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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.

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.

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.]

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.

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.”

[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.