BADEN-POWELL
OF MAFEKING
[Illustration: BADEN-POWELL IN HIS OFFICE]
BADEN-POWELL
OF MAFEKING
BY
J.S. FLETCHER
AUTHOR OF "THE BUILDERS," "THE PATHS OF THE PRUDENT," ETC.
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
TO THE MAN IN THE STREET
PART I.
BADEN-POWELL--THE MANNER OF MAN HE IS
PAGE
I. The Boy and His People 11
II. "Bathing-Towel" 18
III. Learning the Trade 24
IV. Scout and Sportsman 29
V. The Kindly Humorist 42
PART II.
AN EXPEDITION AND A CAMPAIGN
I. The Ashanti Expedition, 1895-6 47
II. The Matabele Campaign, 1896 64
PART III.
THE STORY OF THE SIEGE OF MAFEKING, 1899-1900
I. The Warm Corner 89
II. Warmer and Warmer 97
III. Sitting Tight 104
IV. The Last Days 111
V. The Relief and the Empire 119
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Baden-Powell in his Office _Frontispiece_
A Merciful Man (_Sketch by the Author_) 14
The Horse Guard " " 26
Following up the Spoor " " 29
Britannia " " 45
Sketch Map of the March to Kumassi " " 48
Human Sacrifice at Bantama " " 51
Portrait of King Prempeh " " 55
King Prempeh watching the arrival of Troops " " 59
Embarkation of King Prempeh " " 63
Sketch Map of the Theatre of Operations " " 65
Mafeking to Buluwayo--Ten Days and Nights by Coach " " 66
The Umgusa Fight: June 6th " " 67
Eight to One " " 70
Scout Burnham " " 73
The Peace Indaba with the Matopo Rebels " " 75
The Battle of August 5th " " 77
A Human Salt-Cellar " " 79
Fresh Horse-Beef " " 81
Dolce far Niente " " 87
An every-day Scene in the Market 95
Strolling Home in the Morning (_Sketch by the Author_)104
"Halt! who comes there?" " " 104
A Cape Boy Sentry " " 113
Rough Map of Brickfields 116
NOTE
THE AUTHOR DESIRES TO EXPRESS HIS OBLIGATIONS TO MISS BADEN-POWELL AND
TO THE REV. CANON HAIG-BROWN FOR THEIR KINDNESS IN AFFORDING HIM HELP
AND INFORMATION IN PREPARING THE FOLLOWING ACCOUNT OF MAJOR-GENERAL
BADEN-POWELL'S CAREER.
INTRODUCTION
TO THE MAN IN THE STREET
It may well and fittingly be complained that of late years we English
folk have shown an unpardonable spirit of curiosity about things which
do not concern us. We have brought into being more than one periodical
publication full of gossip about the private life and affairs of folk
of eminence, and there are too many of us who are never so much pleased
as when we are informed that a certain great artist abhors meat, or
that a famous musician is inordinately fond of pickled salmon. There
was a time when, to use a homely old phrase, people minded their own
business and left that of their neighbours' alone--that day in some
degree seems to have been left far behind, and most of us feel that
we are being defrauded of our just rights if we may not step across
the threshold of my lady's drawing-room or set foot in the statesman's
cabinet. The fact is that we have itching ears nowadays, and cherish a
passion for gossip which were creditable to the old women of the open
doorways. We want to know all--which is to say as much as chance will
tell us--about the people of whom the street is talking, and the more
we can hear of them, even of the things which appertain in reality to
no one but themselves, the better we are pleased. But even here, in
what is undoubtedly an evil, there is an element of possible good which
under certain circumstances may be developed into magnificent results.
Since we must talk amongst ourselves, since we must satisfy this
very human craving for what is after all gossip, let us find great
subjects to gossip about. If we must talk in the streets let us talk
about great folk, about great deeds, about great examples, and since
our subjects are great let us talk of them in a great way. There is no
need to chatter idly and to no purpose--we shall be all the better if
our gossip about great men and great things leads us to even a faint
imitation of both.
We English folk possess at this moment a magnificent opportunity of
talking and thinking about the things and the men which make for good.
It may be that ever since the Empire rose as one man to sustain the
honour and glory of England we have glorified our fighting man a little
too much. It may be that we have raised our voices too loudly in the
music-halls and been too exuberant in our conduct in the streets. But
after all, what does it mean? We are vulgar, we English, in our outward
expression of joy and delight--yes, but how splendidly our vulgarity is
redeemed and even transformed into a fine thing by our immense feeling
for race and country! What is it, after all, that we have been doing
during this time of war but building up, renewing, strengthening that
mysterious Something which for lack of a better word we call Empire?
