got in touch
again with the whole of my command; it seemed quite a peaceful change.
I now sent orders for the whole force, including the waggons, which
had been left near Uwini’s, to rejoin me on the Hartley Hill road; my
intention was to return along this road towards Inyati, as an impi was
reported to be collected in that neighbourhood, and several parties
of rebels occupied koppies near the road. Moreover, the country lying
north of the Hartley Hill road had not been, so far, patrolled west
of the Shangani. Leaving orders, therefore, for Poore to move by easy
stages through that country down to Inyati, I determined to go there
with my main body by the main road, having also a strong patrol moving
parallel to the road, on the south side of it, clearing the koppies in
that country.

_28th September._—After sending off the waggons at 3.45 in the morning,
I went with the mounted part of the column to the southward of the
road, and at dawn surrounded a koppie occupied by rebels. They were
too quick for us; having drawn a cordon round the koppie, we ascended
it, and found their fires burning, food cooking, and their blankets
lying about, just vacated, but not a soul was to be seen, except a dog
or two; the people had all bolted into the caves, with which the hill
was undermined. We found the entrance to the caves near the top of the
hill; it was merely a small hole under a huge rock, into which you had
to let yourself down feet first. It led into a ramification of small
passages and tunnels underground. Deep down in this dark hole you came
to a perpendicular shaft, thirty feet deep, leading, by a tree–stem
used as a ladder, into a deeper level of similar caves (I say _you_
could do it, as _I_ couldn’t, for, in climbing about the koppie, I
had sprained my ankle slightly, and I had to sit nursing it, while
the others did the exploration of the caves). We called down into the
caves, for anybody who might be there to come out, as we were going to
use dynamite, and after getting out a large supply of grain and Kaffir
food, and sending it off to the waggons by gangs of prisoners, we blew
up the cave with three charges of dynamite.

[Illustration: ENTERING A CAVE STRONGHOLD
 The “caves” in which the rebels take refuge are labyrinths of narrow
 tunnels twisting about underground between the rocks. The entrance is
 generally near the top of a koppie, and to enter is like going down a
 chimney or a steep drain, with an armed nigger waiting for you at the
 bottom.]

_29th September._—On leaving our camp ground this morning, which was
on the Shangani River, Gielgud, following behind the column, saw two
Matabele spies peeping at us from among the reeds in the river bed,
and he cleverly effected their capture with the assistance of some
of his boys; one of the men carried a Martini–Henry rifle. When we
got into camp that night, a man of the police, who was ill in the
hospital–waggon, died suddenly of pneumonia. As we should have to start
at 3.45 next morning, we had his funeral then and there, as soon as the
grave could be dug. It was an impressive ceremony, the military funeral
in the dark, among gleams of camp–fires and lanterns, with a storm of
thunder and lightning gathering round.

_1st October._—We had at last reached Inyati, only to find a letter
from the General to say that the impi that we had come for has sent
in to say that they wish to surrender, so that our last few days
of hurried marching with weary mules and horses had again been
thrown away. The General’s letter goes on to say that the rebels
are submitting in every direction, the war is practically over in
Matabeleland, and that a court of inquiry is to assemble at Gwelo to
hear my reasons for trying Uwini by court–martial instead of handing
him over for civil power to try. That this is by direction of the High
Commission at Cape Town, who, on hearing that Uwini had been tried
and executed, had telegraphed ordering my arrest; but this in effect
the General had respectfully declined to carry out. In his letter
the General says a court can assemble “as soon as Paget and you have
finished your operations against Wedza.” This was the first I had
heard of my column being required to co–operate against Wedza, but a
hint is as good as a nod, or whatever the phrase is, and I am losing no
time about acting upon it. I have picked out all the best horses of the
Hussars and the Mounted Infantry, amounting to 115, and these, together
with a 7–pounder and two Maxims, I am going to take to Wedza’s, with
waggons carrying three weeks’ provisions. Wedza’s is about a hundred
miles to the south–east of this. I am leaving all the sick and worn–out
horses here at Inyati, where Poore will take charge of them when he
arrives about two days hence. The Afrikander corps under Captain
van Niekerk belong to the temporary Matabeleland Police, and their
engagement shortly expires, so I shall not take them with me, but shall
send them back to Buluwayo ready for disbandment, and with them will
go the ambulance, taking such men as are sick. These, happily, do not
amount to many, but unfortunately include two officers of the Mounted
Infantry, namely, Kekewich, who has both hands disabled from veldt
sores, and Armstrong ill with dysentery. I am also losing the services
of De Moleyns, who has been detailed to organise the new police force
in Mashonaland.

[Illustration: “GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!”
 At a camp–fire concert, held in honour of Her Majesty’s record reign,
 all hands, Boers as well as Colonials and Imperial troops, joined
 heartily in the cheers that greeted the proposal of her health, and in
 singing “God save the Queen.”]

Prince Alexander of Teck has taken his place as my staff officer, and
is hard at work in arranging matters, so that we may get away to–morrow
morning. Gielgud, too, is leaving us, as Inyati is his headquarters,
and, peace having been restored in his district, he has now to settle
down and arrange for the settlement of the natives, and for the receipt
of further surrenders of rebels and their arms. Van Niekerk, who
commands the Afrikander corps, will be a great loss to me, he is so
very keen, and a most resourceful and helpful officer, and his men,
too, have got on wonderfully well with Tommy Atkins both in camp as
well as in the field.

To–night we have had a camp–fire concert, by way of a farewell
entertainment, and in honour of Her Majesty’s record reign. We just had
sufficient “dop” (Dutch brandy) to give everybody a tot in which to
drink her health, and it was a pleasing sight to see, not only her own
soldiers, but Colonials and Afrikanders as well, joining with all their
hearts in singing “God Save the Queen,” and in the cheers that greeted
the proposal of her health.




CHAPTER XIV

IN THE BELINGWE DISTRICT

_2nd October to 13th October_

 My Column moves from Inyati towards Belingwe—The Danger of ignoring your
 Enemy—We camp at Posselt’s Farm—We meet a Lion, and do not part with
 him again—The Value of a Lion’s Interior Fittings—Waiting to effect a
 Junction with Paget’s Column—Our Arrival signalled by the Rebels—We move
 towards Wedza’s to reconnoitre—We have a Talk with the Rebels—Wedza
 not inclined for Submission—We clear the Neighbouring Hills as an
 Object–Lesson to him—Description of Wedza’s Stronghold.


_2nd October._—Early in the morning our diminished column started
off from Inyati across the veldt, not following any road, but making
its own way south–eastward towards the Belingwe district. The column
consisted of half a squadron of the 7th Hussars and the York and
Lancaster Mounted Infantry, together with the 7–pounder and machine
guns manned by police under Captain Boggie. About 160 men altogether,
with ambulance, and waggons carrying stores and three weeks’ supplies.

_5th October._—We have been going steadily on over open, undulating
country, with a range of blue hills beyond a wooded plain on our
left, and rolling downs of yellow veldt on our right. All the anxiety
of conducting a column, which I have felt of late, is now off my
mind, since water is to be found in every river bed; but our horses
and mules are very tired and worn–out, the grass is all parched
and practically useless as food, and yet there is no other to give
them; the sun is powerful, and by eight o’clock the heat of the day
is already beginning, the thermometer going up to 98 and 100 in the
shade at midday. All the country through which we are now passing has
surrendered, and it is quite a new sensation to see natives walking
across the veldt and not to go for them, to see fresh spoor and not to
let your heart jump with joy.

To–day we struck the Belingwe–Buluwayo road, and, following along it,
we are passing through the Insiza Hills. This is a range of stony,
thinly–bushed hills, where gold–reef claims are pegged out in every
direction. Our night outspan is on the top of a hill among the burnt
ruins of Stevenson’s Store; it does make one feel a little badly
disposed towards our black brothers when one sees a comfortable home
like this wantonly destroyed, its little household nicknacks scattered,
broken, and burnt about the veldt. It was near one such ruined
homestead as this that I found a poor little white chap of three years
old, with his head battered, as these savages are fond of doing. After
burying him, I kept one of his little shoes as a keepsake.

_6th October._—We are once again in a country where an enemy is
possible, which I much prefer to a half–and–half country, because here
all ranks are apt to become slack in the precautionary duties of the
line of march and camp. It is curious how new–comers fail to appreciate
the necessity of precautions until they have been bitten or nearly
bitten, and this they do in spite of all the teachings of history, such
as Isandhlwana, the Prince Imperial, Bronker’s Spruit, and a half a
hundred narrow shaves that have never become public. They look casually
round the wide, bare horizon—not a soul in sight; ergo, they argue, not
a soul is there. They do not know how a nigger hides; even the best
troop of scouts in Matabeleland have been taken in in this way. An
onlooker on a neighbouring hill, from which he commanded a bird’s–eye
view of the scene, saw this body of scouts approaching a rise, and on
the other side of the rise there was similarly a body of the enemy
coming up towards the scouts, each party unseen by the other. The
natives were first to see their enemy; they dropped like one man in
their tracks, and lay low in the thick grass. The scouts came on over
the rise without having seen them, and rode right past them, within
fifty yards. So soon as they had been lost to sight over the next
ridge, the natives rose to their feet and went on their way rejoicing.
I myself once marked down a Matabele in a patch of grass; I walked
through it, and had passed within a foot or two of him before I saw his
heel, Achilles–like, left outside the tunnel which he had wriggled for
himself in the grass.

New–comers take time to learn the value of spoor. Show them fresh
spoor, and they will scarcely believe that it is that of the enemy, who
should be somewhere in sight if he were not hiding, and, seeing nothing
to be alarmed at themselves, they are apt to mistake discretion for
funk, and foolhardiness for pluck; they think that precautions, to say
the least, are derogatory; to see them saunter into danger, is as it
were to watch a child playing on the edge of a cliff. It is that same
foolhardiness that stands in the way of many men becoming good scouts;
there are plenty who are ready, if asked, to go and look into hell’s
mouth; but what one wants is a man who will not only go there, but who
can see his way to getting back again to tell you what he saw. And
to do this successfully he must be wary, and must notice all signs,
however small, and be able to read their meaning.

A small incident which occurred to me the other day will give an
example. I was out with a boy reconnoitring a hill occupied by enemy.
In order to get a better view of it, we had to cross a difficult
river, which lay between high, steep banks, and consisted of a chain
of deep–water reaches and rocks, with only one practicable “drift,” or
crossing. It was not a very safe proceeding to commit ourselves to one
single line of retreat, but in this case there was no alternative.

So we crossed over, but kept, if possible, a more than usually bright
look–out for enemy, while moving as far as we could under concealment
of the bush ourselves. As we went, we took special note of guiding
marks, such as would serve to direct us back to our crossing–place
should we be obliged to make for it in a hurry. (This use of guiding
marks, such as peculiar trees, noticeable rocks, etc., is too often
neglected, and yet may often be invaluable).

We went on for about a quarter of a mile beyond the drift, and then,
leaving the horses with the boy, I climbed up a koppie and got a view
of the place.

So far, we had seen no niggers about, but presently, glancing back
towards the drift, I saw three buck suddenly appear, coming as hard as
they could away from the bush near the river and towards us. Presently
they stopped, and, without noticing us, wheeled up and faced the way
they had come, staring hard with pricked ears. For a moment or two they
stood, and then, springing round, they dashed past us evidently fully
alarmed. We did not wait to see what had startled them, but, clambering
down the rocks, I mounted my horse, and we shoved back for the drift as
fast as we were able, keeping our eyes “skinned” the while.

We got to the bank all right, and, looking into the gully that formed
the river bed, were relieved to find it all clear; but, on looking
back, we could now see a number of black heads and shoulders of niggers
bobbing along among the rocks and bush, evidently hastening down to
occupy the drift and to cut us off. Luckily, by acting on the hint
given by the buck, we were before them, and were not long in getting
across to the open ground on the other bank of the river.

The hint, as seen in the open, was but a very small one, and would
probably mean nothing to the man who declines to accept hints;
and were he always acting alone it would not matter much, except
to himself,—for he would not live long to carry on his neglectful
course,—and there is no objection to his being rash at times—in fact,
for successful scouting, some risks _have_ to be run; but when he has
command of others, for whose safety he is responsible, it is another
thing, and nothing may then be left to chance.

[Illustration: FRESH MEAT
 For weeks at a time we lived entirely on tinned meat, and it was a great
 treat to the men when, occasionally, they could get a taste of fresh
 meat, whether it were buck, goat, or horse.]

_9th October._—At last, after trekking with weary, half–starved animals
for eighty–seven miles from Inyati, we are in sight of our goal.
Wedza’s Mountain, a noble–looking peak, can be seen peering over the
intermediate range, at a distance of some twelve or fifteen miles from
us. We are camped at Posselt’s cattle farm, where there is a certain
amount of grazing for our beasts; but Posselt’s cattle are all in the
hands of the rebels. The Native Commissioner of this district, Mr.
Jackson,—eager and helpful,—has joined us, and also Lieutenant Yonge,
with twenty men of the Belingwe garrison and a Nordenfeldt gun. But,
to our great disappointment, they had no news of Paget’s column, with
which we are expected to operate. Before leaving Inyati, I had sent
runners to Buluwayo to report my departure on this expedition, and
asking that Paget should be informed, by telegraph, that I should be
about here this day (9th October), and I had hoped to find an answer
from him awaiting us. On the other hand, we are much cheered to learn
that the rebels in this district are still unsubdued and cheeky.

[Illustration: STROLLING HOME IN THE MORNING]

_10th October_ (to be marked with a red mark when I can get a red
pencil).—Jackson and a native boy accompanied me scouting this morning;
we three started off at three in the morning, so that by dawn we were
in sight of one of the hills we expected might be occupied by Paget,
and where we hoped to see his fires. We saw none there; but on our
way, in moving round the hill which overlooks our camp, we saw a match
struck high up near the top of the mountain. This one little spark
told us a good deal. It showed that the enemy were there; that they
were awake and alert (I say “they,” because one nigger would not be up
there by himself in the dark); and that they were aware of our force
being at Posselt’s (as, otherwise, they would not be occupying that
hill). However, they could not see anything of us, as it was then quite
dark; and we went farther on among the mountains. In the early morning
light we crossed the deep river bed of the Umchingwe River, and, in
doing so, we noticed the fresh spoor of a lion in the sand. We went on,
and had a good look at the enemy’s stronghold; and on our way back,
as we approached this river bed, we agreed to go quietly, in case the
lion should be moving about in it. On looking down over the bank, my
heart jumped into my mouth, when I saw a grand old brute just walking
in behind a bush. Jackson could not see him, but was off his horse as
quick as I was, and ready with his gun; too ready, indeed, for the
moment that the lion appeared, walking majestically out from behind the
bush that had hidden him, Jackson fired hurriedly, striking the ground
under his foot, and, as we afterwards discovered, knocking off one
of his claws. The lion tossed up his shaggy head and looked at us in
dignified surprise. Then I fired, and hit him in the ribs with a leaden
bullet from my Lee–Metford. He reeled, sprang round, and staggered a
few paces, when Jackson, who was firing a Martini–Henry, let him have
one in the shoulder; this knocked him over sideways, and he turned
about, growling savagely.

[Illustration: “HALT! WHO COMES THERE?”]

I could scarcely believe that we had actually got a lion at last, but
resolved to make sure of it; so, telling Jackson not to fire unless it
was necessary (for fear of spoiling the skin with the larger bullet
of the Martini), I got down closer to the beast, and fired a shot at
the back of his neck as he turned his head away from me. This went
through his spine, and came out through the lower jaw, killing him
dead. We were pretty delighted at our success, but our nigger was mad
with happiness, for a dead lion—provided he is not a man–eater—has many
invaluable gifts for a Kaffir, in the shape of love–philtres, charms
against disease or injury, and medicines that produce bravery. It was
quite delightful to shake hands with the mighty paws of the dead lion,
and to pull at his magnificent tawny mane, and to look into his great
deep yellow eyes. And then we set to work to skin him; two skinning,
while the other kept watch in case of the enemy sneaking up to catch
us while we were thus occupied. In skinning him, we found that he
was very fat, and also that he had been much wounded by porcupines,
portions of whose quills had pierced the skin and lodged in his flesh
in several places. Our nigger cut out the eyes, gall–bladder, and
various bits of the lion’s anatomy, as fetish medicine. I filled my
carbine bucket with some of the fat, as I knew my two boys, Diamond and
M’tini, would very greatly value it. Then, after hiding the head in
a neighbouring bush, we packed the skin on to one of the ponies, and
returned to camp mightily pleased with ourselves.

On arrival there, the excitement among the boys was very great, for,
as we rode into camp, we pretended we had merely shot a buck; but when
Diamond turned out to take my horse from me, he suddenly recognised the
skin, and his eyes almost started from his head as he put his hand over
his mouth and ejaculated, “Ow! Ingonyama!” (“Great Scott! a lion!”)
Then, grinning with excitement, he asked leave to go and get some more
of it. In vain I told him that it was eight miles away, and close
under the enemy’s stronghold. He seized up an assegai and started off
at a steady trot along our back–spoor. And very soon one nigger after
another was doubling out of camp after him, to get a share of the
booty. In the evening they came back quite happy with various tit–bits,
and also the head. The heart was boiled and made into soup, which was
greedily partaken of by every boy in camp, with a view to gaining
courage. Diamond assured me that the bits of fat, etc., of which he was
now the proud possessor, would buy him several cattle when he got back
to Natal. Alas! I am afraid he may be reckoning without his rinderpest!

_12th October._—No news yet from Paget, although Jackson has sent some
runners to get round past the enemy’s country to communicate with
him, and to tell him that we are waiting for his orders here. In the
meantime, I do not intend to waste time, but shall go for one or two of
the minor chiefs round about here; and shall also reconnoitre Wedza’s
stronghold, so as to have, if possible, a map and report of it ready
for Paget’s use when he comes.

