The Matabele Campaign

CHAPTER XVII

Through Mashonaland

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.