War, like sorrow, strengthens, chastens, and encourages. Just as the
heart of a strong man is purified and made stronger by sorrow, so the
spirit of a nation is lifted up and set on a higher pedestal by the
trials and the awfulness of war. Heaven help the people which emerges
from a great struggle broken, sullen, despondent!--Heaven be thanked
that from the blood of our fellows spilt in South Africa there have
already sprung the flowers of new fortitude and new strength and new
belief in our God-given destiny as the saviours of the world. It is as
it ever was:--
"We are a people yet!
Tho' all men else their nobler dreams forget,
Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers;
Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set
His Britons in blown seas and storming showers,
We have a voice with which to pay the debt
Of boundless love and reverence and regret
To those great men who fought and kept it ours."
We have a voice!--yes, and is it not well that at this juncture it
should be raised in honour of the men who have mounted guard for us at
the gates of Empire? It is well, too, that our ears should listen to
stories of them--surely there is no taint of unpardonable curiosity
in that, but rather an inquisitiveness which is worthy of praise. No
man can hear of great men, nor think of brave deeds, without finding
himself made better and richer. It is in the contemplation of greatness
that even the most poorly-equipped amongst us may find a step to a
higher place of thought.
Here then is an excuse for attempting to tell plain folk the story of
Baden-Powell (no need to label _him_ with titles or prefixes!) in a
plain way. It is a task which has already been attempted and achieved
by more than one person: the only reason why it should be attempted
again is that a good story cannot be told too often, and that in
its variations there may be something of value added to it by the
particular narrator. It seems to me that this story of Baden-Powell
finds its great charm in its revelation of character, and as being
typical of the British officer at his best. I do not find Baden-Powell
so much a prodigy as a type of the flower of a class which of late has
been much maligned. We have been told, over and over again since we
became involved in our struggle with the Boer, that our officers are
badly trained, incompetent, and careless. It is not to be denied that
there is room for improvement in their military education and training,
but I think we shall have hard work to improve them in one matter of
some slight importance--their cheerful, brave, steady devotion to Duty.
When one comes to think of it, seriously, what a great quality that is!
To be ready to go anywhere, to do anything, or to attempt its doing
with all the strength one possesses, to face whatever a moment may
bring forth with the cheery pluck with which a schoolboy goes into a
scrimmage--are these not qualities which make for greatness? It seems
to me that they are found in the British officer in an extraordinary
degree, and that the life of Baden-Powell as we know it is typical of
the results of the possession of them. I do not mean to say that every
British officer is a Baden-Powell, but I cherish a strong conviction
that Baden-Powell himself has said, more than once, when overwhelmed
with congratulations, "Oh, any other fellow would have done the same!"
Of course, that is all wrong--we all know that not every other fellow
would. But I believe every other fellow would have Tried--and to Try
means a world of things. After all, the greatest thing in this world,
and the surest passport to happiness in the next, is doing one's Duty,
cheerfully, fearlessly, and confidently, and it is because there is
so much evidence of the way in which the British officer attempts to
do his, in the story of Baden-Powell's career, that I make no excuse
for begging the man in the street to read it again, and again, and yet
again--whoever writes, or tries to write it.
J.S.F.
EAST HARDWICK, YORKS
_September, 1900_
BADEN-POWELL OF MAFEKING
PART I.
BADEN-POWELL--THE MANNER OF MAN HE IS
I.
THE BOY AND HIS PEOPLE
If it seems something of an impertinence to write about the life of
a man who is still alive and apparently determined to be so for many
years of energy and activity, it appears to be almost in the nature of
a sacrilege to draw aside the veil which ought to shroud the privacy of
his family life. Most English folk, whether they show it or not, are
deeply in love with the sentiment expressed in Browning's lines,--
"A peep through my window if some should prefer,
But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine"--
but in the case of the Baden-Powell family many feet have already
crossed the threshold, and many hands have drawn aside the curtain. It
is not often that the lifting of the veil which usually hides English
family life from the world's gaze reveals as charming and instructive
a picture as is found in the contemplation of the people to whom the
hero of Mafeking belongs. We all know that it is not necessary to
spring from a great family in order to be a great man; we all know,
too, that many a great family has produced a great fool. But when a
great family does produce a great man the result is greater than could
be obtained in any other way. Baden-Powell comes of a family-stock
great in many ways, and were there reason or time for it, nothing
could be more delightful or instructive than to endeavour to trace the
connection between the main features and characteristics of his life
and the hereditary influences which must needs have acted upon him. His
ancestors have done so many fine things that one feels something like
amazement to find their present day representative still adding lustre
to the family name. According to the ordinary laws all the strength and
virtue should have been exhausted in the stock ere now, but just as
Baden-Powell himself is in certain ways a mysterious contradiction to
things in general, laughing where other men would weep, and rising to
great heights where most men would turn back to the valley in despair,
so his family, after many generations of great activity, contradict the
usual laws by increasing in strength and giving evidence of that growth
and development which, as Dr. Newman told us in a remarkable sentence,
is the only evidence of life.