To–day we have marched to the Umchingwe River, and our camp is close
to where I shot the lion yesterday. We got there at midday, and our
arrival was at once signalled by the rebels to each other by means of
smoke–fires, lasting for about three minutes, on the two mountains
which form the strongholds of Monti and Matzetetza. I had sent some
native spies to find out where Wedza is now keeping his cattle, as,
if they are grazed away from the stronghold, we might be able to make
a raid on them, but the scouts have not yet returned; nor has Jackson
come back yet with some friendly natives whom he went away to collect.
But since the warning has been given to the various strongholds by
these smoke–fires, I thought it useless to wait any further, and
have ordered that this night, at sundown, all available mounted men
(numbering about 120), should go to reconnoitre Wedza’s stronghold,
taking two days’ rations with them.

Meantime I started in the afternoon myself, with Parkyn, my orderly, to
act as interpreter, to go to Matzetetza’s, to see if we could get his
people to talk with us, and if so, to advise them to surrender. They
had already been attacked some weeks before by Laing’s column, which
had driven them from their kraals for the time being, but they had
since reoccupied them. But when Parkyn and I got there, we found the
kraal apparently completely deserted, and though we shouted for anybody
who might be in the caves to come out and talk, explaining to them
that we were harmless individuals, merely coming to talk of peace, no
one appeared; so we got nothing by our ten–mile ride, except the mild
excitement of keeping our eyes open all the time, Parkyn being a little
apprehensive of some attempt to cut us off.

So about sundown we rode back and got on to the path which would be
followed by our party on its way to Wedza’s, and very soon we saw them
coming along in the moonlight, or rather, we heard them long before we
saw them, for the air was so clear and still, that though the column
was supposed to be moving in silence, we could hear the men muttering
to each other for seven minutes before they came up to us, that is,
over half a mile. We ourselves, to test their eyesight, sat quite
still, and found that we were not noticed until they were within twenty
yards of us, although the moon was bright and our horses were grazing
near.

As we went on past one of the strongholds, a signal–fire flared up
above us, which was quickly answered by another one from the very
hill to which Parkyn and I had been addressing ourselves in the
afternoon, so that there had been natives there listening all the time.
These signal–fires merely flashed up for a minute or two and were
extinguished again; but it was very annoying to have one’s moves thus
published. For a good part of the way it was very bad going, and we had
to do much of it on foot, leading our horses across rivers, rocks, and
bog; but at last, in the middle of the night, we arrived in the valley
formed on one side by Wedza’s mountain, and on the other by a parallel
ridge of bush–grown hills. On both Wedza’s and the opposite mountain
we could see fires twinkling at various points, which showed that both
were fully occupied by the enemy, who at the same time did not seem to
suspect our presence between them. We formed square and bivouacked.

_13th October._—Rousing up the men at half–past two, and leaving the
horses with a guard of fifty men, we went on foot close under Wedza’s
mountain, with the idea of lying in ambush there to catch some of
his people getting water in the morning, and from them to get such
information as we required as to the strength and disposition of the
forces, the whereabouts of the cattle, and other interesting items.
Along the foot of the mountain and parallel to it flows the Chingweze
River, and we had to cross this to get to the foot of the mountain,
and we found it a worse job than we anticipated, for the river was
wide and deep except at one spot, where it was passable through a
tumbled mass of great smooth rocks and boulders extending for about
three hundred yards. On these the men with their nailed boots slithered
and clattered to an awful extent, without making very much progress,
and dawn came on before we had reached the desired position. Another
quarter of a mile and we should be near the water–path, but it was
just too late to get there unseen, so, as the daylight came on, we hid
ourselves as best we could, close under the foot of the mountain.

[Illustration: PARLEYING WITH REBELS
 On many occasions we offered the rebels a chance of surrendering before
 being attacked. To do this, two of us would go near the stronghold,
 carrying a white flag, and unarmed (at least, as far as outward
 appearances went, but with revolvers inside our shirts). While talking
 to them, we kept moving about, because if we stood still, we offered a
 target to them that was too tempting to be resisted.]

Not far from us we could hear the talking and jabbering of the women
and children, altogether unsuspicious of our presence. Parkyn and I
then clambered up on to one of the lower koppies of the mountain, where
we could get a view of what was going on; he took up a good position
with his gun to cover my retreat in case of our being nipped there,
and I climbed up higher to get a look into this little valley beyond
in which all the talking was taking place. I was wearing what remained
of my indiarubber–soled shoes, and so was able to get about pretty
silently, but just as I was crossing an open space between two rocks, I
heard a wild cry of alarm, and all the women calling to each other to
run. I thought it was all over with our secrecy, so, clambering down
again, Parkyn and I walked boldly out into the open and called to the
people not to be frightened—that we had merely come to talk to them.
To my great surprise, it was only then that they discovered us; the
previous alarm had merely been given by some women who were lighting up
fires which were to blaze up all over their gardens to kill a flight
of locusts which had settled there, and they were only calling to each
other to run and get out of the way of the flames. However, as we had
now shown ourselves, we started a conversation. We told them that we
had come to talk peace, and wanted to see Wedza; they informed us that
Wedza was not at home, but that anything we liked to say would be
reported to him. We soon discovered that it was actually Wedza talking
to us; then we proceeded to tell them that a large body of troops
were coming to smash them up in their stronghold unless they were
wise in the meantime and sent in to make peace. Then Wedza remarked
that it was a curious thing for us to come and suggest peace and then
immediately to talk war, and especially to talk of smashing him in a
stronghold which had withstood many an attack and had never been taken.
At the same time, he would like to continue the conversation with us
if we would come a little nearer, as he was rather hard of hearing.
We guessed what his intention was, and neither went any nearer—for we
were already on the rocks at the foot of the mountain—nor did we cease
to walk about the whole time we were talking, because to stand still
on these occasions, even though you may be holding a white flag up,
often means to get a shot at you so soon as you offer a favourable
target. For half an hour we endeavoured to persuade the old boy that he
would be wiser to surrender, and we impressed on him that the troops
who were coming would be here in a day or two, they would arrive most
unexpectedly, and they were the Queen’s own troops, armed with special
apparatus for bringing rebellious chiefs out of their caves, means
which had never yet failed to effect their purpose. But he only invited
us to come and try the experiment with them, and that he would afford
the exception that proves the rule.

We then went back to the men, who had all this time been hidden close
under the foot of the hill, and moved out into the open to go back
to our horses. When the rebels saw this sudden apparition of armed
men so close to them, they started yelling and shrieking all over the
mountain, and from hilltop to hilltop the cry of warning and alarm was
passed on, and very soon afterwards people from outlying kraals could
be seen running for refuge to the main stronghold in the mountain.

As we recrossed the river to get to the horses, we saw a big crocodile
in one of the pools, and the fresh spoor of a hippopotamus along the
bank.

[Illustration: NATIVE SURGERY
A friendly native wounded in the foot is being doctored by one of his
friends.]

We lunched and spent the heat of the very hot day in the open valley in
front of Wedza’s mountain, watched with curiosity by hundreds of rebels
on the hill–tops; and then we moved off early in the afternoon to
tackle the ridge of hills that lay on the opposite side of the valley.
Working our way on to the top of this ridge, we moved along it from
end to end, capturing rebels’ kraals, of which there were about half
a dozen dotted along its length. The ridge was grown with thick bush
and forest, and though we came across a few natives from time to time,
they always managed to elude us in the jungle; we also saw a fine wild
boar, which caused quite a flutter in my breast. “If I only had you in
the open, my friend!” thought I. “If only you had a horse that was fit
enough to come anywhere near me!” grinned he. And so we parted.

[Illustration: WEDZA’S STRONGHOLD
 A mountain consisting of six rocky peaks of about 800 to 1000 ft.:
 on the summits of these are the kraals and caves held by rebels. The
 position is over two miles long, and one and a half deep.]

We took, altogether, four kraals, burnt them, and captured half a
dozen cattle, and a number of goats and sheep; the natives all bolted
into the bush or into caves in the cliffs of the hill. We got down off
the ridge just as darkness was coming on, and we bivouacked out in
the open plain pretty well tired out; but I have every hope that the
advice we gave Wedza, and the surprise we gave him in the unexpected
presence of our little force at his doors, and the object–lesson which
the burning of the kraals and the capture of cattle on the opposite
ridge must have afforded him, will, at least, shake his confidence,
and help to simplify our task of capturing his stronghold, for it is a
nasty–looking place to tackle, indeed, almost impossible for a small
force. Laing had visited it, but considered it far too big a job for
a column of two hundred and fifty men, and it will take every man of
Paget’s column and mine combined to effect anything. The stronghold
itself is a long mountain, consisting of six peaks of about eight
hundred feet high, its total length being about two and a half miles,
and its width about a mile and a half. On the extreme top of five of
the peaks are perched strong kraals, and in addition to these there
are three small kraals on the side of the mountain; underneath each
of the kraals are labyrinths of caves. The mountain itself has steep,
boulder–strewn, bush–grown sides, generally inaccessible, except where
the narrow, difficult paths lead up to the various strongholds, and
these paths have been fortified by the rebels with stockades and with
stone breastworks, and in many places they pass between huge rocks,
where only one man could squeeze through at a time. The paths are
commanded by loopholes for musketry from the caves. The kraals are
collections of circular mud huts with thatched roofs, built on crags
near the tops of the hills, and on the most inaccessible rocks among
them are perched the corn–bins; these grain stores are little circular
pillars exactly like pillar letter–boxes at home, but made of wattle
and daub, with a small thatched roof; a little hole is left near the
top of the bin, just as the hole for letters in the letter–box, and
through this hole the corn is poured into the bin. When full, the hole
is sealed up with a flat stone and mortar. When one loots a kraal, the
first thing to do is to knock out this stone, look in, and if there is
corn there of the kind that you require, make a hole in the bottom of
the wall and apply the mouth of your sack to it, and the corn will run
in.




CHAPTER XV

THE DOWNFALL OF WEDZA

_14th October to 21st October_

 We clear out Matzetetza’s Stronghold—Paget unable to co–operate with
 us, we determine to tackle Wedza unaided—Plan of Attack—The Mounted
 Infantry gain the Commanding Heights, but are threatened by the whole of
 the Enemy’s Force—We make a successful Diversion by a Ruse—We shell the
 Strongholds—A Patrol has a Narrow Shave—Prince Teck to the Fore—A Night
 Investment of the Stronghold—The Enemy evacuate the Place—Destruction
 of the Kraals—We go in pursuit of Wedza—Raiding Kraals among the
 Mountains—Ancient Ruins—Having pursued Wedza, we go in pursuit of our
 own Camp, which has moved—Satisfactory Result of the Patrol.


_14th October._—About three miles to the westward of the mountain
which we had harried yesterday, lay the solitary mountain peak on
which is the kraal of Matzetetza, the place which Parkyn and I visited
yesterday morning. Owing to alarm–fires having been shown on this hill,
we determined now to finally clear it out, so I moved the column soon
after daybreak in that direction, sending a message to our camp for
the guns to join us near the stronghold. We lay up for the heat of the
day within a mile of it, and were joined by the guns in the afternoon.
Although there was a good deal of spoor about, and several rebels
visible on the mountain, we could see none in the kraal; nevertheless,
we put the 7–pounder in position and shelled the stockaded entrance
and one or two of the caves; this was done partly to make sure of
clearing out any defenders who might be lurking there, but more for the
purpose of giving our new gun’s crew a little real practice, and also,
especially, with a view to letting Wedza know that we were in earnest
about shelling strongholds. For we were not five miles from him, and he
would hear the gun and see the conflagration when the kraal was burnt.
We then sent a strong party up into the kraal, with covering parties
posted to protect their advance in the event of any surprise on the
part of the enemy. But the enemy had evidently seen our approach and
had hastily cleared to the northward that day in large numbers; they
had left behind them a large store of grain and a number of goats and
poultry, to which we freely helped ourselves. It was after dark before
we had finished our work, and we camped near water within a mile of the
place.

At length, runners arrived with a letter from Paget to say that, after
all, he would be unable to join us, as had been arranged, for the
attack on Wedza.

_15th October._—After Paget’s message I determined to do as best I
could without him; therefore, at a very early hour this morning, we
started to tackle Wedza’s. It seemed a large order for so small a
force—we were only a hundred and twenty all told; Wedza’s mountain, as
I have already said, was nearly three miles by two in extent, and had
eight large kraals on it. His people, therefore, must have numbered
something like sixteen hundred, of whom six or seven hundred would be
fighting men, but worth double that number by reason of their almost
impregnable position. I naturally felt somewhat anxious about it. I had
prepared a plan of attack for Paget’s information, on the supposition
that our two combined forces would be available for the purpose, but
now that my small party was to do it alone, that plan would not work.
To make a direct attack would merely involve certain heavy loss to gain
nothing. The only thing we could do was to try and bluff the enemy out
of the place.

Wedza’s mountain is a kind of promontory standing out from a range
of smaller mountains, so I ordered the mounted infantry (York and
Lancaster Regiment), under Lieutenant Thurnall, to leave their horses
in the open valley at the foot of the mountain, and to gain the neck
which joined the mountain to the range of mountains northward. From
this position the mounted infantry would command a large part of the
stronghold with their fire, and would cut off the enemy’s line of
retreat to the mountains. This party were ordered to take up with them
their greatcoats, water, and two days’ rations, for they would have to
stay there the whole day and night, and possibly part of the following
day; there were only about twenty–five of them, but they were ordered
to act as if they were two hundred and fifty, and right well they
played their part. My idea was, that, so soon as this party should have
established themselves in their position on the neck, I would bombard
the central part of the position systematically with artillery and
machine gun fire, and, at the same time, threaten the left (southern)
flank, and the rear of the position with parties of 7th Hussars.

I intended to keep up this demonstration during the day and to–night,
hoping that such action, combined with the moral effect already
afforded by the object–lesson at Matzetetza’s yesterday, would so work
on the feelings of the defenders, that they would take my previous
advice and surrender; or if they did not do that, that, at least, they
would be so demoralised that an assault could be carried out with
some chance of success on the morrow. For these natives will stand
your coming at their position so long as you do so from the expected
direction, but if you come at them some other way, or look as if you
were likely to cut off their line of retreat, they are very liable to
become frightened, and therefore, in dealing with them, it sometimes
becomes necessary to disregard the teachings of books on tactics, and,
instead of concentrating your force, to spread it about in a way that
would invite disaster were you acting against civilised troops. In
order to gain our positions to carry out this plan, I took the mounted
infantry by one route, and sent the Hussars and guns by another more
southerly path—under Major Ridley—to take up their places as ordered.

It was yet early in the morning when, with the mounted infantry, I
arrived at the foot of the northern end of Wedza’s mountain; here
the men left their horses under charge of seven of their number,
and started off to gain their position on a dome–shaped mountain
overlooking the stronghold. It took them nearly an hour to get up to
within reasonable distance of this spot, and before they reached it,
their presence was discovered by the enemy, and fire was opened on them
as they neared the top. A small but determined party of the enemy,
foreseeing their object, established themselves among the rocks of
this mountain, and stubbornly opposed their advance; but the mounted
infantry, working steadily forward in admirable order, very soon drove
these men from their position, and presently signalled down that they
were occupying the post assigned to them.

But meantime the sound of the firing had roused the whole of the
mountain; from hilltop to hilltop the rebels were shouting to each
other, and through my telescope I could see from where I was, with the
led horses, that the enemy were rapidly collecting from all the kraals
fully armed, and were all making towards the position of our little
party of mounted infantry. It looked to me that if this movement was
allowed to develop, it might prove not only dangerous, but fatal to
our handful of men up there. I therefore sent a message to the spot
where the guns should be, requesting them to open fire without delay,
and thus create a diversion, and retain the defenders of that portion
of the stronghold at their proper post. But the guns were not there!
It afterwards transpired that Ridley’s party had been detained to an
unexpected extent by waggons bringing away grain from Matzetetza’s.

Something had to be done, and that quickly, so, leaving the led horses
to take care of themselves,—no enemy would venture down to attack them,
even if they could see no guards with them, as they would be sure to
look upon them as a lure,—I took the seven horse–holders, mounted, at
the best pace we could command, to the southern end of the mountain,
and, crossing with some difficulty the Chingweze River, we worked our
way through the bush round to the left rear of the stronghold. Here
there was a large village part of the way up the side of the mountain,
and, spreading ourselves out in the bush, we opened fire at it as hard
as we could go, using magazine–fire, and continually moving about from
bush to bush, in order to give the appearance of a large force of men.
In this particular village the natives were considerably startled,
and ran out in large numbers into the caves among the rocks close by.
But we cared not so much for them as for the defenders on the upper
part of the mountain; and immediately after our first volley, we
could hear the startled cries of alarm from their look–out men on the
uppermost peaks, and very soon they began to collect in large numbers
on the skyline overlooking our position. On the great look–out rock, in
particular, a mass of them were collected, so, directing the attention
of my little band to them, we sighted for 1200 yards, and gave them a
volley; the look–out man on the topmost pinnacle of rock fell among
the crowd, which lost no time in seeking better shelter! Leaving my
small army still in their position, with orders to make a show every
now and then with heavy firing, I made my way back to the front of the
position, and found that the ruse had been perfectly successful; the
mass of the enemy, who had been collecting to attack Thurnall, had been
surprised by this new attack in their rear, and were now still evenly
distributed in the different defensive posts of the mountain. By and by
the Hussars and Artillery began to arrive, and it was perhaps better in
the end that they did come late upon the scene, because it gave a fresh
and increased feeling of alarm to the natives, who, as soon as they
appeared in sight, began once more to shout further warnings to other
parts of the stronghold. I thought now that possibly the enemy might
think it advisable to come and surrender. The heat of the day was
well on, and so soon as the troops had arrived in position, we called
a rest; and the doctor, Surgeon–Captain Ferguson, called a rest for
_me_, as apparently the flying about this morning round the stronghold
had made me look a bit tired, so I lay in the ambulance in comfort,
and sucked down some of his excellent bovril, while the hussars, after
feeding and resting their horses, proceeded to take up the positions
allotted to them. But no message came down from the enemy, and so,
after a time, I thought it desirable to recommence stirring them up,
and, getting the 7–pounder in position, we opened fire with shells on
the more important points in turn. Before many rounds had been fired,
the enemy got on the move within the stronghold, and in doing so,
kept giving chances to Thurnall’s men up on their mountain, of which
they were not slow to avail themselves. By and by came a signal from
Thurnall, saying that his men were suffering from the want of water,
and we endeavoured to send some up to him, but the party going up were
attacked and driven back by the fire of the enemy, and in the end
Thurnall’s men did not get their water until they had sent down a party
after dark to assist the others coming up.

