while doing so, heavy firing was heard across the river, showing that
Wilson’s party was already in action with the enemy. Major Forbes
followed the King’s spoor towards the Shangani drift, and no sooner
had the column reached the high river bank than a heavy fire was
opened on it by the enemy concealed in the surrounding bush. The
troopers were quickly formed up, the Maxims were got into action, and
a smart skirmish ensued, in the course of which the white force lost
sixteen horses, and had five men wounded. At last the enemy’s fire was
silenced, and Major Forbes was able to retire along the river bank and
take up a better position where bush afforded cover.
In every way luck seemed to be against the white men on this fatal
day; for it was now observed that the Shangani, which had been easily
fordable on the previous day, had, as is the way of African rivers,
suddenly swollen by the morning to a broad, deep, and rushing flood,
across which it would be impossible to take a body of armed men, to
say nothing of the Maxims. Heavy storms had been raging on the distant
hills, and all the rivers were up, so that the main column and the
patrol were cut off from one another.
But while the action I have described was taking place, three men had
succeeded with some difficulty in swimming the Shangani. These were
three troopers from Wilson’s party. They rode up to the column with
haggard faces that plainly told of disaster, and one of them--Burnham,
the American scout--came up to Major Forbes, and said with breathless
emotion: “I think I may say that we are the sole survivors of that
fight.”
[Illustration: “THEY FOUGHT ON GRIMLY” (_p._
118).]
Then he told his story. Captain Borrow and the reinforcement had
reached Major Wilson’s camp on the previous night, without falling in
with the enemy.
At dawn, Major Wilson decided to make a rush on the King’s waggons. The
whole force galloped up to within a few yards of the _scherm_,
and then halted, while the interpreter shouted out to the King to come
out and speak with the white men. The reply was a heavy fire from the
King’s _scherm_ and from the bush on either side. The fire was
returned by our men; but, finding that the enemy were surrounding him,
Major Wilson retreated for about half a mile, and took up a position
on one of the gigantic ant-heaps which are frequent in this part of
Africa. Here the action was carried on for some time, the Matabele fire
being very wild and-producing little effect; but as the enemy were
again surrounding him, under cover of the dense bush, Major Wilson
ordered his men to remount, and the party commenced their retreat
towards the river, retracing their way along the spoor of the King’s
waggons.
Major Wilson then asked Burnham to make an attempt to reach the column
and inform Major Forbes of the position of affairs. Burnham took with
him two of the best-mounted troopers, and the three galloped off. They
had not ridden far before they came upon a large body of Matabele,
which was evidently marching to cut off Major Wilson’s retreat. The
three troopers rode for their lives through the storm of bullets that
was directed upon them, and contrived to escape uninjured to the
river-bank. As they rode, they heard a heavy firing behind them, which
told them that the body of the enemy they had just passed had attacked
Wilson’s party. Burnham said that the patrol must have been completely
surrounded by several thousands of Matabele warriors, and that it was
impossible that a single trooper could escape; for the patrol, as he
explained, could only retreat slowly, if at all--it could not cut its
way through the Matebele: several of the horses had been killed, so
that some horses had to carry two men; most of the horses were worn
out, and there would be wounded men also to carry off. True, the
best-mounted men might have galloped through and saved their lives;
but a _sauve qui peut_ is an expedient not resorted to in African
warfare by white men, and still less so by men of the stamp of Wilson
and his companions: they would certainly have stood by each other to
the end.
[Illustration: THE SHANGANI PATROL.]
On reaching the river at the point they had crossed it on the previous
day, Burnham and his two companions found it in flood, and had to
follow the bank for a considerable distance before they came to a place
where they could swim across.
There was now nothing left to Major Forbes but to save the remnant of
his force, and retreat on Inyati and Buluwayo. The river was still
up, and might remain so for days. It was absolutely impossible to
transport Maxims across it, and to have sent men over the river without
Maxims would have been to condemn them to certain slaughter. Major
Forbes remained where he was for one day, in the hope of hearing some
news of Wilson’s party; but none came. He then commenced his retreat
along the left bank of the Shangani river, having first despatched two
troopers to find their way to Buluwayo and ask Dr. Jameson to send
reinforcements, food, and ammunition to meet him.