Robert Stephenson Smyth Baden-Powell was born at 6, Stanhope Street,
London, on the 22nd February, 1857. He was the seventh son of the
late Rev. Baden-Powell, sometime Savilian Professor in the University
of Oxford, and of Henrietta Grace, daughter of Admiral W.H. Smyth,
K.S.F. Of his father the future defender of Mafeking can have known
little; Professor Baden-Powell died when his seventh son was only
three years old. He was a man of great talents, widely known as a
profound student in the physical sciences and as an exponent of broad
and tolerant theology, a frequent contributor of learned papers to the
transactions of the Royal Society, and a whole-hearted lover of nature
and of the sights and sounds of country life. One would like to know
more of him, and of such intercourse as existed between him and his
children. They, however, were separated from him at an early age and
were left to the sole guidance and friendship of their mother. It is
rarely that children have a mother so well equipped for the performance
of a difficult task--Mrs. Baden-Powell is in all respects a great
woman and eminently fitted to be the mother of a hero. She, like her
husband, came of a stock eminent for its qualities. Her father, Admiral
W.H. Smyth, was a well-known seaman of his day, and his children
have all achieved eminence in one way or another. One of his sons,
Warington, became Mineral Inspector to the Crown; another, Fiazzi,
Astronomer Royal for Scotland; a third, General Sir Henry Smyth, after
a distinguished military career, was Governor and Commander-in-Chief
at Malta from 1890 to 1893. Of his two daughters, the younger,
Georgina Rosetta, was married in 1858 to Sir W.H. Flower, the eminent
scientist; the elder, Henrietta Grace, had previously married Professor
Baden-Powell.
[Illustration: A Merciful Man.]
It is often said that a boy is what his mother makes him, and no one
will deny that there is a certain amount of truth in the saying. A
boy naturally turns rather to his mother than to his father when
he first feels the need of sympathy, and it is well for him if his
mother has not merely sympathy but perception and understanding to
give him. Mrs. Baden-Powell appears to have been singularly fitted
to help her children with her love, sympathy, and tact during the
earlier years of their youth. Herself a brilliantly clever woman, she
recognized intuitively the workings of dawning talent and ability
in her own children, and she encouraged and helped them as only a
woman of great gifts could. As a linguist, an artist, a musician, a
mathematician, and a lover of science and of nature, Mrs. Baden-Powell
has many attainments, and it must be evident to the most obtuse that
her children received a liberal education in merely knowing her. When
Professor Baden-Powell died his widow was left with a responsibility
from which the bravest woman might well have shrunk. She had been
married fifteen years, and there were ten children of the marriage,
and the eldest was not fourteen years of age. That Mrs. Baden-Powell
had no shrinking, that she devoted herself to her task with courage,
determination, and skill is proved by the results with which the world,
for its good, has been familiarized. The training of her children,
as far as one may speak of it with reserve and respect, seems to
have been marked by the greatest good sense. She took an interest in
everything that interested them; she inculcated a strict regard for
honour in their minds; she taught them to bear pain as strong men
should; above everything she strove to bring all the influence of
nature into their lives. Such an education as this could scarcely fail
to produce men well fitted to do something, and Mrs. Baden-Powell's
sons have done much. Her eldest son attained considerable distinction
as the author of an important work on the Land Systems of British
India, and occupied a high judicial post in that country ere his death.