[Illustration: PRINCE ALEXANDER OF TECK
to the fore in the attack on Wedza’s stronghold.]

Then another signal came from Thurnall towards evening, to say that
numbers of the enemy were making their way out to the rear of the
position by a path that was out of his range; so, leaving word with
Prince Teck to bring on some of the 7th to that point, I got a fresh
horse, and, accompanied by Jackson, the Native Commissioner, once more
made my way round to the back of the mountain. In passing by the little
party that I had left there in the morning, we took three of them on
with us, and, riding along the well–worn tracks of the natives, we got
into a labyrinth of small valleys at the back of Wedza’s mountain.
Then, leaving our horses concealed, we clambered up on to the ridge,
looking into the heart of the stronghold from the rear. Kaffirs were
all about near us, but not in any large number,—single men here and
there on the look–out, women and children gathering up their goods,
evidently preparatory to making a move; but we could see no large
parties of them going away as yet, nothing that we could attack if we
brought a force round there; however, we saw the position of their main
paths toward the mountains to the north and eastward, and just about
sunset we came down again, and made our way back.

Owing to the broken nature of the country at this point, we were
forced to carry out what I always consider a most dangerous practice,
and that is, to return by the same path which you used in coming,
and the danger of it was practically demonstrated on this occasion.
Riding quietly along in the dusk, we had just got out of the bad part,
thinking all danger was over, when there was suddenly a flash and a
crash of musketry from a ridge of rocks close to us, dust spurted up
all round, and a swish of bullets whizzed past our heads. My hat was
violently struck from my head as if with a stick, and in an instant
we were galloping across the thirty yards of open which separated us
from a similar parallel ridge; dismounting here, we were very soon
busy replying to the firing of the enemy, whose forms we could now and
again see silhouetted against the evening sky. We had had a marvellous
escape; Jackson himself had been grazed on the shoulder, his horse had
a bullet–hole in its temple, the bullet had lodged in its head, and
beyond possibly a slight headache, the gallant little horse appeared
to be none the worse. Our position here was not too good a one: the
enemy were evidently a fairly strong party, and would merely have
to work among the rocks, a little to the right, to cut us off from
rejoining our main body. Moreover, they had practically possession,
or, at least, command of fire over my hat, which I badly wanted. But it
looked as though we ought at once to be making good our retreat, if we
meant to go away at all. We were just mounting to carry this out, when
out of the gathering darkness behind, there trotted up a strong party
of hussars, under Prince Teck, who, hearing the firing, had at once
hurried to the spot; his coming was most opportune, and reversed the
aspect of affairs. After a few minutes of sharp firing, the rocks in
front of us were cleared and occupied by our men, and my hat came back
to me.

[Illustration: 7TH HUSSARS AT WEDZAS
 Our small party of scouts in getting engaged with a stronger party of
 the enemy stood some chance of being cut off by them. But just as we
 were thinking of effecting our retreat, a party of 7th Hussars, under
 Prince Teck, came opportunely on the scene.]

Teck then posted piquets for the night, extending all round the left
flank and rear of the enemy’s position. These piquets built fires at
intervals, which were kept alight throughout the night by patrols
moving from one to the other. Thurnall had similar instructions to
light fires on heights round the northern end of the stronghold; while
the men in camp did the same on the plain in front of the central
portion of the position. This was done with a view to making the enemy
believe that our force was a very large one, encamped on every side of
them, and they evidently quite took this view of the case, for during
the night they made frequent sallies against one fire after another,
never venturing to attack it, but, as a rule, pouring in a sudden
volley from a short distance, and then retiring, probably boasting that
they had killed untold numbers of the white devils sleeping round their
fires. As a matter of fact, the white devils were specially ordered not
to sleep or to remain in the neighbourhood of the fires for that very
reason. But our men had a hard night of it, for they had orders not to
let the enemy rest, and they carried out their orders well; patrols
were constantly on the move opening fire now and then from unexpected
points. Sometimes they could see the lights of the enemy moving about
among their kraals, and these they fired on as a matter of course, but
often they fired without any actual object to aim at, merely with a
view to keeping up the enemy’s state of alarm. It was moonlight up till
four in the morning, so that any moves on the party of the enemy in
force could easily be seen by our scouts, but none took place; but so
soon as the moon set, bands of them were reported getting away by the
paths leading towards the mountains.

_16th October._—As soon as there was light enough, we began to hammer
away with the 7–pounder, the Maxims, and Nordenfeldt, taking each
koppie and its kraal in turn. Through the glass I could see the natives
move from the kraals into the caves, and when we shelled these, we
could see them stealing away through the rocks and bush, evidently
anxious to make their escape. Then I sent up the party of volunteers
who had joined us from Belingwe to assist Thurnall. He then advanced
along the ridge, attacking the koppies in turn after they had been
shelled, and very soon the flames shot up, and a cloud of smoke rolled
out, showing far and near that the first of the villages was taken.
This was Wedza’s own particular kraal, and in it were found large
numbers of Matabele arms, which showed that Wedza’s people, although
of the Makalaka race, were assisted by a number of Matabele warriors.
In this kraal was also found a large store of stolen dynamite, and
Thurnall was not slow to make use of it; for presently, with a splendid
boom, the koppie on which the kraal stood was blown to smithereens.

[Illustration: WEDZA’S KRAAL
 A village and granaries on the top of a mountain peak. The only path
 stockaded and defended by loopholes from caves, with which the mountain
 is undermined.]

[Illustration: “LITTLE MISS TUCKET SAT BY A BUCKET”
 A small girl and her puppy, captured at Wedza’s stronghold (on the
 mountain in the background). She was content to sit for hours by a
 bucket, and play with empty meat–tins.]

While the mounted infantry were thus taking the kraals in succession,
the hussars were recalled from their outlying positions around the
stronghold; and, though pretty well fagged out with the almost
incessant work of the last twenty–four hours, they eagerly volunteered
to clamber up the mountain and take part with the mounted infantry
in completing the destruction of the stronghold; and Major Ridley,
with his usual energy, led them up there. All through the heat of
the day they were at work, over most awful ground and clambering on
to inaccessible peaks, to effect the complete destruction of the
enemy’s villages and the clearing of their grain stores. It was not
till after dark that they were all safely down again, with their work
well accomplished, and the blazing evidences of it gleaming out their
message to all the rebels for miles round.

_21st October._—Excuse bad writing; but the light is waning; it is
sunset, the yellow–red sky is cut by the black skyline of the next
ridge and its wooded crest in strong silhouette. Looking from my lair,
through the frame of great black tree–stems, our bivouac fires in the
gully just below look like ragged bits of the orange–coloured sky
dropped into the dark abyss of the bush, and their blue misty wreaths
of smoke rise slowly on the breathless air like a circle of ghostly
sentries. The men are busy at their evening meal, the murmur of their
voices and the crunching of the horses, with their muzzles deep in
looted corn, are only sounds that go to emphasise the stillness of the
forest. Overhead, in the darkening sky, “Celangobi” (C stands for a
Matabele click, with a sound of Kts), the matron evening star, beams
calmly on our rest; but, over her shoulder, little, laughing stars are
already twinkling at the humour of the thing, for they can see her
peaceful gleam glinting sharply from the rifles and sword–scabbards
on the ground below; the peace of the scene is but the peace of
the hour—to–morrow there will be war again.—What nonsense it is to
write all this! but when one is tired, it is as when one is ill: one
likes to review such trifles in a dreamy way. I am tired,—we all are
tired,—nature herself seems tired to–night. And we’ve some reason for
it. On the evening of the 19th, we (a party of forty mounted men,
hussars and mounted infantry) moved out from camp without encumbrances,
but taking two days’ rations in our wallets, to follow up Wedza’s
people in their flight through his country, and to harry them into
submission.

An evening march, off–saddle in the woods, and on again at 3 a. m. No
pipes nor talking as we pass along the foot of the rocky ridge on which
the rebels have their kraals. Then clamber up on foot, lugging our
horses after us, along the steep and rocky cattle track. No cattle now
are here—the spoor is old. We break up into small patrols, to each of
which is assigned a bit of mountain and its kraals.

With my patrol we have a weary trudge—for only twenty per cent. of the
men have boots still fit for walking—(and I am one of the remaining
eighty per cent.; my feet are partly through the soles and on the
ground; I go, like Agag, “treading delicately”). We see no kraal; but
the fresh spoor of men, women, and children lies before to guide us.
It turns and leads into the boulders on the mountain–side. There, just
round the corner of a rock, one spies the eaves of a thatched hut, and,
close beside a cave, a few dead branches show there is a cattle kraal.
We press through thorny bush, and clamber up the slippery granite path,
some men working up the right and others up the left. Behind some rocks
we come upon a few huts, all empty but for some calabashes of water
and some fetish rags. Then a nasty slit between the rocks has to be
approached with care, or others stepped across in haste—these are the
caves in which Mashonas love to lie when danger visits their kraal. The
caves are labyrinths of little passages between the rocks below the
ground; and a few men with guns, well posted, can hope with ease to
stop a host of enemies.

The path leads up a kind of stair of rocks to a gap between two heavy
boulders, and in the gap is fixed a strong stockade of roughly–trimmed
saplings. To either hand, interstices between the rocks have been
blocked up with stones, and made into loopholes. These defences are
without defenders—and we are soon among the better huts of the kraal
proper, and among the corn–stores.

Each man carries an empty nose–bag, and as soon as these are filled,
and some errant chickens killed with sticks, and curios taken from the
huts, we burn the kraal, commencing on the windward side. There is a
roar, as the pillar of flame shoots up its twenty feet into the sky,
the pots and calabashes crack up from heat with the report of pistols,
and in a few minutes the village is a heap of smoking ruins—a warning
far and near to watching rebels.

After burning two such kraals, we make our way back to the horses, the
whole patrol reassembles and continues its march, having destroyed five
kraals among us. Through woods and stony hills into the Sabi Valley.
Off–saddle by a convenient water–hole, for breakfast and midday rest.
On again in the afternoon, to a bold, upstanding, solitary peak, a
regular acropolis, on the top of which are clustered the huts of
Monti’s stronghold. Keeping under cover of the woods, we divide into
two parties, and rapidly surround it. Dismount; and half an hour’s
arduous climb brings us past caves and barricades up to the summit.
Nobody there! Splendid view, fine kraal, good huts; fill our nosebags
and baskets, clear out, light up, and gingerly, among the sharp stones,
down we go again, to the music of the crackling huts behind us. Then
through the forest—up over stony mountains—alternately walking and
riding—to ease our worn–out nags. Over the Fisu range; then down
into an ideal cattle–robbers valley, full of kloofs and glades, with
a grassy, marshy bottom. Cliffs tower up on either hand, and from
their tops we can hear the rebel look–outs shouting their warning of
our approach, confound them! They soon know miles ahead that we are
there—and the path is far too bad for night marching!

[Illustration: TIRED OUT
 Prince Alexander of Teck (from Life).
 The Prince never spared himself when there was work to be done, and
 after a heavy spell of night–work he would just lie down on the ground
 and recuperate himself with a good sleep—too tired to be disturbed by
 the flies playing about his bare legs or by the ants entering through
 the gaping slits in his boots.]

At sundown we off–saddle and bivouac for the night where the gorge
opens out a little. High above us towers the rocky Mount Ingona, on
the top of which we see the kraal of chief Masunda. At dusk voices can
be heard in all the rocks around us. It looks as though we were in for
an attack—but the niggers vanish like smoke when a patrol goes out
to investigate. Lights are seen flitting about Masunda’s kraal, so we
shout to them not to disturb themselves, that if they like to come and
talk, we will not fight them. No reply.

Consequently, after coffee at 3 a. m. this morning, we started on
foot to clamber up the mountain. The path was steep and the boulders
slippery, but we are getting fit at mountain–climbing—still it took
us nearly an hour to reach the top. An ordinary kraal, with stone and
stockade defences, all abandoned. And such a glorious view of the
wooded mountains of this Belingwe district, with the many blue ribbons
of streams between, so different from the usual South African scenery.

We helped ourselves to all the corn that we could carry, as well
as to some little bits of loot, such as a Kaffir piano and some
tambourines—the piano being a small flat board on which is fixed a row
of iron tongues, and these when struck give each a different note of
soft, metallic sound. We also found some small hard–wood tablets, which
are the “cards” by which witch–doctors tell one’s fortune.

Then we set the village in a blaze, and made our way down from the
breezy height to our tiny laager by the stream below. Got our horses,
saddled–up, and after clambering and lugging them over a rocky ridge,
we got into the lower valley of the Sabi—a wooded plain, in the centre
of which there stood a fine acropolis with another kraal on top.
Surrounded it. As usual, no one there, but lots of fresh spoor—people
evidently gone to earth in the caves below. So we sat down to bathe,
breakfast, and sleep (for which the heat, flies, and ants were too
much), while the horses grazed. We had already done a pretty good day’s
work, but at 2 p. m. we paraded for the koppies, in three parties to
take the different villages, and in half an hour three fine bonfires
were raging, and with more corn in our nosebags and a few chickens at
our “saddle–bows,” we rode away to the part of the valley that belongs
to our old friend Wedza. Here he had his Counting–house–_i.e._ his
residential and farming kraals. The former was a fine, well–built
kraal, very neat and clean, but so well concealed among the rocks that
it took our patrol some time to find it. In this kraal, as in many
others we had visited, there was a forge for making nominally hoes, but
really assegais. The sharpening–stones lying about proved the latter.

The furnace, which is of clay, is in every instance built on this
model, which is a very ancient one. Doesn’t Bent say Phœnician?

[Illustration: A SMELTING FURNACE
Used by the Makalakas for iron–smelting for the manufacture of
assegais, etc. This form of furnace is said to be of ancient origin.]

The same march we passed by one of the many ancient (Phœnician) ruins.
A small circular fort on a smooth rock; walls, and except where pulled
down intentionally, in wonderfully good preservation. Dressed stones
without mortar, and the well–known form of ornamentation; a course of
herringbone, tile–like stones, and a dice–board course.

A theory about these forts is, that since they extend in a chain round
the gold districts, in which are remains of ancient workings, they were
probably built with the object of simplifying the labour question, and
keeping the workers in and the agitators out. Couldn’t something of the
sort be devised for the benefit of England?

[Illustration: ANCIENT RUINS
 Several walls and forts of ancient origin are to be seen in Rhodesia,
 sparsely dotted about the country, and usually in the neighbourhood of
 gold districts.]

Our rations were now at an end; all this clambering of koppies had not
only pretty well tired us out, but had taken many hours to accomplish;
so that evening found us still a long way from the camp near Wedza’s
stronghold, and we bivouacked, as I began by saying, under the eye of
Celangopi on the forest hillside, as tired as dogs.

We reckoned that a twelve–mile ride next morning would bring us to
breakfast at camp. But it didn’t.

_22nd October._—After making a very early start, on such tea and scraps
of bread as we had been able to save, we arrived by eight o’clock, very
tired and empty, at the foot of Wedza’s mountain. From this (eastern)
side it looked not unlike Gibraltar in shape and size; and we really
felt a bit pleased with ourselves at ever having had the presumption
to go for this place, not to mention at having succeeded in taking
it. As we passed round the foot of it, we rather pressed on the pace,
in the hopes of breakfast, and in doing so we let three native boys,
belonging to Jackson, the Native Commissioner, drop rather behind us.
Some lurking rebels were quick to see this, and had a few shots at them
(one boy afterwards said that a bullet passed between the top of his
ear and his head!), and compelled the boys to drop their bundles, which
included Jackson’s mess–kit, blankets, and, worst of all, a few rounds
of ammunition. We were too far ahead to render assistance till too late.

At last we reached our camp–ground. There were the camp–fires cold and
white, meat–tins, etc., in profusion, but no camp. A letter from Ridley
hanging from a post informed us that in our absence a message had come
from Colonel Paget, saying he wanted us to co–operate with him against
Monogula near Gwelo, and that, therefore, he (Ridley), as next senior,
had moved camp in that direction. We were just about played–out. But we
hoped to find him at the next water, six miles on, and so we struggled
on.

No; here was another note, saying he had moved a few miles farther on!
We off–saddled and sat down, some only to think, others to express
their thoughts in words. Then I found a little tea, and Jackson some
Boer meal (coarse flour). Of the latter we made a really very good
porridge, and had a few spoonsful round and a sip of tea, and on we
went through good–looking rebel country, kraals on koppies, that I had
always meant to reserve as our _bonne bouche_—and now they had already
been warned by the sight of the waggons, and we were unable to go and
tackle them through physical inability. Twelve more miles, many of them
on foot, driving our horses over hot, shimmering plains—and at last, in
the afternoon, we reached our waggons and our food.

That night, Ferguson (A.D.C.) rode into camp with a note from the
General, telling me to co–operate with Paget (which we were already
on our way to do), and also bringing a note from some natives he had
passed on the way, which was to the effect that they were messengers
from Wedza and Matzetetza, who, after the destruction of their
strongholds, had now changed their tone, and were both anxious to
surrender, together with their people. So all our toil had not been
without effect, and the sixty–mile patrol was rewarded.