The hazardous retreat to Inyati occupied eleven days. The column
suffered great privations, and was perpetually harassed by the
Matabele, who hovered round it, creeping along through the bush on
either side of the line of march, watching for an opportunity to
rush the white men, but having a due respect for the Maxims. They
occasionally opened a hot fire on the troopers and their horses, they
attempted surprises, and were not repulsed without further loss to
the already weakened column. In these skirmishes, the enemy succeeded
in shooting a number of the horses, while many other horses died, or
became so feeble that they had to be abandoned on the way: in all,
about 130 horses were lost. The wounded men rode, but the troopers
who were not ill and Major Forbes himself were now without mounts,
and had to march over such rough ground that their boots soon wore
out, and many of the men were walking in their wallets. At last there
were no horses left sufficiently strong to carry the Maxims, so the
gun-carriages were abandoned, and the Maxims were carried by men on
foot. All baggage also was thrown away, the men retaining but a blanket
each.
The men were worn out by the hard marching and constant anxiety, but
displayed an admirable spirit. All supplies had run out, and they lived
on the tough flesh of their exhausted horses. On one occasion they
captured some of Lobengula’s cattle; but the enemy then fell on the
column, and, during the progress of a smart skirmish, recovered the
cattle and drove them all off again.
At last, when they were within a day’s march of Inyati, the troopers
met the relief column that had been sent from Buluwayo with a good
supply of food: they had now done with their privations and alarms, and
reached Buluwayo without further difficulties.
At the end of January another patrol of 180 troopers of the
Bechuanaland Border Police, under Colonel Gould Adams, with two Maxims,
set out for the scene of the Shangani disaster, with the object of
recovering the remains of Major Wilson’s party and the abandoned
gun-carriages. It was also the aim of this expedition to follow up the
Matabele _amajakas_--who were still holding out in force on the
Shangani, and were preventing others from coming in--and to bring the
King to terms if possible. This patrol, which I accompanied, did not
get farther than Inyati. Very heavy rains made it impossible to push
beyond that point for some weeks, and then, as the rainy season had set
in in earnest, and the men, bivouacking night after night on the muddy
ground, would have suffered much from the lowland fever, the Imperial
authorities countermanded the patrol.
Dr. Jameson was still very anxious to enter into communication
with Lobengula, whose whereabouts was unknown. There could be no
secured peace until he had come to terms. Several natives whom the
Administrator had sent with messages to the King failed to reach him;
they came back and confessed that when they had fallen in with raiding
parties of young warriors from the King’s force they had been afraid to
go further, lest they should be put to death as spies of the white men.
As native messengers, not unnaturally, shirked the duty, it became
apparent that Lobengula could only be approached by some white man who
happened to be a _persona grata_ to the King, and who was willing
to undertake the perilous adventure. Mr. James Dawson--a Scotchman, who
had for some years been residing in Buluwayo as a trader, respected
by both white and black, a man possessed of the tact so necessary to
one negotiating with suspicious savages, and whose relations with the
King had always been most friendly--now pluckily volunteered to go to
the King himself and deliver Dr. Jameson’s message. He accordingly
set out with a Scotch cart on February the 4th, 1894, accompanied by
one other brave white man, Mr. Patrick Riley, also an old resident in
Matabeleland and a friend of Lobengula’s.
We waited anxiously until March the 7th, on which day Messrs. Dawson
and Riley, having successfully accomplished the objects of their
hazardous mission, returned to Inyati. As it came in there were signs
to show that the party had had a very rough journey. The Scotch cart,
dilapidated, its tent-cover torn by the thorny bush, was slowly drawn
towards the camp by weary oxen; while the natives, who had set out from
here thirty-two days before, active, well-nourished, and cheerful, now
painfully crawled along with a miserable air, lean, haggard, their
wasted limbs aching with the fever of the pestilential region they had
traversed.