CHAPTER XVI

CLEARING THE MASHONA FRONTIER

_25th October to 15th November_

 Filthiness is next to Healthiness—Through the Selukwe District—We join
 Colonel Paget’s Column for the Attack on Monogula’s—On visiting the
 Stronghold we find it deserted—We clear and destroy the Place—Gwelo—The
 Difficulties of a Commandant—The End of the War in Matabeleland—We are
 ordered to Taba Insimba—Enkledoorn Laager—Night March—We attack Taba
 Insimba (Magneze Poort)—Doctoring wounded Enemies—A Patent Syringe—I
 return to the General—Smoking on Sentry.


For the next four days we have continued our march,—practically across
country, as there were a few cart–tracks, some leading right and some
wrong, but I had got the right landmarks from one of Jackson’s boys
before he left us (which he did at the end of our patrol). We now left
his—the Belingwe—district and got into the Gwelo country.

_25th October._—Although it’s Sunday, which we generally make a day for
divine service and for rest, we have had to put in a lot of marching
in order to get to Paget in fair time. One cannot reckon on doing
so many miles a day in this country; you can only say it will be so
many hours. For instance, it took us five hours to do two miles two
different days in this march, _i.e._ in making drifts over bad rivers
like the Singweza and the Lundi.

We are a wonderfully dirty and ragged–looking crew now—especially me,
because I left Buluwayo six weeks ago to join this column only with
such things as I could carry on a led pony (including bedding and
food). My breeches and shirts are in tatters, my socks have nearly
disappeared in shreds. Umtini, my Matabele boy, has made sandals for me
to wear over—or at least outside—my soleless shoes.

And everywhere the veldt has been burnt by grass–fires—every breeze
carries about the fine black dust, and five minutes after washing, your
hands and arms and face are as grimy and black as ever—as if you were
in London again.

Bathing “the altogether” too often is apt to result in fever. Too much
washing of hands is apt to help veldt sores to originate—so we don’t
trouble to keep clean.

Veldt sores bother nearly every one of us. Every scratch you get
(and you get a good number from thorns, etc.) at once becomes a small
sore, gradually grows, and lasts sometimes for weeks. It is partly
the effect of hot sun and dry air too rapidly drying up the wound,
and also probably the blood is not in too good a state from living on
unchanging diet of tinned half salt beef and tinned vegetables. We have
very little variety, except when we loot some sheep or kill a buck. No
vegetables, and we are out of sugar, tea, cocoa, and rice.

[Illustration: A DANGEROUS PRACTICE
 Washing, although indulged in as a luxury, is not to be commended as
 a practice on the veldt. Bathing “the altogether” is apt to bring on
 fever, and too frequent washing of the hands and face is apt to render
 them susceptible to veldt sores.]

Matches are at a premium, pipes are manufactured out of mealie
corn–cobs and small reeds. Tobacco is very scarce—tea leaves were in
use till the tea came to an end.

_26th October._—We struck the Gwelo–Victoria road, and it seems quite
strange to be once more in civilised (!) country, and not to have to
find our own way over every river, and not to be on the look–out for
lions at night, etc. Even the spoor of natives fails to excite us much,
as most of them about here appear to be giving in. But we hope we may
not be too late to help Paget have a final slap at Monogula—one of
these koppie–holding gentry who has not yet experienced a bombardment
by artillery.

It is delightful marching among the hills of this Selukwe district;
they are well wooded, and run up here and there into mountains. A
lot of the trees are still in their autumn tints, while the others
are just budding out (for it is spring here), the young grass is
greenifying the low–lying land, and even the black burnt veldt is now
brightened up with a great variety of wild flowers—these are what I
call bluebells, cowslips, dandelions, snowdrops, sweet peas, sweet
williams, convolvulus, and poppies, and many more. Not that they are
these flowers actually, but as they have some faint resemblance, I
like to be reminded by them of the English flowers.

And the woods are cheery with the chirp and whistle of the birds, and
though there are no songsters among them, there is a fellow whose note
is like a robin, another like a chaffinch, and, best of all, one who
distantly resembles a thrush. And overhead the trilling pipe of a big
brown hawk brings back at once the glaring heat of India.

And then the peeps, between the trees of wooded peaks beyond show one
such colours as can’t be found in paint–boxes. Where would you get that
pearly lilac of the lit–up face of the rock or the pure deep blue of
the shadows?

All about among the hills are gold reefs pegged out with notice–boards,
and near them the wattle and daub houses of miners—all deserted and
looted, but not burnt.

_27th October._—The roads are awful for our wretched mules, so hilly,
stony, and dusty, but we have struggled on, and at last, on the 27th,
we have joined Colonel Paget’s column. This column consists just now
of merely a squadron of 7th Hussars, the West Riding Mounted Infantry
being away on patrol.

Such a breakfast they gave us on arrival, with milk (tinned), fish,
jam, etc. etc. Beautiful camp under the trees. English mails and
newspapers, the first for a month. News of Nansen’s return, and of my
brother George bringing Nansen home in his yacht _Otaria_, just what
I had hoped Admiral Markham was going to do, taking me with him; we
talked of it two years ago.

[Illustration: A ROADSIDE INN IN MATABELELAND
 Passing, in the Selukwe district, an inn which had been looted but not
 burnt by the rebels, the comic man of the mounted infantry acted the
 part of landlord with the aid of a board and a couple of empty bottles.]

In the course of the day two messengers from N’dema (one of the two
great rebels of this district) came in to say that he had heard of
Wedza’s being knocked out of his stronghold, and so had come to
surrender, and soon after N’dema himself, and five of his chiefs
arrived. They were soon sent off to Gwelo under escort.

In the afternoon I went with Paget, Carew, and others, to have a look
at Monogula’s stronghold from a distance. It did not look a very
desperate place.

_28th October._—I started off with Carew, 7th Hussars, and a party
of ten men, and my orderly Parkyn, to call on Monogula. We went by
moonlight, so that he should not be alarmed at our numbers. On arriving
near the stronghold soon after daylight, the escort hid in the bush,
and, leaving our rifles with them, Parkyn and I rode out into the open
in front of the kraal, and, waving a towel as a flag of truce, we told
the rebels we were men of peace come to talk with them—that the men of
war were not far behind us, and would be there before another sun rose,
unless they (the rebels) came to talk over the situation. The great
White Queen was getting a little vexed with Monogula; all the other
chiefs of note had surrendered or been licked except him: if he did not
now take this chance of surrendering, he would be knocked out and his
lands given to another, etc. etc. Most eloquent we were! but all in
vain. Our shouts only roused up birds from their feeds of spilt grain
in the kraal. There was no reply, nor was there any fresh spoor on the
many paths. We went closer and closer up on the rocks,—nobody fired at
us—they were not there! We had a good look round, and then returned
to report to Colonel Paget, who had meanwhile moved up the laager to
within three miles of the place.

When blazing midday was over, the men and the 7–pounder were moved out
to the stronghold. The gun fired half a dozen shells into the place,
and the 7th Hussars then advanced along the ridge into the kraal, while
I came up from below with the Mounted Infantry. Suddenly there was an
outburst of firing in the kraal above us as we scaled the height—I knew
it was the 7th Hussars firing into it as a precautionary measure before
entering, but the Mounted Infantry supposed that the enemy had been
found, and it was a treat to see them dash forward, each man taking his
own line, and eager to be first up the rocky face of the koppie, and
they were very disgusted to find nobody to fight when they got to the
top.

A few weeks ago there had been a different tale to tell. A patrol
of 7th Hussars under Captain Carew had then got up to the wall that
defended the main kraal. One man was shot dead close to the wall,
when his companion, without a second’s pause, mounted the wall, and
pistolled the firer of the shot.

The body of the white man was taken by his comrades to their camp,
eight miles away, and buried there with honours. But when our column
passed that way two days ago, the cross was there, but the grave yawned
wide and empty. The enemy had been there since, and, as they often do,
had taken out the corpse to make up fetish “medicines” for themselves.

The caves under this koppie were typical of the usual thing met with
now. You creep in through a narrow little hole, down crevices between
rocks—every here and there a crevice leading to the open air gives
you light, and a chance of shooting anybody passing by or looking in
from outside. Then you come to a roomy cave, from which other tunnels
lead out downwards to more caves—the tunnel being occasionally a
perpendicular shaft of 20 or 30 feet, which is negotiated by means of
a tree–trunk roughly made into a ladder. The caves and their passages
worm about inside the koppie, with frequent peeps and bolt–holes to
open air, and so are grand refuges for a few desperate rebels. In
Monogula’s we placed thirty–four cases of dynamite, and at one grand
burst blew up the whole koppie, so that where there had been hill
there remained but a crater.

[Illustration: A CAVE STRONGHOLD
 Elevation and section of the same koppie, showing the caves shaded.]

The natives, when they return, will scarcely recognise the site of
their once famous stronghold, and they will acknowledge that the white
man’s God is stronger than their own M’limo.

Previous to demolishing the caves, we had of course removed, for our
own use, the stores of grain which had been stowed away for the rebel
garrison. In searching for this grain, the men had lighted on a place
in which the bodies had been thrust of those rebels who had fallen when
our last patrol had visited the kraal, and, to our satisfaction, we
now found that nine were killed, and among them two Cape Boys, one of
whom, Hendricks by name, was noted as a rifle–shot. He had two bullets
through his head; so the shooting of the hussars must have been pretty
straight for the few minutes they were at it! Indeed, the shooting of
the Imperial troops in this campaign has been particularly good, and
has won the admiration of the Dutchmen fighting with us.

_29th October._—My patrol being now over, the mounted infantry started
to–day for their march down country to take ship for India, and I was
right sorry to part from so good a lot of soldiers. I only wished that
they could have had reward for all their keenness and hard work—in the
shape of a really good fight with the Matabele.

I, myself, now took my way to Gwelo, to be examined by a Court of
Inquiry as to why I had sanctioned the execution of Uwini. My only
defence is, that it was the only right thing under the circumstances.

In connection with what I had done in the case of Uwini, I was rather
struck by reading to–day, anent the siege of Delhi, the following
remark by John Nicholson to an officer who had said to him, “It is
hard, sir, when one has fagged horses and men to death, to be told that
one has exceeded orders.” “If you served under me,” were Nicholson’s
words, “that would be impossible; my instructions are, always to do
everything that can be done.”

Gwelo is on a bare, open flat, with a sea–like horizon of veldt. Half a
dozen small houses dotted about at two hundred yards apart. A crowded
collection of corrugated iron rooms within a rampart of logs and
earth forms the fort—kept very clean and neat, which is a change from
Buluwayo. But, otherwise, there is not much to commend Gwelo to the
artist, traveller, or temperance man.

Major Thorold in command has done wonders in bringing order into the
place, and his officers (local forces) ably support him, and—have a
very well–done mess.

But the command of Gwelo is no sinecure. There are “lawyers” in the
camp. The following are among their ebullitions:—Copy of cablegram
to Secretary of State, which would have gone, but that the would–be
sender was fourpence short of the £24 required for its transmission.
“Man named Thorold questioned my sobriety this morning, and called
doctor to decide. Doctor drunk himself, could not decide. I said,
willing to put in resignation, as a man is not a machine.... WHO IS
THIS THOROLD?”

Another man telegraphed to headquarters, to ask “When will Gwelo force
be disbanded? Without competent officers it is only a farce. Have
applied to be discharged; application simply ignored!”

The General had telegraphed to me to await him here, as he would
shortly be _en route_ for Salisbury, calling at Gwelo on the way.

All war is now over in Matabeleland—and Wedza’s may be said to have
been the final blow. Plumer’s corps near the Matopos, and Robertson’s
Cape Boys have been disbanded, and the 7th Hussars are ordered into
rainy–season quarters at Buluwayo.

But in Mashonaland the rebels still hold out, and now and then a wire
arrives to tell of further fights.

And one I heard of on arriving here was of saddest interest about Major
Evans of Alderson’s Mounted Infantry, who came out from England with
me. I knew him well on board, and two days before we sailed he had
married.... In his first action he fell, shot through the heart.

Of the officers of this Mounted Infantry who came out with me, several
others have been hit in action, viz. Captain Sir Horace MacMahon,
Lieutenants French and Eustace.

_3rd November._—Gwelo is said to have a great future before it, but
hasn’t much of a present—a little of it goes a long way. Combined
with this, a lion had killed two donkeys on the road five miles S.E.,
and seven lions had been seen five miles N.W., this morning, so I
determined to spend my next few days of waiting for the General in an
outing for shooting lions. At 2 p. m. I was to start, horses, etc., all
ready packed with food and blankets.

At 1 p. m. arrived a telegram from the General, saying that some rebels
were reported in the Insimba Hills, near Enkeldoorn, seventy miles N.E.
from Gwelo on the Salisbury road, and directing that either Paget or I
should take a column of two hundred there without delay. Nothing would
have suited us better. Being all ready to start, Paget sent me off
to divert the 7th Hussars, who were expected this afternoon from the
Selukwe, on to the Salisbury road, while he (Paget) followed on that
road direct with extra supplies. So that night found one again in camp
on the war–path.

[Illustration: OUR HORSES
The grey is the sole survivor of my five horses. Prince Teck is the
officer holding him.]

The next few days were spent marching through green bush country and
open grass vleis, uninhabited except by game.

Being now a sort of “serrefile” or hanger–on to the column, as Paget
had come in command, I had lots of time to amuse myself, riding at
a distance from the column with my gun ready. We saw wildebeeste,
hartebeeste, ostriches, sable and roan antelopes, etc. Carew and I got
two beauties of the latter on the 5th, and these supplied the whole
camp with fresh meat. I got also a very fine tiger–cat (almost like a
small leopard).

The longest march seems short when one is hunting game. Your whole
attention is fixed at the same time on “distant views,” and on the
spoor beneath your nose. Your gun is ready, and every sense is on
the alert to see the game. Lion or leopard, boar or buck, nigger or
nothing, you never know what is going to turn up. And what an appetite
one has at the end of a twelve–mile march, when the folding mess–table
is set up, and the Indian cook of the 7th has produced his excellent
repast!

My only trouble is that I have lost two of my three horses; they broke
loose from camp in the night, and strayed, poor starving brutes, in
search of grass, and could not be found. And my remaining horse is very
thin and weak. However, I got a pair of veldt schoen (Dutch shoes) at
Gwelo, and so can do much of the march on foot now.

Another blow to me is the loss of Diamond, my Zulu boy, who wants to go
home. I offered to take him to Beira, and to pay his passage home from
there—but no, he must go back _viâ_ Buluwayo. Why? Because he has a lot
of money there,—his savings,—which he has hidden, and no one else can
find them.

I didn’t know till to–day how to fry liver and bacon—the liver, after
being cut in thin strips, should be dipped into a plate of mixed salt,
pepper, and dry mustard, before going into the frying–pan. A small
matter, but it makes a difference.

We journey on by Iron–Mine Hill, Orton’s Drift to Enkeldoorn, seventy
miles from Gwelo, and forty from Charter.

Meantime, my clothes are in tatters. I remember a lady at a fancy
dress ball at Simla figuring as a “beggar maid.” She was dressed in a
black frock with bits of flesh–coloured silk stitched on to it here
and there to look like _holes_! Many people said it was rather _chic_
(some using the soft _ch_, others the hard). I am in the same state,
only there is no need to stitch on flesh–coloured silk, and I don’t
know that I look very _chic_; but it’s curious to find oneself getting
sunburnt in an entirely new place: when bathing, I found that my right
knee and thigh have their beautiful alabaster–like surface marred by
eight irregular blotches of ruddy sunburn!

Rain has been threatening occasionally. Two or three days have
been most oppressively hot, and clouds have gathered at nightfall,
with mutterings of thunder, and distant lightning. We have put our
waterproof sheets ready on going to bed, and sometimes have spread
the waggon–sails over the waggons, and have gone to sleep dreaming of
the fate in store for us campaigning in wet weather, with the roads
impassable for mud, and the drifts unfordable for days together. But
we have waked at dawn to find a bright, clear sky overhead, and the
promise of another sunny, breezy day. But the rains are evidently not
far off.

_9th November._—Reached Enkeldoorn, just three huts forming a coach
change–station, on open, rolling downs. The laager made by the Dutch
farmers of the surrounding district is three miles distant.

At Enkeldoorn I have been lucky enough to find a covered waggon
standing abandoned (one wheel smashed), and have taken possession of
it as my house, since the weather is very boisterous and promises rain
to–night.

_P.S._—The promise was fulfilled—it rained hard, and I was happy. I
liked the tilt of my waggon so well, that when we marched next day I
took it with me; a frame of poles made it into a very comfortable tent
in camp.

_10th November._—We moved to near the Dutch laager, and interviewed the
Native Commissioner and others. The laager a most impregnable jam of
waggons, strengthened with palisades, sandbags, etc., and surrounded
by an entanglement of reims and barbed wire. It was full of women and
children and Boers (two hundred of them), from all the farms within a
circle of twenty miles round. These farmers brought over two thousand
oxen (one man told me seven thousand) to the laager when the rebellion
broke out, and now there were but seventy left—such is Rinderpest.

The people in the laager lived on fresh meat very largely, the men
going out daily to shoot game. A pile of skulls and horns of sable and
roan antelope, wildebeeste, etc., showed how successful they had been.

The boys of the laager seemed to be fitted out with hats of such a
size that they would have to be grown into, and would then do for them
in their grown–up years. The young idea was also learning to shoot by
using crossbows, and it was interesting to see what good positions
they got into for firing in the quickest manner, using aim and trigger
just as with a gun. A crossbow should be an excellent instrument for
teaching the elements of rifle–shooting.

[Illustration: THE YOUNG IDEA LEARNING TO SHOOT
 The little Dutch boys practise shooting at a mark (generally an empty
 meat–tin) with the crossbow. With this weapon the aim and the use of the
 trigger are very much the same as with the rifle, and in this way they
 become good shots.]

The Boer pig–sty is a simple one. A round hole in the ground, eight
feet across, four feet deep; the pig, once in, can’t get out. A dry
ox–hide, laid over one side of the hole, serves as a shelter from sun
or rain.

Leaving our waggons (except two with rations, etc.) at Enkeldoorn that
evening, we marched a few miles in the direction of Taba Insimba, and
bivouacked at nightfall. Taba Insimba (Mountain of Iron) is a long
wall–like range, with a slice cut through it at one point, looking much
like the canal through the Isthmus of Corinth. In this cutting or pass,
or, as the Dutch call it, “poort,” the rebels are said to be living in
caves in the cliffs, strongly barricaded with stone walls—about eight
hundred of them—very defiant. Soon after our reaching Enkeldoorn they
had signalled our arrival with smoke–fires. The place is twenty–five
miles from Enkeldoorn, but our horses and mules are not up to dashing
to the place, so we have come as light as possible, carrying two days’
rations on our saddles, and leaving the waggons to follow.

Twenty Boers from the Enkeldoorn laager are with us, and also about a
hundred friendly natives with Taylor, the N.C.

_11th November._—Marched all morning, rested all the day, and marched
on again after dark, across the wide, perfectly–open flats, till, by 10
p. m., we were within a mile of the place, and then we off–saddled and
bivouacked—no talking nor smoking allowed. At 2.30 we were roused up,
and formed into our places for the attack. I like the weird, subdued
impatience of all the preliminaries for a night surprise.

Colonel Paget was to take the mounted infantry and small portable Maxim
on to the top of one cliff overlooking the gorge, so as to fire into
the caves in the opposite cliff; another party were to be below at the
foot of the gorge, to attack these caves under cover of the fire from
above. I was ordered to go with Carew’s squadron of 7th Hussars, taking
our horses (the remainder of the troop were dismounted), over the
ridge, and round to the back of the gorge, to cut off the enemy’s line
of retreat.

We reached the ridge just when it was getting sufficiently light,—as
the Dutchman would say, “to see the horns of an ox,”—clambered up
the steep, stony hill through the bush, then down the other side,
where there lay before us, in the early light, a panorama of bush and
tree–tops.

Our guide was one Bester, a Boer, whose farm was here. At the outbreak
of the rebellion his father had been wounded, his mother killed, and he
and his brother only escaped after killing a number of the rebels, and
being nearly killed themselves. We passed through the ashes of their
home on our way. His uncle I remembered well as field cornet on the
Transvaal border, in our operations against Dinizulu, in Zululand, in
1888.

The Magneze Poort, in which the rebels were (for we soon knew that they
_were_ there, by the barking of dogs, the talking of men, and calling
of women, etc.), was a huge cleft, with rocky sides, and a bubbling
torrent roaring through. On arriving in rear of the place, we found
ourselves in a valley between numerous bush–covered hills. The line
of retreat open to the defenders of the stronghold in the gorge was
across an open glade of long white grass, along the foot of the steep
mountain–side.

It was broad daylight by the time we had got to our position, and
we had not long been waiting there before we heard excited shouting
from the natives on the top of the opposite cliffs, answered by
those in the gorge below; then pop—bom—pop—pop, as the firing began;
rifles cracking, and blunderbores roaring back their muffled reply
from caves; soon the “isiqwakwa” (Maxim) joined in with its sharp
“rat–tat–tat–tat–tat,” from the top of the ridge. Ere long, a party of
the enemy were seen hastily making their way across the open grass in
front of us; a moment later, and a troop of the hussars had burst from
their hidden station in the bush, and were galloping, swords drawn and
gleaming, straight for the astonished rebels. But the charge was not to
be; the rocky stream, with boggy banks, was the slip that lay between
the cup and the lip, and baulked the sabreurs of their wish; but they
did not wait to lament. In a trice they were off their horses, carbine
in hand, and soon were popping merrily at the foes they could not get
at hand–to–hand. While thus engaged, Carew sent round another troop to
cut off any rebels who might succeed in running the gauntlet of fire.

Finding themselves stopped, some ran back among the rocks, and
contented themselves with wasting ammunition in long shots at us, while
others lay among the tall white grass—to wait until the clouds rolled
by. But these latter were soon moved by the clouds, in the shape of
Lieutenant Holford and a few dismounted men, moving on them through
the grass, and thus compelling their retreat at point–blank range, or
their surrender. This party counted fifteen dead bodies, and found
a few women and children, whom they brought back. Among these were,
unfortunately, four wounded—three children and one woman, hit by stray
bullets as they were lying hid in the grass.

[Illustration: A CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL
 Some women and children had hidden themselves in the long grass between
 the enemy and ourselves, and four of them were consequently struck by
 stray bullets. They were brought in, and we bandaged them up and brought
 them into camp. The men of the 7th Hussars made excellent amateur
 nurses.]

Three times in this campaign have I taken out to the field with me a
few bandages and dressings in my holster, and on each occasion I have
found full use for them. I don’t know whether it is coincidence or
not—but here was another occasion. Our one doctor was with the main
body on the other side of the mountain, so I got to work on the poor
little devils. Curiously enough, the women and two of the children
were hit in the same place, _i.e._ through the lower part of the
thigh, clear of bone and of artery; simple wounds, and easily patched
up; while the fourth, a small boy with a very bad temper, had half
his calf torn away by a splinter of rock or a ricochet bullet. None
of them seemed to feel much pain except him, and he kept kicking and
grovelling his poor little leg in the dust when the girl who had charge
of him tried to do anything to it. So it was in a bad mess by the time
I got an opportunity to get to work on it. It did one good to see one
or two of the hussars, fresh from nigger–fighting, giving their help
in binding up the youngsters, and tenderly dabbing the wounded limbs
with bits of their own shirts wetted. I invented a perfect form of
field–syringe for this occasion, which I think I’ll patent when I get
home. You make and use it thus—at least I did: Take an ordinary native
girl, tell her to go and get some lukewarm water, and don’t give her
anything to get it in. She will go to the stream, kneel, and fill her
mouth, and so bring the water; by the time she is back, the water is
lukewarm. You then tell her to squirt it as you direct into the wound,
while you prize around with a feather (I had lost what I otherwise
invariably carry with me—a soft paint–brush). It works very well.

Well, we went on with the squadron among the hills, at the back of the
position, and burned a kraal. Vaughan, one of Carew’s subalterns, has
developed a talent as great, or greater, than that of any colonial,
for finding native corn or cattle, be they hidden never so wisely. He
brought in from the bush a bunch of lively, healthy cattle.

Then, firing having ceased everywhere, and smoke of burning kraals
being seen curling up in columns from the stronghold, we ceased from
war, and sat us down in a shady glade by the running stream, and soon
had breakfast under way.

Later on we got back to our laager, and found that the main body had
completely surprised the rebels before they could take to the caves
(they had been sleeping outside in huts), and, altogether, twenty–six
were killed; the rest had fled in different directions. Our people,
well hidden in the rocks and bush, had not had a single casualty.

So ended my most happy roaming on patrol.

The General was expected at Enkeldoorn next morning; so, in the
afternoon, I started off, riding one horse and leading another, to do
the twenty–five miles between us. At nightfall a heavy thunderstorm
rolled up, but I was lucky in being near a deserted farmhouse, where
I took shelter, with my horses, in the verandah. A wheelbarrow made me
a comfortable lounge in which to eat my frugal but rather indigestible
meal of cold pig, dough, and tea. I did not live inside the house, as
lurking Matabele fugitives might have watched me in, and could have
nicely caught me; but in the open verandah I should be quite a match
for them. I was glad next day I had acted so, for Lord Grey’s party,
camping near the house, found in the rafters of the room a fine, great,
green mamba snake.

Well, when the rain was over, I rode on in the night; the spoor I had
been following was now washed out, but I steered by moon and time
until I thought I was near Enkeldoorn, and, not seeing the camp, then
prepared to bivouac till daylight, when a sudden small flash, as of a
man striking a match, sparkled on a hill close by; and on I went, and
found myself at the laager, against the bayonet of a Boer sentry, whose
pipe–light had been my guide.

Delighted to hear about the fight, he gave me back the news that the
General had already arrived. Not long after, I had wedged myself in
between Vyvyan and Ferguson in their tent, and was sleeping like a log.

At home it may seem strange to talk of a sentry’s pipe, but, in this
country, smoking is not a very grave offence. A Colonial volunteer
officer, hearing of our army orders on the subject, thought to smarten
up his men a bit; so, finding one of his night sentries smoking, he
ordered him to consider himself a prisoner. The following was then
overheard by some one sleeping near:—

_Sentry._ “What, not smoke on sentry? Then where the——_am_ I to smoke?”

_Captain Brown._ “_Of course_ it’s not allowed; and I shall make you a
prisoner.”

_Sentry_ (taking his pipe from his mouth, and tapping Brown—who, in
time of peace, was his butcher—on the arm with the stem of it). “Now,
look here, Brown, don’t go and make a——fool of yourself. If you do,
I’ll go elsewhere for my meat!”

And Brown didn’t.




CHAPTER XVII

THROUGH MASHONALAND

_13th November to 2nd December_

 I proceed with the General to Mashonaland—A new fashionable Pastime to
 be found in Spooring—Charter—Our Daily Trek—Salisbury—The inevitable
 Alarmist Rumours and their Inventors—Celebrities in Salisbury—A Visit to
 the Hospital—Cecil Rhodes in Council—A Run with the Hounds, with a Check
 at the Telegraph Line—A Countess saves her Sewing–Machine and kills a
 Lion—Marshal MacMahon’s Aide–de–Camp as a Trooper in Mashonaland—The
 Delays incident to being at the End of a Wire—The Rains begin—The
 Situation in Mashonaland.

_13th November._—Up early. Paid off and sorrowfully said “Good–bye” to
Diamond and Umtini, my two nigger servants.

And in the afternoon the General moved on from Enkeldoorn towards
Salisbury. The party consisted of Sir Frederick, Vyvyan, Ferguson,
Gormley (our principal medical officer), Leech (who manages our
transport), three waggons, a Cape cart, and lots of riding–horses,
servants, office–clerks, etc.

[Illustration: “DIAMOND”
  My Zulu servant. Well–named “Diamond,” for he was a jewel of a servant.]

This night we camped at Adlum’s Farm (the green mamba house, where
I had “dined” the night before), and found Lord Grey and party also
camped here on their way to Salisbury.

I had walked the march on foot, hoping to find buck, and called,
coatless and dirty, just as I was, at Lord Grey’s camp in passing to
our own. Lady Grey insisted on my sitting down to dinner then and there
with them—and a very jolly dinner it was. It made rather a good picture
when Lister held the saucepan of rice, while I helped it out to Lady
Victoria, who was “asking for more.”

Lady Victoria has developed the talent for spooring, which will
therefore probably become the fashionable pastime among the young
ladies of this country; if not, on introduction in England, instead of
the usual “Do you bike?” you will ask, “Do you spoor?”

That night I had a real good sleep, for out of the previous
eighty–seven hours only sixteen had been slept, and many of the others
had been expended in pretty good bodily exertion.

[Illustration:
  General Sir F. Carrington Captain Vyvyan, Brigade–Major
  Lieut. Ferguson, A.D.C.
HEADQUARTERS’ MESS]

Sir Frederick had brought me English letters.

_15th November._—Charter. One has heard of it so much, and seen it writ
large in the map so often, that it comes as a surprise to find it is
only a tiny laager of half a dozen waggons, round which huts are being
built, ready for the rainy season. An unhealthy–looking place on low
ground, beside a stagnant, muddy stream.

Here Sir Frederick, as usual, met an old friend in the first trooper he
saw. “Good day, my lad. Not much of a place to be quartered in, this.”

“No, sir.”

“I have seen you before, somewhere.”

“Yes, sir, my name is——. I was in your Police Regiment two years. I
lunched with you at Kimberley Club five years ago. Since then I have
been running a ‘penny steamer’ on the Zambesi. Unhealthy? Yes; always
down with fever, but I had luck, and was able to get up again. Came
down here to recover, and took on as a trooper for the war.”

It is the story of many another cadet of good family moving in these
parts.

Our ninety–eight miles from Enkeldoorn to Salisbury lay, as per usual,
through bush–grown veldt, and was a heavy sandy track, and which meant
hard pulling for the mules.

We generally rolled out of our blankets at dawn—cocoa—and, mounting our
horses, rode into the bush with gun or rifle, each taking his own line
to the next outspan.

Lord Grey’s party shot to northward of the road, and the south side was
our preserve; but neither side yielded much game. By seven or eight
o’clock the waggons, having done their eight or ten miles, outspanned.
A buck–sail stretched over the tilts of two gave a shady room between,
in which we sheltered from the midday heat. Then, in the afternoon,
we trekked again till sundown. Dinner, and to bed by nine. A most
peaceful, delightful, but terribly fattening life! luckily, some of us
had some leeway to make up in that line.

_19th November._—On a rock, in a small koppie close to our outspan of
last night, were a lot of Bushman paintings of animals—some badly, but
some very well drawn—in red monochrome. One elephant and a buck were
particularly good.

[Illustration:
 SPECIMEN OF OLD ROCK–PAINTING BY NATIVES IN MASHONALAND.]

We were met by Colonel Alderson and other officers from Salisbury, as
we rode in the last six miles of our journey.

Salisbury—two widely–spread townships in a basin among wooded rising
grounds, with little of the regularity of building plots as seen
in Buluwayo, but altogether a prettier–looking spot. Houses mostly
of bright red brick with white tin roofs—all single–storeyed and
verandahed, of course; many of them with nice gardens. One wooded
hill overlooks the town, and on this stands the original Fort
Salisbury, built by the “pioneers” who first opened up Mashonaland in
1891. At the foot of this hill runs the only regular street of the
place—where all the stores, etc., are situated. The rest of the two
townships was described to me thus: “There’s the post office, there
are the Government buildings, there is the hospital, and there is the
club—the remainder are mostly drink–shops.” This is maligning the town
rather—but it has its allowance of “drink–shops” all the same.

We were put up in the Commercial Hotel, and had nice offices provided
near the Government Offices. And we settled down in a few minutes most
comfortably.

It is curious to come off the veldt, where we have not seen a sign of
natives for days, almost weeks past, although hunting about—all of
us—off the road in the bush, and yet to be told on arrival here that
they don’t consider the road safe yet—that the rebels are still about
everywhere!

Then comes an alarming telegram from Buluwayo to say: “A white man
murdered close to the town; general rising of the natives expected;
town–guard of volunteers without pay being formed,” etc. Again one of
those unmeaning panics, which seems to strike people who have been
living on tenter–hooks for a short time—sort of spasms that revisit
them now and again till their nerves are restored. But it is very
annoying, and often involves moving troops about for fear that _this_
time it should be a true report. We have already caught two or three
lunatics who had spread such rumours, and sent them out of the country,
but there is apparently at least one left. A nervous man is forty
thousand times worse than a frightened woman, especially when, as is
the case here, he has any number of drink–fuddled “funk–sticks” ready
to echo his alarm.

I remember being in a theatre when an inexplicable movement took place
among the people in the pit. Almost immediately a “funk–stick” in the
dress circle, seeing the commotion, but not seeing the cause for it,
shouted out his own fear—“FIRE!” In a moment others like him echoed
his cry, and there was for some few minutes a very pretty exhibition
of panic. Manly heroes handing out the women? Not a bit of it; jumping
over them to get first to the door!

Salisbury is just now full of interesting celebrities—Major Forbes,
fresh from the country beyond the Zambesi, where he was administrating
the Company’s affairs, and pushing on the telegraph to Khartoum. He
had been reported killed in the rebellion, but had got down all right,
although his companion was murdered.

Captain Younghusband, sent by the _Times_ to report on the South
African situation generally, having just done three months’ visit to
the Transvaal among my old friends Paul Kruger, Joubert, etc. etc., at
Pretoria.

H. Cust, M.P., filling himself up with local information and
experience, and with lots of good to say of George (of all people!).
Lord and Lady Grey and Lady Victoria, Cecil Rhodes, Sir Charles
Metcalfe, etc.

_21st November._—The General visited the hospital to see the sick and
wounded. There were three officers still in, Sir Horace MacMahon and
Eustace (both shipmates of mine on the _Tantallon_), both severely
wounded in the foot, but going on well.

Montgomery shot in the head, and consequently partially paralysed;
trepanned, and doing well. About a dozen men. One poor chap was shot in
both arms; one had been amputated, the other was all smashed above the
elbow, but the doctors hope to save it. He also had two or three slight
wounds about the body, but was as cheery as possible and getting on
well.

One curious case we saw there was a young fellow who had been lost on
the veldt. His party had searched for him several days, but never found
him, and supposed that he was killed. Six weeks afterwards, a party of
Dutchmen were hunting that veldt, and they found a path close to their
camp leading down to water with fresh spoor of a man on it. During the
few days they were there, they noticed the spoor came fresh each day.
They watched, and saw this man come down to drink, but when they tried
to approach, he fled, and got down an ant–bear hole, where he evidently
lived. They could not persuade him to come out, and so finally had to
dig him out. They found he was quite off his head—unable to talk—living
only on roots and berries. They took him to Salisbury, and when we saw
him, he was all right, except he had lost nearly all his teeth, and
could not remember much of the time when he was lost.

[Illustration: BLACK AND WHITE
 The work of nursing our sick and wounded was undertaken by Sisters of
 Mercy, who slaved their lives out at the duty, having only one or two
 native boys to help them in the menial work.]

The hospital nursing staff consists of eight nuns, who do excellent
work. Like the Sisters in Buluwayo, they are most self–sacrificing and
constant in their attention to the sick and wounded of the force. The
General and I went and saw them in their own house, and had a long talk
with them. The Superior (a very cheerful, sweet–faced young woman) was
an old friend of his, having been a nurse at one of his hospitals for
the Bechuanaland Police.

The General and his staff have been supplied with bikes by the
Chartered Company (they have a number of them for the police), and they
are invaluable for getting about the widespread town. The General takes
us for gallops now and then, which really do one a lot of good after
a load of office work. The roads are fair and the country open and
pretty, and the air most delightful, except when, as it was to–day, it
was dense with locusts.