Mr. Dawson told me the story of his journey. The heaviest rains of
the season fell while he and his companions were away, and their
progress was very slow. Four days after their departure they came to
an uninhabited country, where they travelled with difficulty among
rocky _kopjies_ or across deep morasses, often having to cut a
way through the dense bush. Here wild beasts abounded, and each night
numbers of lions roared around their camp. On reaching the banks of
the Shangani they fell in with small parties of Matabele, who had
decided to “come in,” and were on their way to Buluwayo. From these
Dawson first learnt that the King was dead, and that his message would,
therefore, have to be delivered to the chief indunas. On February 13th
the mission arrived at the Shangani drift, and there found a number of
natives suffering terribly from disease and lack of proper food: they
had no grain of any sort, and had been subsisting on flesh alone. They
were all anxious to “come in,” but had been afraid to do so, thinking
that the white men would kill them in revenge for the cutting off of
Major Wilson’s party. They were delighted to see Dawson and to hear his
reassuring promises.
On the further side of the river was stationed a large force of
Matabele, the _amajakas_ of the Royal Regiment and others. These
young warriors, suspecting that the two white men were the scouts of
some patrol that was advancing to attack them, at first made hostile
demonstrations; and it was, possibly, fortunate for Dawson and Riley
that the Shangani was full at the time and quite impassable. The river
did not subside until February 22nd; but in the meanwhile Dawson
and the indunas of the regiments opposite communicated with each
other by shouting across the swollen stream. Dawson thus succeeded
in delivering his message of peace, allayed the apprehension of the
Matabele, and established friendly relations with them. On the 22nd
some men swam across the river to Dawson, and he was enabled to more
fully explain to them the treatment they would receive if they “came
in.”
[Illustration: ZIMBABWE TEMPLE.]
[Illustration: ZIMBABWE KRAAL.]
On February 23rd the two white men crossed the river. This district
must be excessively pestilential, for out of the thousands of Matabele
whom Dawson found on the further bank of the Shangani, there was
scarcely a man who was not down with fever, while numbers had perished.
Their condition was most pitiable: many looked more like skeletons
than men. Dawson found that even the young _amajakas_, weakened
and dispirited by the sufferings they had undergone, had no heart for
further fighting, but were anxious to “come in.” Dawson succeeded in
convincing them that the white men, far from wishing to kill those who
had fought in the war, respected these men most, and would treat them
honourably. Umjan, who conducted the negotiations, was rejoiced to hear
this, and said he knew the white indunas meant the Matabele well, for
had they not sent to them as envoys the old friends of their people,
Dawson and Riley, whom they trusted, and not strangers? So all agreed
to go in and lay down their arms. The object of the mission was thus
effected, and the rapid pacification of the country was insured.
Dawson found at this deadly spot not only Umjan, the old
commander-in-chief, but several others of the leading indunas. He
learnt that a number of people of note had died of disease or had
committed suicide, and on Lobengula’s death several of his wives had
hung themselves. Umjan told Dawson the story of the King’s decease and
obsequies. Lobengula was suffering from fever and smallpox, but his
heart was broken because the _amajakas_ of his own--his favourite
regiment, the Imbezu--had deserted him after the last fight: he
contemplated suicide. Buzungwan, the head dance-doctor, or master of
the ceremonies at the great festival of the first fruits, was the only
man of note with the dying King. Umjan was sent for, but arrived too
late to see Lobengula alive. “It is now time for your work--to bury the
King,” said Buzungwan to him, pointing to the corpse. Umjan performed
this honourable duty according to the traditional custom. He carried
the body to a hollow under a precipice, and placed it on a stone so
that it sat upright with the face turned towards the rising sun. He
put upon it the richest royal raiment and ornaments, and placed the
King’s war assegais in the dead hands. After piercing the body with an
assegai, Umjan built a chamber of stones around it, with one great flat
stone at the top, and then went away leaving Lobengula, the Calf of the
Great Elephant, sitting in state, just as he was wont to do when alive.
[Illustration: “HE SOLD HIS LIFE DEARLY” (_p._
119).]
All the people now prepared to leave the deadly banks of the Shangani
and “come in.” Numbers were too weak to travel, so Dawson promised that
food and medicine should be sent to them without delay. Some of the
indunas accompanied him back to Inyati to represent the others. I was
present when they were brought before Dr. Jameson. The Administrator
explained to them that there would be no more king, and the white
men would govern the country, but the indunas who behaved well would
still rule their people, being answerable to the white magistrates;
and there must be no more killing or witchcraft. He promised them full
protection, and told them to return to the cultivation of the lands
they had occupied before the war. He assured them that the white men
bore no grudge against those of the Matabele who had taken up arms
against them and killed their soldiers. White men knew they must lose
some of their number when they went to war. The man he respected most
in the whole country was old Urnjan, who had fought hardest against
us, and had stood by his King to the very end. Dr. Jameson then asked
the indunas if they had anything to say. They replied that, having no
other road to go, they had come to lay down their heads before the
great white chief, who could kill them or not. They were pleased with
the treatment they had received at the hands of the white man. “And
now we can sleep,” they concluded by saying--the usual Zulu method of
expressing relief from anxiety. Often when men came in to surrender
at Buluwayo, and Dr. Jameson asked them what they wanted, they would
reply: “We have come to learn if we may sleep.”
When Dawson and Riley were on the Shangani, the natives took them to
the spot where Wilson’s party had fallen--about four miles from the
river-bank. They found the bones of the thirty-four troopers lying
close together where the men had stood at bay and died fighting. Dawson
buried these remains temporarily under a mopani tree, on which he cut
the simple inscription: “To brave men.” He described the trees and
bushes all round this spot as being cut about by what must have been a
tremendous fire. It is estimated that the thirty-four white men killed
ten times their number of the enemy, at least, on that day before they
were slaughtered.
[Illustration: LOBENGULA.
(_From a sketch from life by Mr. A. E. Maund._)]
The fine old warrior, Umjan, whom I met at Buluwayo when he “came in”
to surrender to the Administrator, gave a graphic and clear account of
all that occurred. Umjan said that the King was not with his waggons
when Major Wilson’s party attacked them: he had fled the day before
with several of his indunas. Umjan had been sent by Lobengula on
December 2nd with a strong impi to fall on Forbes’ column in the dense
bush. Finding the column encamped in the open near the river, Umjan had
to alter his plans. He left a portion of his force to lie in ambush on
either side of the drift, and returned with the remainder to guard the
King.
On the night of the 3rd, Umjan returned to the King’s waggons and
learnt that the King had gone, and he was informed that Major Wilson’s
patrol was encamped not far off in the bush. Umjan decided to do
nothing that night, and await dawn. Wilson’s party was thus caught in a
trap: behind it was the force ambushed at the drift, which had allowed
the white men to ride by; in front was the force with Umjan.
In the morning Major Wilson attacked the waggons, and was repulsed
in the manner described by Burnham. Umjan said that the white men
retreated towards the river for about three miles, fighting gallantly
all the while; and it was then that their further retreat was cut
off by the other Matabele force which had crossed the river in the
night, and which, hearing the heavy firing, had left the drift and was
hurrying along the King’s spoor to take part in the fight.
Umjan and those with him saw Burnham and the other two troopers ride
off just before the white men were completely hemmed in by overwhelming
numbers. The Matabele did not understand that these three men had been
despatched to obtain reinforcements, and marvelled that those others
of the white men who had horses did not also “take refuge in flight
instead of fighting by the side of their comrades until all were
dead together.” We have only the Matabele account of what took place
subsequent to the riding off of Burnham. Umjan said that the white men
made several desperate attempts to break through the encircling swarms
of Matabele, who were continually being reinforced by fresh arrivals.