The outskirts of the township boast a number of nice houses with good
gardens and—what is best—deep creeper–grown verandahs.

The house, for instance, where Lord Grey is living (Mr. Pauling’s) is
a most delightful one—with English furniture; its billiard–room and
everything as though in the midst of civilisation, instead of being two
hundred miles away from a railway.

At our hotel I’ve slept at last in a room—the first time for over two
months. I tried it the night of our arrival here, but it would not
work, and very soon I had my blankets outside in the street! But this
night the clouds rolled up, and the first taste of the rainy season
came down in sheets at night.

_22nd November._—Among other items of the day, we (the General,
Ferguson, and I) rode up on our bikes and called on Rhodes. We found
him living in a very pleasant house belonging to Judge Vintcent, who
had been commandant of Salisbury all through the rebellion, and being
a true old Carthusian, he had his walls covered with photos, etc., of
Charterhouse groups, etc. I was very sorry to find that he had gone off
to the Cape on leave, on account of his wife’s health and his own.

Meantime, Rhodes occupied his house and, when I saw him, his arm–chair.
For Rhodes had been out before daybreak, and was now making up some
sleep lost thereby, but in _such_ an uncomfortable position.

[Illustration:
  Younghusband Baden–Powell Sir F. Carrington Lady V. Grey      Sir C. Metcalfe      Graham (M.F.H.)
  Alderson Lord Grey Cecil Rhodes
  THE OPENING MEET OF THE SALISBURY HOUNDS (AFTER THE WAR)]

This was rather characteristic of him: where other people would have
been sleepless from discomfort of body and wear of mind, he was
sleeping sweetly; but then he is always thinking or doing what you
don’t expect. In talking over ways and means or plans of campaign,
he almost invariably throws quite a new light on the subject, and
has a totally different plan, and one which is often the best of the
lot, especially from the Chartered Company’s point of view, as far as
ultimate results go, not present expenditure—that is the point that
often makes us pause, but he never seems to think of it, for he looks
to the better economy in the end. And while he talks he doesn’t sit
still, but he’ll be sprawling all over the sofa one minute, the next
he’ll have his legs crossed under him, _à la Turc_—full of restlessness
and energy.

_23rd November._—Meet of the hounds at Rhodes’ house. The pack
has been kept in the laager during the dangerous time—fed on Boer
meal. Is hunted by Graham, the Postmaster. We were a field of
twenty–seven,—which is not bad, considering how few horses are now fit
for work,—all in shirt sleeves. One lady (Lady Victoria Grey). We got
on to a buck within half a mile of the house, and had a gallop. I was
riding near Rhodes, who was thoroughly enjoying the working of the
hounds, till suddenly something better attracted his notice, and we
passed under the telegraph line from Cape Town to, or rather towards,
Cairo—and he at once went into particulars of that, and showed how the
iron posts were made, according to his design, in two parts, so that
they would not be too heavy for niggers to carry in the bush and fly
country—wooden poles useless, on account of the inroads of white ants;
and then we continued our gallop.

Talking of inroads,—we hear that the jigger, an insect the size of a
pin’s head, is invading South Africa. He came from the West Coast, and
is now down as far as Beira. I know the beast: he got me coming back
from Kumassi, and planted his eggs under my toe–nail, and I had ten
minutes’ genuine fun while the doctor cut them out.

Curious how the little pest should be able to cross Africa, and make
himself a scourge in a new bit of country,—just as the rinderpest has
done,—taking three years to get here from Somaliland.

_25th November._—I dined with Wilson Fox, old Carthusian, Public
Prosecutor, Director of Commissariat and Transport, and a good
singer—so pretty useful all round.

This morning I took a toss off my bike and damaged my knees, so that I
stand over like an old cab–horse.

_27th November._—For the past four days the telegraph line between this
and Cape Town has been down, and we have been unable to get sanction
to our proposed move out of the country. The rains are beginning
(thunderstorms nearly every afternoon), a man per day dying for the
last six days, which is a large order in so small a force.

Dined at Lord Grey’s to–night, and there also dined the Count and
Countess de la P——e. No more interesting couple could be found in the
country. I listened open–mouthed to their adventures. He was formerly
captain in the French navy and A.D.C. to MacMahon, and has four war
medals and ten orders. She was “slavey” in a London boarding–house.
They came up here before women were allowed in the country—she dressed
as a boy, and so got admitted. They started with £40 and one cow; in
three years they owned a large farm and 160 cows, and were clearing
£250 a month dairy–farming and butchering. Rinderpest and rebellion
suddenly stopped this, and swept away all they had. He took his waggon
and span of donkeys to Chimoio, and spent the whole of their money in
getting a load of food and luxuries to sell in Salisbury. She remained
at the farm, with one nigger boy to protect her.

The Count brought his waggon up the road in company with two other
traders’ waggons—six white men and one American young lady. Thirty
miles from Salisbury they found on the road the bodies of a white
family—father, mother, and children,—lying, just murdered. They began
to bury them, when a volley was fired on them at short range, killing
a number of donkeys. They embarked in the lightest waggon, the Count
losing his waggon and stores. They trekked on, pursued by rebels, who
kept firing, without daring to attack, or even to show themselves out
of the bush. This went on for two days and one night, till they reached
Salisbury. The girl, meanwhile, had been very plucky—merely asked to be
supplied with a revolver, with which to shoot herself if the worst came
to the worst; and she got one of the men to promise to do it for her if
her courage failed.

But they got in all right. Meanwhile, the Countess, living out at the
farm, five miles from Salisbury, received warning by messenger to come
in to laager; and when she delayed about it, they sent four friendlies
as a guard for her. Her account of it, told in a very matter–of–fact
cockney way, was most refreshing—

“You see, they had murdered our neighbours that day, and I couldn’t
help thinking about it. So I didn’t go to bed that night, but just
put on a blouse and skirt, and lay down on the bed, after barricading
the door. Well, in the night I was startled first by a waggon going
past at full speed; drivers yelling at the mules and cracking their
whips,—this was the waggon going to Mazoe to rescue the women there.
I could not sleep. By and by I heard a noise, and, looking through a
hole in the door, I saw niggers—plenty of them—close to the house, and
on three sides of it. I got the rifle, slipped on my bandolier, seized
up my revolver–belt, and jumped out of the back window and ran. As I
got over the wall of the garden, I upset an iron bucket with an awful
clang. At the same time, my boy, running out of the kitchen, knocked
against two frying–pans that were hanging up there, and made worse din.
But he got away, and joined me in the bush above the house. There we
hid for the rest of the night behind a gravestone. They did not burn
the house; and next morning, after waiting some time, to see if any
of them were about, I got so impatient about it, that I sent the boy
down,—to see if my sewing–machine was all right,—and he soon came back
with it. He had found it close to the well: a nigger had got it, and
was clearing with it, when he was assegaied by one of the Zambesi boys.
Lucky they killed him a few yards from the well; another step, and my
sewing–machine would have been down the well. But the Zambesi boys were
all killed—lying about round the front door. Well, then we made our
way into Salisbury; and I had no sooner got there than I found that,
like the stupid I was, I had brought the revolver–case, empty—in the
confusion I had left the revolver behind. So, says I, I must go back
and get that revolver.

[Illustration: THE COUNTESS RESCUES HER SEWING–MACHINE
 When her house was attacked at night by rebels, four of her native
 guards were killed, and she herself was compelled to hide with the
 surviving boy till daylight, when, the enemy having cleared out, she
 went back and got her sewing–machine which had been dropped by the
 looters among the dead boys in the garden.]

“There was a patrol just then going out, so I got them to let me go
with them and back to my house. I made my way through the murdered
Zambesi boys, but I didn’t stop to look at them, I was that anxious
to get my revolver; and I got it all right, and glad I was to come
away with it; not but what it’s getting worn–out now, I think, as it
wouldn’t act the other night when I wanted it to; but it’s the one
I’ve shot a lion with, so I like it. Oh, he was only a very old lion;
but, ye see, he used to come pretty near every night to our camp, and
snap up one or other of the dogs. One night he even got into our
dining–hut, where there was a ham hanging from the roof; he got on to
the table to reach it down; but the table was a rickety concern and
came down with him, and I had stupidly left the cloth on overnight, and
a nice lot of holes he made in it with his claws. Well, one evening
I heard the old brute moving in the sluit, close to the camp; so I
called to the boy to get the gun, and come up with me into the waggon,
and I took the revolver. Soon we heard the lion coming along the path,
kicking oranges—them hard–rinded things—with his feet. I says to the
boy, ‘There he is, shoot!’ But the boy couldn’t see him; and so I says,
‘Oh, if you’re going to take all night to shoot him, here goes!’ and
with that I up with my revolver, and lets off a shot at him. The lion
sprang forward to the waggon, and I give him another, that sent him
back where he came from, and he rolled about a bit in the sluit, and
died there. I had hit him right in the neck.

“What about the other night? Oh, I hate to think of it—my luck was dead
out that night! Three nights ago it was, I heard a curious noise at
the back of the house, here in Salisbury; so I put on my indiarubber
shoes, and takes my pistol, and I slips round to see what it is; and
there I find a man—a white man, mind you—trying to break into the
house. So I catches him by the neck with one hand” (the Countess is a
small, slim person), “and put the revolver in his face with the other,
and tells ‘im to keep quiet; but he wriggles, and gets loose. Well, I
catches hold of his shirt, and that tears; then I catches his trousers,
they tears; and with that he bolts away. Well, I up with my pistol and
fired, and fired. But whether it was the cartridges was bad, or there
was something wrong with the pistol—go off it wouldn’t; and so that man
got away.”

But if the Countess was amusing and original, so was the Count in his
way. He had been a great elephant hunter in Central Africa. Used to
hunt, like Selous, in only a shirt, belt, and hat; no shoes. Killed
103 elephants in one season. Ever charged by an elephant? No, but an
elephant was charged by him. Following up a wounded elephant, it took
down a steep hillside in thick bush. He tore after it,—an elephant goes
very slowly down a steep place,—so he rushed right on to it before he
saw it. However, he put up his heavy rifle and fired up into its head
and killed it, but the angle of the gun was so great as to knock him
down, the stock in its recoil cutting his cheek all open, and leaving
him senseless. His boys went back and told his friends in camp that
both he and the elephant were killed, the elephant having put his tusk
through his cheek.

“Srough my cheek! The elephant had a tusk so long as my body, and so
thick as my leg, how can he put it through my _cheek_? I should have no
_face_ left.”

The Count, upon coming into laager at Salisbury after the loss of his
donkey–waggon, was made a trooper. He an ex–captain of the navy, with
four war medals, while his commanding officer was a barman at one of
the public–houses! The excuse for this apparent anomaly was that he had
known what it was to be an officer, and he might now let the others
have a chance of trying. The troop consisted of 120, but of these only
50 were available for duty, the rest were nearly all officers.

In spite of having lost everything, the Count and Countess seemed very
cheery and hopeful, and are longing to get to work again on their farm.
They deserve to prosper.

_29th November._—Part of the mounted infantry and the invalids were at
last to start down towards Beira for embarkation. The General was to
inspect the corps before they started. We went over to the camp (I,
being an invalid, owing to my broken knees, was kindly taken by Lady
Grey in her Cape cart). Just as we got there, a black wall of cloud
arrived from the opposite direction. A roar of thunder warned us off, a
sharp volley of rain followed. The General dismissed the parade, and we
all scampered for home as hard as we could go, pursued by a drenching
downpour. All the afternoon and all the night it came down in sheets;
the rains had begun. Now comes the anxiety of learning whether we shall
be able to get out of the country at all for the next four months.

The rivers rise, the ground becomes a bog, and mules can’t work if
their coats are wet, as the harness rubs them raw. It rather shows the
danger of working to order at the end of a long telegraph line. Every
thunderstorm (and they have been plentiful of late) breaks down the
telegraph line somewhere, so that messages take many days to come and
go, and we have already wasted a week here merely waiting for replies.

_1st December._—For two days it has been fine, as far as actual rain
goes, but dead still and hot—boiling hot, banking up for more rain.
Very little work and very little play, for Salisbury is, to say the
least of it, a little _triste_ just now. No news from the outside
world at all. The club has a pile of old newspapers (none newer than
September 12th) lying on the table, and we go and read these over
again like dogs at a bone, hoping yet to find a scrap of interesting
matter somewhere in them, even though it be among the advertisements.

We had hoped to start to–morrow, but now as I go to bed another
thunderstorm is on us—the roar of the rain is deafening as it falls
in a heavy mass on the roof (glad I am to be under a roof, too!). One
hardly hears the thunder through, but the lightning is incessant and
beautiful; but I wish we were well over the road that lies between us
and the sea!




CHAPTER XVIII

THE SITUATION IN RHODESIA

 The Situation in Mashonaland—Action taken respectively by Watts,
 Jenner, Tennent, MacMahon, Alderson, and Evans—A General Surrender of
 Rebels consequent thereon—Arrangements for Safeguarding the Country—The
 Situation in Matabeleland—Conditions of Surrender—Mr. Rhodes is called
 a “Bull”—The Prospects of the Future—The Spirit of “Playing the Game”
 the true Basis of Discipline and Co–operation on Service—The Strength of
 Forces employed during the Campaign—The Butcher’s Bill—The Lee–Metford
 Rifle—Out of recent Evils, Good may come to South Africa—The Growth
 of Civilised Power—The Native Reserves and Labour Question—A Sense of
 Insecurity and Mutual Jealousies at present Check Development in South
 Africa.


_1st December._—The situation in Mashonaland is now as follows:—

In the south–east, Makoni has been attacked by Major Watts, defeated,
and captured. Owing to a risk of an attempt being made to rescue him,
Watts had him tried by court–martial, and he was condemned to be shot.
For this execution Watts was subsequently placed in arrest by the High
Commissioner at Cape Town, but was eventually acquitted.

[Illustration: THE SPECIAL SERVICE MOUNTED INFANTRY
 Colonel Alderson’s Mounted Infantry Corps, from Aldershot, was probably
 the finest body of its kind that had ever taken the field. It comprised
 four companies, viz. the English, Irish, Scotch, and Rifles, formed
 of men selected from various regiments under this category, and was
 officered by a first–rate set of selected officers. It was employed
 entirely in Mashonaland, where its doings in the field drew unqualified
 praise from Colonials and Dutch alike.]

During the early part of October, Major Jenner, D.S.O., had taken a
column of 180 men against Umtigeza, south of Salisbury, had captured
the chief and destroyed his stronghold, losing three men killed and
three wounded in the action.

Captain Tennent, Mashonaland Field Force, with 160 men, had made a
successful raid on Simbansotas, capturing the stronghold and numerous
kraals, with a loss of two killed and three wounded.

Captain Sir Horace MacMahon, with 200 men, finally cleared the country
north of Salisbury in the Mazoe district, and destroyed the cave
strongholds there, losing one killed and three wounded.

Lieutenant–Colonel Alderson conducted an expedition, 500 strong, into
the country west and south–west of Salisbury, the Lomagundi district;
he captured and destroyed Mashingombi’s, Chena’s, and Zimban’s Kraals,
and blew up the strongholds. He lost four killed and thirteen wounded.

Major Evans, with 88 men, attacked and took Gatzi’s stronghold, near
the Salisbury–Umtali road. He was most unfortunately himself shot dead
during the attack.

The effect of these expeditions has been that the rebels have been
visited in every part of Mashonaland and smashed, and in consequence
are now giving in on every side.

De Moleyns, who was appointed to organise the armed police, is getting
together his corps to the number of 580. These are destined to garrison
three towns and twelve forts, which latter have now been established in
the most important centres of the country.

The men are being recruited in Natal and the Cape Colony; and, pending
their arrival up here, we are engaging volunteers to take over their
duty in the interim. In this way we shall be able to relieve the
Imperial troops, and to get them out of the country before the rains
set in fully, and block the roads, and bring the fever.

In Matabeleland the situation is as follows:—

[Illustration: A FORT
 The above was the usual type of fort erected for keeping command of
 a district after its subjugation. Outside the abattis or hedge of
 thorn–bush a wide belt of grass was left standing, as the dark bodies of
 native assailants would show up well against its whiteness at night; and
 beyond the belt it was burnt away to prevent grass–fires coming up to
 the fort.]

Six hundred police have been posted in the four towns and sixteen forts
about the country, while two hundred of the 7th Hussars are stationed
at Buluwayo.

Plumer’s Matabeleland Relief Force and the Cape Boys have been
withdrawn from the country, and the local forces disbanded.

Natives are giving up their arms in good numbers, and are settling down
to cultivate the lands assigned to them by the Native Commissioners.
They have been told by Lord Grey that if they still have any lingering
ideas of ultimately driving out the whites, they might at once
dismiss such thoughts for ever; that the railway will shortly be
up to Buluwayo, ready to import thousands of troops, if necessary;
that certain chiefs will be reinstated as their immediate rulers;
that grievances will be inquired into, and set right wherever it is
possible; and that the Chief Native Commissioner (Taylor) will be the
head to whom they will have to refer. This plan has been grasped by
them, and agreed to after nearly two months’ havering. Rhodes, who
had arranged the peace with them, they have nicknamed “Umlanulang
Mkngi”—the bull who separates the fighting–bulls; and Colenbrander,
his _fidus Achates_ in the matter, they have called the “tickbird”—a
bird which in this country always accompanies a bull, to relieve him of
superfluous ticks.

So that throughout Rhodesia war is over, and there is no prospect of
any further outbreak on the part of the people. They have had a heavy
lesson, which will be further accentuated by the scarcity of food which
must result for the next few months, owing to their not having sown
their crops. The Chartered Company, having this in view, are making
every effort to get up supplies of seed–corn and food, with which they
will be able to stave off actual famine from the natives.