At last, having lost several horses and having some men wounded, the
troopers determined to sell their lives dearly. They formed into a
close ring and, under cover of their fallen horses, opened a deadly
fire on the Matabele whenever a rush was attempted. Umjan spoke with
keen enthusiasm of the grand standing at bay of his white foemen. As
they repelled each fresh attack with rifles and revolvers, and added
to the heaps of Matabele dead that surrounded them, the troopers,
said Umjan, “cheered and jeered at us as cowards, challenging us to
come nearer.” The Matabele perpetually raised their guttural war-cry,
“_Shzee! shzee!_” while, from under cover of the bush, they poured
a constant fire into the thick of the white men. There was no crying
for quarter on the part of the latter. They fought on grimly: when
a man was wounded he laid down and continued to fire, or, if he was
unable to fight, handed up his ammunition to his companions. “The white
men are indeed the right men to meet in battle, even when they have no
Maxims!” exclaimed old Umjan with flashing eyes.
And so they fought on, until at last all were either killed or wounded
so severely that they could not fight longer, with the exception of
one big man “who would not die.” “We could not kill him, often though
we wounded him,” declared Umjan, “and we thought that he must have
been a wizard.” This man, who was never identified, stood on the top
of a large ant-heap, which was in the centre of an open space. He had
collected round him the revolvers and the rifles, and ammunition of
several of his dead comrades, and he killed a number of his assailants.
The Matabele could not muster courage to approach him, for, according
to their description, “he picked up weapon after weapon and fired
rapidly, and with wonderful accuracy in all directions--in front of
him, to the side of him, and over his shoulders--whenever Matabele
ventured to come out of the bush into the open.” After killing many of
them, he was at last shot in the hip, and had to fight sitting down.
He sold his life dearly, and it was not till he sank exhausted from
loss of blood from many wounds, that the Matabele made a rush on him,
and stabbed him to death with their assegais. Even then it was not
all over, for some of the dying troopers summoned sufficient strength
to fire their revolvers at the approaching Matabele; and by this time
the indomitable resistance they had met with, and the extent of their
losses, had so awed and scared the enemy that they fled precipitately
into the bush from that narrow circle of dead and dying Englishmen, and
did not come back until some hours later when they found all was quiet:
not one of their brave foemen was left alive.
Umjan, himself a gallant leader, far superior to his degenerate Zulu
warriors, who often refused to follow him, thoroughly appreciated the
dogged valour displayed by Wilson and his men. These were men after his
own heart. Speaking to some of his _amajakas_ in Dawson’s hearing,
he said: “We were fighting then with men of men, whose fathers were
men of men before them. They fought and died together: those who could
have saved themselves chose to remain and die with their brothers. Do
not forget this. You did not think that white men were as brave as
Matabele; but now you must see that they are men indeed, to whom you
are as but timid girls.”
Our men, it appears, did not exhaust their ammunition before they were
slaughtered, as was at first reported, and Dawson found cartridges in
the pouches and in the revolvers of the dead troopers; so it is more
than probable that Wilson and his comrades gave a very good account of
themselves, and sold their lives dearly as they fell, man after man, to
the very last; and it is certain that they did not die before they had
killed some four hundred of the enemy.
Dawson made a second journey to the banks of the Shangani, to carry
supplies of food and medicine to the suffering Matabele, and brought
back with him several leading natives and the surviving queens
of Lobengula. The appearance of these people fully bore out his
description of their condition. Though he had selected the strongest
and most fit to travel, they were frightfully emaciated, some being
reduced by famine and fever to the nearest approach to skeletons
possible for a living creature: despite all his care, twenty-five
people perished on the journey. On this occasion, Dawson disinterred
the remains of Wilson’s party, and brought back with him the
thirty-four skulls, most of which, we observed, had been pierced by
bullets. These skulls are to be buried in consecrated ground near those
grand remains of an unknown civilisation and religion--the ruins of
the Zimbabwe temple. Here Mr. Cecil Rhodes proposes to raise a granite
monolith to the memory of these brave men. I have seen the site,
than which none more suitable could have been selected--a bare rocky
mound rising above a wilderness of dense tropical bush and flowering
trees, halfway between the pagan temple on the plain and the rugged
Zimbabwe _kopjie_, crowned with massive fortifications of immense
antiquity. A monument of simple dignity, standing amid these mysterious
ruins, and surrounded by this wild and lonely scenery, will produce a
most impressive effect.
[Illustration:
THE SIEGE AND STORMING OF DELHI
BY CHARLES LOWE]