All that remains to be done in the immediate future is police work: in
getting hold of those among the late rebels who are guilty of murders,
and in getting hold of the arms that remain still undelivered. This
is a matter of time, and may in some cases necessitate small armed
expeditions; but there is no likelihood of any further general rising.
So far, about four hundred rifles and four thousand assegais have been
handed in.

The ultimate arrangements for their government are practically those
explained by Lord Grey to the chiefs in the Matopos: The country will
be divided into numerous districts, each under its own induna, who
will be paid by the Government, and will be held responsible for the
conduct of his district; each induna will have about twelve thousand
people under him. Native Commissioners will be assigned to the
districts, acting under the orders of the Chief Native Commissioners
(one in Matabeleland and the other in Mashonaland), and the success of
the scheme very much depends upon the efficiency of these officers.
The greatest care will have to be taken in their selection and
appointment—a point which has in some cases been overlooked in the
past, with the recent direful results.

That the white settlers were not entirely overwhelmed in the first
mad, blood–thirsting rush of relentless savagery is a matter for
marvel; and that they contrived to hold their own for so long, until
assistance came, is, as the _Times_ has lately said, due not merely to
the superior armament of the British, but to their dogged pluck and
determination.

For your Englishman (and by him I mean his Colonial brother as well)
is endowed by nature with the spirit of practical discipline, which
is deeper than the surface veneer discipline of Continental armies.
Whether it has been instilled into him by his public–school training,
by his football and his “fagging,” or whether it is inbred from
previous generations of stern though kindly parents, one cannot say;
but, at any rate, the goodly precepts of the game remain as best of
guides: “Keep in your place,” and “Play, not for yourself, but for your
side.”

It is thus that our leaders find themselves backed by their officers
playing up to them; not because they are “——well ordered to” (as I
heard Tommy express it), nor because it may bring them crosses and
rewards, but simply—_because it is the game_.

[Illustration: A WAR–DANCE
Our native allies were very bold and warlike in their war–dance
previous to taking the field, but so soon as they were in the presence
of the enemy, they assumed another tone and demeanour.]

Had it not been that this spirit permeated the forces, the campaign
might have dragged out interminably, and very probably part at least of
the country would have had to be evacuated for a time.

As it was, the operations have lasted for eight months; but in that
time the small forces available—amounting to less than five thousand
at their very strongest state—have reconquered a country equal in size
to Italy, France, and Spain put together, and held by nearly thirty
thousand warriors.

The whole of our combined forces amounted to a little over five
thousand men (3000 in Matabeleland, 2200 in Mashonaland). This included
1200 Imperial troops, composed of detachments of the 7th Hussars, the
Special Service Mounted Infantry, the infantry and mounted infantry
detachments of the West Riding and York and Lancaster Regiments, some
Royal Engineers and Artillery, Medical Staff, etc.

The local forces included 4200 men—English, Dutch, and Cape Boys;
organised in local field forces for each town; also Plumer’s
Matabeleland Relief Force, the Natal Troop, and the Cape Boys Corps.

In addition to these, we had nearly four thousand eight hundred
friendly natives; but, as a rule, they were practically useless to us.

[Illustration: OUR NATIVE ALLIES]

But these, together with the transport employés, etc., brought up the
number of mouths in the forces to be fed to nearly twelve thousand.

The casualties among the troops (not including the native levies) were
as follows:—

                                      MATABELELAND.  MASHONALAND.  TOTAL.

           {Killed, or Died of Wounds      51              19    =   70
  Deaths,  {Died, other Causes.            48               9    =   57
   134.    {Killed Accidentally¹            7               0    =    7
                                          ===              ==       ===
                                Total     106              28    =  134
                                          ===              ==       ===

  Wounded, {Wounded in Action.             90              68    =  158
    173.   {Accidentally Wounded¹          13               2    =   15
                                          ===              ==       ===
                                Total     103              70    =  173
                                          ===              ==       ===

    ¹ Chiefly mishandling loaded rifles, and also from a dynamite
    explosion at Buluwayo.

 Of the above casualties, 14 officers and 39 men belonged to the Imperial
 troops.

 In addition to the above, the number of persons murdered or missing
 were—in Matabeleland, 140; in Mashonaland, 118; total, 258.

One of the interesting experiences of the campaign, to a soldier, has
been the test of the Lee–Metford rifle in action; and, though a great
admirer of the Martini–Henry myself, I have to admit that the new
weapon has come through the ordeal right well. It is an excellent gun,
more especially in the carbine form. Its accuracy is great, and its
liability to jam practically nonexistent. The only fault that appears,
is the non–“stopping” power of the bullet, which, if it strikes a
non–vital spot, does not do much damage to the enemy at the moment.
The new bullet will, however, remedy this, its one possible defect.
With this rifle the Imperial troops certainly won the admiration of
their Colonial brothers–in–arms, Dutchmen as well as English, for their
accurate shooting as much as for their fire–discipline.

The recent troubles may, after all, bring good in their train, not only
to Rhodesia, but to South Africa generally.

They have shown up in a very strong light, firstly, how utterly
higgledy–piggledy were the measures and arrangements for military
safeguarding some of the most valuable portions of the country, owing
to the fact that a false sense of civilisation had lulled everybody
into a feeling of security. Then, in the second place, the eyes of all
have been opened to the immense distances that now divide the portions
of civilised Central South Africa, and which demand a more than
usually efficient protective organisation, instead of the scattered,
disconnected measures that have been deemed sufficient up till now.

Until some guarantee of a better security for all classes and
industries be given,—especially with the recent troubles fresh in their
experience,—it will be difficult to re–develop enterprise on the part
of capitalists and others up north.

But once that guarantee is provided, another link will have been forged
in the chain of events which are building the fast–growing Dominion of
South Africa.

Within the last twenty years we have had the reduction of the Zulu
power by force of arms, in 1876, which gave security to the Transvaal,
and opened it to civilisation. In 1881 the Boers practically won their
independence at Majuba Hill, and were in a position to make use of this
security we had obtained for them.

Their filibustering raids in Stellaland and Goschen resulted in the
annexation to Great Britain of the slice of territory along their
western frontier,—Bechuanaland,—and its protectorate in Khama’s
country, which brought our borders up to Matabeleland.

Three years later, Zululand again broke out, and was finally gathered
into our system, thereby extending our border up to Swaziland, upon the
south–east of the South African Republic. Mr. Moffat then checkmated an
attempt on the part of the Boers to get Lobengula’s country.

In 1889 Colonel Pennefather’s “trek” of “pioneers” took up Mashonaland
for the Chartered Company, along the northern face of the Transvaal.

Thus penned on every side, the Boers made a despairing effort out
towards the east, and Swaziland was given over to their hand, but not
the coast they coveted. Tongaland, the last remaining land between them
and the sea, became a new protectorate of England.

And to the north, under Mr. Rhodes’ direction, the Company extended
far and wide its sway. In 1890 it crossed the Zambesi, and, adding
Barotseland within its sphere, moved up its borders to Nyassaland.

In 1893 inevitable conflict between the rival powers north of the
Limpopo came to a head, with the inevitable result—the power of
Lobengula, King of the Matabele, went down before the white pioneers of
civilisation.

And while the white power of South Africa was thus spreading its
far–reaching arms to enfold these enormous possessions, its heart was
gaining strength and power in Kimberley and Johannesburg. Enterprise,
backed by gold, is a life–current in the veins of a developing country
whose value cannot be denied. But when the child is overgrowing itself,
it is a dangerous experiment to endeavour to increase the functions of
the heart by tinkering at its valves. Nature, if left to herself, will
bring it right in the end.

The aim of the higher policy of South Africa is the amity and
co–operation, if not the absolute confederation, of her various white
states for their mutual good. The effect of the Raid will merely be to
put back the consummation for some years longer.

That higher policy is a matter which, apart from its present money
aspect, should be of deepest interest to the people of England. Our
Colonial expansion, especially in South Africa, is not undertaken with
any idea of show–off, but for the actual use of our overflow population
now, and, more especially, in the near future. Rhodesia comprises all
that is worth having in the unoccupied parts of South Africa, and its
ultimate development is perfectly assured, without the addition of the
riches even of Johannesburg. Ten years back Kimberley was the heart and
centre of South African wealth, as Johannesburg is to–day; and there is
no reason why, within the next decade, an entirely new centre should
not have sprung up in the virgin territories of Rhodesia. The chances
are, in fact, largely in its favour. Even without a special boom,
that part—and, indeed, the whole of civilised South Africa—will press
steadily and rapidly forward; and it is even possible that out of the
late evil good may come, and the lessons learned in the past few months
may be of greatest value in guiding the steersmen in the future.

No doubt the two foremost obstacles to development in this part of the
world are: firstly, insecurity; secondly, want of labour. And these are
evils that seem to be capable of remedy.

In the matter of labour, the situation in South Africa is briefly
this—in the mining and agricultural centres of the west and north,
native labour is scarce; whereas in the south and east, where there
is little demand for it, native material is lying idle in masses. The
problem before the local statesmen is, how to effect a redistribution
that would remedy this, and readjust the balance of supply and demand.
The system which at present obtains in the east is to herd the natives
together in “reserves,” where, assured of a certain amount of land
and perfect security, they settle themselves down to what is their
ideal of life—namely, to bask on a sunny blanket, while their women
raise the food. There is not the slightest incentive offered them to
work or to improve themselves. They merely increase their numbers and
hatch grievances, and thus become a danger in the land. In Natal they
number nearly three millions, against the six hundred thousand whites.
Various plans have been considered for the amelioration of this state
of affairs. It has been proposed so heavily to tax them, as to force
them to work in order to raise the necessary cash; or to grant them
freeholds for farming; or to transplant bodily whole reserves to mining
centres; and so on. Whether one plan or many should be tried is a moot
point; but it is very certain that some move in this direction is
necessary for the development of the almost boundless resources of the
country. White labour, if it were content to labour, and not to strive
at once for fortunes, would, in that climate, thrive and do well; but
it is a dream which, at present, does not work in practice. Were this
otherwise, South Africa would prove a richer agricultural garden than
Canada.

The sense of insecurity, which is the other stumbling–block to African
development, arises from various causes, all of which seem open to
remedy. The chief of these is the mutual jealousy and bad feeling
between races and countries which are here crowded together. In
addition to the native danger from Zulus, Swazis, Kaffirs, Basutos,
Matabele, and others, there are conflicting white interests. From
the mining centres the Boers find themselves elbowed out by the
capitalists; these, in their turn, are stirring against each other
in the struggle for wealth,—German Jews competing with British
prospectors, American experts against French financiers, and so on.
And, outside, colonies are mutually working against each other—Cape
Colony against Natal, Chartered Company against the Transvaal,—all
against all. Result, general war of rates, freights, and customs, to
the great detriment of the trade of each and the whole. Could the local
statesmen rise above their present petty jealousies, and take a broad
survey of the whole question of South African progress and prosperity,
what a vast stride it might bring about in their mutual well–being, and
in abolishing the present situation, where some parts of the country
are intoxicated with wealth, while others are parched for want of it!




CHAPTER XIX

AFTER WAR—PEACE


 We leave Salisbury for the Coast—Bikes _versus_ Horses—Ancient Ruins in
 Mashonaland—Another possible Clue to the Builders—Camp at Umtali—Maori
 B——n—Gold–Mining in Mashonaland—New Umtali—Cecil Rhodes buys a
 ready–made Town—Portuguese Territory—Massi Kessi—The Railway—Lions on
 the Line—Fever rampant—Beira—The Sea at Last—Durban and its ‘rickshaw
 Men—Port Elizabeth—Rhodes’ Reception—Peace and Goodwill—Cape Town—The
 Personality of Table Mountain—We leave the Cape, a varied Crew—Home.

_2nd December._—On the road at last. Although Salisbury has its charms
as a dwelling–place, we were getting a bit anxious to be nearer the
coast, and this afternoon we started with our three waggons and Cape
cart and our riding horses.

Our last and least pleasing item in Salisbury was the hotel bill—for
twelve days—five of us—_£_258. Board and lodging being two guineas a
day, exclusive of drink, which is at the rate of 3s. for a whisky and
soda. Eggs had touched 47s. a dozen. Ducks are still at 30s. each.
Flour _£_7, 10s. per 100 lbs. Tinned meat 2s. 3d. per lb. Fresh mutton
4s. 6d. per lb.

However, in spite of siege scarcity, I must say our manager, Rosenthal,
did us wonderfully well. He contrived to give us eggs and bacon,
omelets and fresh vegetables, cooked by a French _chef_, so we could
not complain.

When we had outspanned near Ballyhooley (a place almost as pretty as
its original in Ireland), and had just finished dinner, Lord Grey
arrived there too, ahead of his waggons, with Lady Grey and Lady
Victoria, and Howard, and they came and dined with us, pending arrival
of their outfit. The ladies are bound for Beira, and for the ship that
we hope to go in.

_3rd December._—This Mashonaland is far prettier than Matabeleland, in
some places beautiful, and very green after the recent rainstorms.

The wayside stores and inns, having been three years longer in
existence than those in Matabeleland, are far more complete, well–built
and home–like, with some flower gardens, farmyards, pig–styes,
dove–cotes, etc. etc.—but all looted and empty, with recent graves and
rough crosses near them.

_4th December._—The country now is all green, wooded with rocky, bushy
ridges and frequent tumbled–up granite koppies (some quite fantastic),
and water in the streams.

My horse, the sole survivor of four, is picking up flesh rapidly with
good grazing and corn, and being well looked after by a soldier servant
whom I have got from the Irish company of the mounted infantry. This
man, M’Grath, pleased me this morning by describing the horse as a
“tedious feeder” (pronounced in the richest brogue)—meaning he was slow
in eating his corn.

I gave up the horse this day in favour of the bike, and had a most
enjoyable ride. Bikes have been issued to the police to use in place
of horses, as the latter are hard to feed, and die in large numbers
every year of horse sickness. But I think they ought to have tandem
bikes,—not single ones,—because police should always go in pairs on
long patrols. On a tandem one man can watch the ground and steer, while
the other can look about for enemies and can use his revolver—which
cannot be done by single bikers.

_5th December._—We passed the mounted infantry and the wounded going
down from Salisbury to the coast, and met the men for the new police
force just coming up. A large number of them are Australians—a very
fine–looking lot of young fellows.

This would make a grand country for colonising. Judging from the few
families we have seen, the locally–born children are as healthy and
well–grown as you could wish. The great want in the town is that
of cooks and domestic servants. With a good supply of these would
follow much marrying and settling down on the part of many of the
young prospectors, police, and farmers, who at present pour all their
earnings into the hands of canteen–keepers. It is a pity that some
system of importing a good class of women domestic servants is not
tried, similar to that employed in Canada.

At Marendellas (fifty–one miles from Salisbury) we passed one of
the fortified road posts, where we saw the graves of poor Evans,
Barnes, and Morris, and of several men, all killed in action in the
neighbourhood. At Headlands (eighty–eight miles) and Fort Haynes
(a hundred and five miles), similar forts, were more such graves,
including that of Captain Haynes, R.E., and others killed in the attack
on Makoni’s.

Near Fort Haynes were said to be some ancient ruins—so we rode over to
see them. There were the remains of an old kraal, strongly fortified
with a circular stone wall, a wide ditch, and a triple circle of
trees which are now very big. It was certainly an ancient ruin, but
not of the class of the Zimbabye ruins near Victoria. The General
even said he had seen better stone walls in the Cotswold country.
But in a neighbouring koppie, which was the burial–place of Makoni’s
father,—and a very sacred place with the natives,—we found a bit of
wall made of square–cut stones neatly fitted together, much more like
the Zimbabye style. The rocks within this wall formed some natural
circular enclosures; one rock stood up on end, and several of them
were pock–marked. I don’t think that Bent mentions whether the stones
at Zimbabye are also pock–marked, but Ross, the Native Commissioner
with us, said they were. Well! the Phœnician temple at Hadjiar–Kim in
Malta, and the Giants’ Tower in Gozo, both contain pock–marked stones
and rocks. These are supposed to be artificially worked to represent
the firmament. Perhaps this should be another clue as to who were the
builders of Zimbabye and other prehistoric ruins in Mashonaland, since
they seem to have treated pock–marked stones as sacred.

Taberer, Chief Native Commissioner, who was with us, attributes the
fortified kraals to the Vorosi people, who inhabited the country before
the Mashonas, and have now disappeared northwards. They are a far
cleverer race than most South African natives. The rock drawing’s in
Mashonaland generally attributed to Bushmen, he says, are by them, and
are superior to the usual Bushmen drawings.

_7th December._—We got into broken, mountainous, and bushy country,
and descended the Devil’s Pass, a hundred and seventeen miles from
Salisbury a long descent among granite koppies and shady woods. A lion
had been seen on the road the previous day here, but we saw nothing,
though we used all our eyes. I biked the afternoon trek, and got
thoroughly drenched by a downpour in doing so. Next day I went to look
for lions in most liony–looking country, but only saw one solitary
steinbuck—which I shot.

_9th December._—Umtali at last! A small town in a green basin among the
mountains. A pretty, but dull place. “A fair field and no favour” is
the reception with which Sir Wilfred Lawson would meet were he to come
here. The surrounding greenery and its backing of wooded hills remind
one of beautiful Sierra Leone. And, if the fever fiend be absent, still
the drink fiend is there in his place.

Although we found rooms engaged for us at one of the hotels, we
prepared to camp just outside the town. And we certainly are most
comfortable in camp. The General lives in my little Cabul tent, and
we other four fill a bell–tent. Our dining–room is a space between
two waggons, roofed in with a roomy “buck–sail.” Our table is a door
laid on a trestle bedstead from a looted farm. And when we dine, we
might imagine ourselves in a room, did not the lanterns light up in
strong relief the massive wheels and under–carriages of the waggons
on either side of us. Our conversation, too, is nearly drowned by the
crunching of the mules feeding at their manger, which is hung along the
dissel–boom (pole), and he who sits at the head of the table stands a
good chance of being landed by a kick which he is well within reach of.

To–night we had to dinner “Maori” B., who was with me with the Native
Levy in Zululand in 1888. Celebrated over Africa for his yarns of
fighting and adventure. Originally of a fine old Irish family—arrested,
while a schoolboy from Cheltenham on his way to shoot at Wimbledon,
on suspicion of being a Fenian; enlisted as a gunner; blew up his
father with a squib cigar; shot his man in a duel in Germany; biked
into the Lake of Geneva; went to New Zealand, where for twelve years
he fought the Maoris; ate a child when starving; and afterwards hunted
the bushrangers in Australia; took a schooner in search of a copper
island, or anything else of value; next, a Papal Zouave; under Colonel
Dodge, in America, he fought the Sioux. When with Pullein’s corps in
South Africa, his men shot at him while bathing; he beat them with
an ox–yoke; they stole an ostrich and hid it; a row among themselves
followed, begun by a Kentish navvy, who complained he did not get his
fair share of the “duck.” B. denies that in the Maori war the Maoris
displayed a flag of truce for more ammunition, but to ask the troops to
stop firing shells into town, so as to let them have water—“else how
can you expect us to fight?” they said. Then he became gold–digger;
later, fought in the Galeka war, then the Zulu, Dinizulu, first
Matabele campaigns, and lastly the present operations, in which he is a
major in the Umtali forces.

[Illustration: MAORI B——E]

_10th December._—The General and our party went out to the Pennalonga
Mine, seven miles through pretty wooded hills, every one of which
showed signs of having been prospected. At the mine, Jeffreys, the
manager, and his bright bride did us right hospitably, and after lunch
we went over part of the mine. Their working is simple: having found
the reef in a watercourse in the mountain–side, they have followed it
with “drives” both ways, and have met it with other drives from the
opposite side of the hill. The ore (of “gallina”) containing something
much over 20 oz. of silver and 11 dwt. of gold, a lot of it very pretty
with the garnet–like crystals of chromate of lead. We walked into one
adit about four hundred feet, and saw the working; cross–cuts showed
the reef eighteen feet across. The air was not very good, and we could
with great difficulty keep our candles alight.

They have just put up a 5–stamp battery to be worked with a turbine,
the water being led from the top of the mountain above the mill by
pipes which are now being laid, so that in a short time the mine should
be in full work. The only obstruction at present is the famine price
of food, which prevents the Company employing sufficient black labour
(which they have to feed).

There are several other mines in the valley, but none so forward as
this, though one has a splendid waterfall to supply its power in the
future.

We saw some gold–washing done as the prospectors do it. With a pestle
and mortar the quartz is crushed to powder, and then washed in water in
a shallow pan (which has a tip in it for the use of unskilful washers,
for washing is a knack).

The liquid mud is then swirled around and shaken, so that the heavier
ingredients work to the bottom of the sediment, and the waste is poured
off. As this in its turn gets washed out with fresh water, a little
“tailing” of yellow dust is seen at the edges of the sediment, which
is then washed out till nothing is left in the pan but the thin little
streak of gold dust. If 8 dwts. of this can be extracted from a ton of
ore, it will be sufficient to repay expenses of mining.

_15th December._—Packed up our kits and started on our last trek, from
Umtali to the coast. Umtali itself is very pretty, but when five miles
from there we came to the top of Christmas Pass, and began to descend,
we had splendid view of grand, rolling mountains, with wide, rich
valleys and wooded hills.

We crossed the site of New Umtali, whither Umtali is to be moved to be
on the railway line. (While we were at Umtali, the inhabitants came
to claim compensation from Rhodes. Of course he had some new way of
meeting the difficulty. It was reported that he took each man in turn,
got at his price, and by the afternoon had bought Umtali as it stood
for £40,000.)

At New Umtali I spotted _such_ a site for a house!—with a view in front
of it that will make me yearn that way for a good long time to come.

Our road went down and down (splendid run had one been on a bike; the
whole distance, Umtali to Chimoio, has been done in nine hours on a
bike), diving down into deep, dark valleys between thickly wooded
hills, then through forest plains, with peeps between the trees of
great blue mountains looming high on either side.

Frequent along the road are inns—clean and neat, all kept by
Englishmen—in thatched wattle and daub huts.

[Illustration: A ROADSIDE HOTEL IN MASHONALAND
  The nearest hut is the “Coffee–Room.”
  The farther one is the “Bedroom.”
  The “Smoking–Room” is in the open
  air.]

At Massi Kessi (_alias_ Macequece) we got into Portuguese territory.
Massi Kessi was the place where the Chartered Company’s forces
(consisting of thirty–three men) were attacked by the Portuguese to the
number of seven hundred (five hundred of them native troops). A few
volleys and rounds of case–shot from the British sufficed to drive
back the enemy; and their officers, unable to rally the men, stood on
one side and surrendered. The British force then went on to the fort—a
very strong place from which the Portuguese had sallied—and took it
with all its contents. These included the flag (which had been left
flying in the hurried departure of the garrison), some guns, machine
guns, and mess furniture, which are still in use with the Chartered
Company’s forces. That Massi Kessi has since been replaced by the
present township, eight miles from it.

This is a township of one square of about fifteen houses altogether,
of which one is the Government House, and twelve are drinking bars.
In Rhodesia liquor is not allowed to be sold to coloured men, but in
Portuguese territory there is no restriction; consequently all our
drivers (seven) and those of Mr. Rhodes’ and Lord Grey’s waggon, which
were with us, all got more or less drunk—most of them more. They had
saved up their pay in anticipation of this occasion. I was not sorry
to hear that two of them, having got hopelessly incapable, were robbed
of £30 by the liquor–seller. We had to adopt strong measures with our
own hands the next two nights to keep their fighting and noise within
tolerable bounds in camp.

_17th December._—At the Revuwe River and hut hotel we were overtaken by
Cecil Rhodes, Sir Charles Metcalfe, and others, also travelling to the
coast.

Rhodes had asked us to stay at his beautiful old place near Cape Town,
Groot Schur, but when he met us this morning, he said, “I am sorry to
find that I shall not be able to give you accommodation at my house. It
has been burnt to the ground. It is a great pity, because there were
some old things there that could not be replaced. I liked my house.
Providence has not been kind to me this year: what with Jameson’s raid,
rinderpest, rebellion, famine, and now my house burnt, I feel rather
like Job, but, thank God, I haven’t had sores yet. Still, there remains
some of the year, and there is yet a chance for me to develop some
totally new kind of boil. That would be the height of evils, to have a
boil called after one. Fancy being inventor of the Rhodes boil!” And
then he sent a telegram: “Having heard indirectly that my house has
been burnt, please put up tents in the garden, as I don’t want to live
at an hotel.”

Our last trek, eight miles to–day, brought us to the railway. It was a
delight to come on an embankment with its rails and telegraph in the
midst of wildest–looking bush—and then to hear the shriek of the engine
as an empty train came rumbling up to fetch us to the coast. All that
night and up to four o’clock next day we rattled along through the
bush, at first among small hills, latterly over the flats—all the time
in deep, soggy heat. How one longed for a breeze—and when it came, how
disappointing it was—like hot eider–down pressing against one. At times
in the thicker bush one could well imagine oneself on the new railway
in Ashanti.

_18th December._—Early in the morning, about four, a hurried whistling
of the engine and much jabbering of our nigger servants in the baggage
truck apprised us that three lions were calmly walking along the line
in front of us, thinking the road had been made especially for them.
They deigned to make way for the beast that breathed flame and smoke,
and they skipped off into the jungle. A month ago a prospector named
Brown was killed by lions while walking along the line here.

Now and again we pass camps of railway men, a white overseer’s tent,
with a few straw huts of native labourers; and once or twice small
stations where up and down trains pass each other, and travellers can
get food; but we had no need to avail ourselves of them, for our
train was full (too full for comfort) of railway officials and others,
each of whom had brought a box of food, chiefly champagne, beer, and
sandwiches; and at odd hours of night as well as day one thirsty soul
or another would get at his box, break bulk, and wake up everybody
to have a snack. They meant well, but eternal champagne and beef,
especially at 5 a. m., when one would have given worlds for a cup of
tea or coffee and some bread and butter—it was _cloying_, to say the
least.

Fever was evident everywhere. At one station the telegraph clerk
handed us in some perfectly illegible and nonsensical telegrams. He
was half–unconscious with fever, and we never discovered who were
the senders or what the purport of these messages. We had to change
engines, as our driver had an attack of fever. At a new bridge five out
of eleven white men were down.

At Fontes Villa, a little town built on piles, at present the railway
headquarters, we _déjeûnered_ with the manager of the line in a
beautifully green verandah. Such fruit! mangoes, bananas, grenadillas,
limes, and pineapples. Thermometer 115° in the shade.

Smart, gentlemanly young fellows acting in all the lower as well as
upper railway capacities, but with lots of life and lots of death, for
Fontes Villa possesses two cemeteries—one, the “old” one (three years
old), being full, the new one had been made nearer to the station, to
be more “handy,” and this one also looks like being full very soon.

About twenty miles farther on, somebody spied the masts of a ship above
the bush, and soon we ran into the station at Beira.

Beira is a long town of about 1500 inhabitants, the houses built along
a spit of sand for two miles between the sea and a mangrove creek. With
good wharf, storehouses, a tile–roofed hospital, and a curiosity in
a great square red and white lighthouse, substantial–looking, but on
close inspection showing itself to be of corrugated iron, painted.

We did not wait to look at these, but got ourselves and baggage
transferred without delay to the s. s. _Pongola_, lying off the shore
in the mouth of the Pungwe River. The Pungwe here opens from its flat
mangrove banks into an estuary some ten miles across.

After dinner (which happily was laid on deck, after the manner of the
Florio–Rubbatino ships in the Mediterranean), the General, Rhodes, Sir
Charles Metcalfe, and I went ashore to call on Colonel Machado, the
Portuguese commandant. We found him a handsome, clever–looking man
of forty–five, speaking English well, and full of knowledge of the
country, and very friendly; but his house was mighty hot, and we were
glad to get back into our homeward car in the open air.

The roads in Beira are of deep soft sand by nature, but their
imperfections had been got over by art. A little tram line runs along
the main street, with offshoots to all the by–roads. Public and private
tram–cars, holding four persons each, run along the rail, propelled by
shoving niggers.

_19th December._—After a general farewell visit of friends from the
shore, we got under way at 10 a. m.

How good it is to feel the first few heaves of the screw as the ship is
being turned in the yellow tide to set her head for home!

We steamed out through the seventeen miles of sandbanks that form the
mouth of the Pungwe and Busi Rivers. We stuck for half an hour on one
shoal, but floated off with the rising tide, and soon dropped the low
flat shore of Beira out of sight.

_22nd December._—Passed along the coast of Zululand in the morning,
seeing familiar spots like Etschowe (Signal Hill), the Tugela, and
finally reached Durban—steaming boldly into the harbour and alongside
the wharf, where ships were moored two deep. At Durban we landed the
troops, and spent four hours.

How the place has grown since I was here seven years ago! The long road
from the Point to the town is lined with villas and gardens in place of
sandhills and shanties. The streets are full of bustling people—English
ladies, carriages, tram–cars, and ‘rickshaws’. The latter in swarms,
with Zulu runners dressed up in war headdresses and with rattles on
their legs, “playing at horses” as they run, great children that they
are—tossing their plumes and stepping up to their noses.

Saw old Reuben Beningfield, and had happy reminders of old shooting
days with him; Little, 9th Lancers, and Sir Walter Hely Hutchinson,
the Governor, and Jameson, who does not alter one jot, and many other
friends. At six we sailed again for Port Elizabeth.

After this brief flash of life in civilisation we are once more getting
along, butting against obstructive wave power, and pressing into the
darkling haze.

_23d December._—Cloud–wrack and wind, and pale, deceitful sea. Heaving
along, we churn our way, till out of the dark swish of the driving rain
on a rushing, riotous sea, we suddenly emerge into sunshine and calm in
Port Elizabeth roadstead.

Amid the blaze of bunting, and a babel of steamers’ whistles and
cheering masses, we follow Cecil Rhodes ashore into the Liverpool of
South Africa—and Liverpool at Christmas time (for to–day is Christmas
Eve). A banquet lunch of five hundred in the Feather Market, and a
dinner at the club at night. Torchlight procession, bands, and “waits.”
The whole town—with deputations, too, from all the other “Eastern
Province” towns—was keen to do him and Sir Frederick honour; and we,
the staff, came in for the full benefit of reflected hospitality. They
did us royally! But the genuineness of the feeling towards Rhodes was
unmistakable and impressive. It was not a gust of got–up welcome,
but a spontaneous burst of enthusiasm, in a place that formerly was
distinctly hostile to him. He made five separate speeches in the course
of the day—all characteristic.

_Christmas Day._—From the rush and whirl of yesterday, one woke to
absolute peace in a bright, English–looking bedroom, looking on an
English garden with a something more than English wealth of flowers.
One could not stay in bed on such a cheerful, sunny morning. After
a grand fresh–water tub, Vyvyan and I sallied out to stretch our
legs. We started at half–past eight, and only returned ravenous to
the club three hours later, after walking out and round the whole
of Port Elizabeth. Our walk showed us the miles of busy railway and
shipping–wharves, and the stores along the sea–front. Then, by mutual
consent, we got out on to the veldt outside the town, both impelled
by the same object, viz. to get our coats off. The feeling of sleeves
on our arms, when we had been going bare–armed for months, was too
irritating to be borne; so we offed coats, rolled up our sleeves, and
were happy on the open, breezy racecourse downs, with views of inland
veldt and mountains. Then the Park and Botanical Gardens; and the upper
town, with avenues of pretty suburban houses, deep sunk in their shady
verandahs, with their trim and flowery gardens. In every other one,
jolly English children were playing about, and raising their cheery
shouts. I only thought how good an object lesson it would be to ship a
load of “Little Englanders” out even to this spot alone, just to open
their eyes to what a busy, homely colony it is (and yet it is only one
of many), and to see what an enormous future generation of strapping
colonists is growing up in the glorious sunlight here, for the service
of their mother–country.

After breakfast to church. Everything exactly ordered as if at home:
the Christmas Day choral service, with a good choir and a fine organ.

And as the anthem of peace and goodwill rolled forth, it brought home
to one the fact that a year of strife in savage wilds had now been
weathered to a peaceful close.


_L’ENVOI._

There is little more to add.

That night we were on the ocean steamer _Moor_. Two days later found us
at the Cape.

_2nd January._—Table Mountain grows grander and more living every time
I see him. His personality grows on one, like that of the Taj Mahal
at Agra. I can quite understand certain races worshipping a mountain
as their idea of Divinity. Always steadfast and stupendous. You may
turn your back on Him and wander away for a while; but whenever you
choose to look back, He is there, the same as ever. You have only to
go back into His shadow, to find a haven from the chilling wind or
withering sun. And you may climb up to Him, to where He sits above the
clouds,—which is feasible in proportion to the state of training you
are in,—and when you have reached the summit, you can lay you down in
peace upon His breast, and contemplate the world below which you have
left behind.

_6th January._—Cape Town is very busy now, with crowded streets, big
shops, electric lighting everywhere, electric trams cavorting through
the streets and out to Claremont: such a change from the sleepy,
old–world place it used to be. It is much _en fête_ for Rhodes.

To–day we embarked on the _Dunvegan Castle_ (Captain Robinson);
splendid new boat. Also on board Cecil Rhodes, Miss Rhodes, and Colonel
Frank Rhodes; Lady Grey and Lady Victoria Grey; Sir C. Metcalfe; Olive
Schreiner and her husband; Lord C. Bentinck; Hon. J. Ward, M.P.;
Rochfort Maguire and his wife; Wilson Tod and Critchley, 4th Hussars;
“Bob” Coryndon (also styled Selous the Second), Ronny Moncreiffe, Sir
Horace MacMahon, and Eustace Blewitt, etc. etc., and hardly any Jews! A
most interesting shipload.

And we left the Cape and its old mountain bathed in the glow of its
summer sun—sorry, and yet glad, to go.

A good deck cabin, and the many comforts of Sir Donald Currie’s finest
ship, coupled with the varied cheery company on board, made the time
fly by. We slipped past Cape de Verd on the 13th, and Madeira at night
on the 18th.

_27th January._—It is a day to be remembered, is that of a return from
foreign parts.

[Illustration: DOLCE FAR NIENTE
 General Sir F. Carrington and Mr. Cecil Rhodes on the homeward voyage
 _N.B._—A lady critic has written to say that although not an admirer of
 my sketches generally, in this instance she is pleased with “Rhodes’
 feet”!]

As we head into the green heights around Plymouth, there is one excited
old Colonist, buttonholing everyone in turn, shouting with eager irony,
“Saw you ever veldt like yon green hills?” And as a fog of driving
sleet bursts like a blizzard on us, a mad heart–choking cheer goes up
of joy to see real snow again.

A little red–bearded Scottish missionary is dancing wildly about the
deck, with his coat–tails flying, yelling, “Man! I haena seen the snaw
for twenty years!”

Why does not some one laugh at him? We can’t.

We are back once more in the yellow fog and the grimy slush of thawing
snow in dear old, same old England.

Then, from the rushing hum of the special train, through the roar of
the sloppy, lamp–lit streets, to the comfort and warmth—of Home.




            PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH




                              FOOTNOTES:

[1] This was not intended for publication, and if it should happen
to meet the eye of the gentleman alluded to, I trust he will be
magnanimous enough not to sue me for libel—especially as I make the
statement believing it to be true.

[2] A more detailed account of the operations in the Matopos—together
with a complete and interesting description of the organisation and
work of the Matabeleland Relief Force—will be found in Lieut.–Colonel
Plumer’s book, _An Irregular Corps in Matabeleland_.

[3] See map of Shangani column, p. 304.




                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.






End of Project Gutenberg's The Matabele Campaign, by R. S. S. Baden-Powell