Her second son, Mr. Warington Baden-Powell, after serving some years
in the navy, turned from the sea to the atmosphere of the Law Courts,
and is now a Queen's Counsel of eminence. Her third son, the late
Sir George Baden-Powell, who died in 1898, was, until recent events
brought his younger brother's name more prominently before the public,
the best-known member of the family. His record was a particularly
brilliant and useful one. He took the Chancellor's Prize at Oxford in
1876. He was private secretary to the Governor of Victoria, 1877-78;
Joint Special Commissioner in the West India Colonies, 1882-84;
Assistant to Sir Charles Warren in Bechuanaland, 1884-85; Joint
Special Commissioner in Malta, 1887-88; British Commissioner in the
Behring Sea Question, 1891; and British Member of the Washington Joint
Committee in 1892. He was a Fellow of the Royal Society and an LL.D.,
and represented the Kirkdale Division of Liverpool in Parliament from
1885 until his death. He wrote several important works and papers
on scientific, economic, and political subjects, and was created a
baronet in 1888. Other sons of this fortunate and gifted mother are
Mr Frank Baden-Powell, who, after a distinguished career at Oxford,
became a barrister and is well known as an artist of great merit, and
Major B.F.S. Baden-Powell, of the Scots Guards, whose invention of
war-kites was of great value during the operations at Modder River. Of
the seventh son it is the province of this book to speak more fully
and particularly than of his brothers, but this brief reference to
Mrs. Baden-Powell's family would be incomplete if it did not include
some notice of the sister of all these clever boys, who, clever
and brilliant herself, must needs have watched the development of
their lives with true pride and affection. I ventured to ask Miss
Baden-Powell the other day two questions which seemed to me peculiarly
pertinent to the matter I had just taken in hand. The first arose out
of a passage in General Baden-Powell's work on the Ashanti Expedition
of 1896, wherein he declares that "a smile and a stick will carry you
through the world." I asked Miss Baden-Powell if this saying formed
a sort of keynote to her brother's character as she knew it. She
replied that she found it impossible to conceive of his using a stick
in any case. So, in my estimate of him, whatever it may be worth, the
stick disappears from Baden-Powell, but the smile remains and has
gained much in potency. My second question had perhaps a much deeper
significance. I asked if in his sister's view--and it has been my
experience, founded on much cynical observation of things, that if one
wants honest criticism of one's self one can get it, in all truth, from
one's sister--the future warrior was in his boyhood at all phenomenal,
if he gave, as some embryonic geniuses unfortunately do give, any
notable evidence of the greatness that was coming. And I rejoiced to
hear that he did not, that he was a human boy, neither precocious nor a
prig--just a healthy, fun-loving English boy, full of kindliness and of
delight in the joys of life's morning.
That is exactly what one likes to feel about Baden-Powell's boyhood.
From what one can gather from many sources about his early days
they appear to have been marked chiefly by the sunniness of his own
disposition. His education was conducted under a tutor at home until
he was eleven years old, and he spent much of his time in outdoor
pursuits. He learned to ride at a very early age, and was fond of
exploring unknown regions in company with his brothers. Much of the
future scout's boyhood was spent at a country house near Tunbridge
Wells, and in the neighbouring woods he lived many hours of glorious
life. But he appears to have had almost as many pursuits in boyhood
as he has shown himself fond of in manhood. He began to draw and
paint at a very early age. Before he was three years old he executed
a pen-and-ink drawing of camels and camel drivers, the execution of
which was wonderful for so young a child. It was quickly perceived
in the family circle that he used his left hand, which he has always
used throughout his life with equal facility to his use of the right,
and his mother consulted Ruskin as to the advisability of checking
this propensity. Ruskin advised her to let the boy use his left hand
as freely as his mind wished, with the result that he has always been
able to work at his sketches and drawings with both hands at the same
time, drawing with the left and shading with the right--a performance
which is surely rarely equalled. Another of his boyish amusements was
to play with dolls, and to make their clothes; another, succeeding,
one supposes, the doll era, was to take part with his brothers in
the performance of plays. He has always been passionately devoted to
dramatic art, and showed his love for theatrical matters at a very
early age. It is only what one would expect from his extraordinary
versatility to hear that he used to write the plays himself, invariably
fitting himself with a "fat" low-comedy part.
Although he was in no sense of the word that most unspeakable thing,
a precocious child, Baden-Powell showed in his boyhood some signs of
the inclinations which were working in him. Nothing pleased him so
much as to explore new ground in the shape of woods and fields; it was
an exquisite delight to him to get lost in an unfamiliar part of the
country and to be obliged to find a way out. He showed great pleasure
in drawing maps and charts, with which he took infinite pains, and
he was very fond of cutting figures of animals out of paper, and of
imitating the cries and calls of birds and voices of animals. Then,
again, he showed at an early age the resourcefulness and dependency
upon self which have been such marked characteristics of his military
career. He entirely dispensed with the services of a nurse before he
was three years old; he kept a very careful account of the expenditure
of his pocket money, and in everything seems to have shown a wisdom
not at all out of keeping with his light-hearted disposition. It may
be that much of his light-heartedness has unconsciously sprung from
his thoroughness in doing things. It was fortunate for him that he
possessed a great friend in his brother, Mr. Warington Baden-Powell,
who, being ten years his senior, was able to give him not merely
advice but excellent example. In company with his brothers the future
soldier lived a great part of his holiday-time as a sailor, roughing
it in small yachts around the coast and over the seas. The yachts were
designed by Mr. Warington Baden-Powell, who also acted as skipper, and
were managed entirely by himself and his younger brothers. Now and then
the small craft and its crew happened upon tight places, and on one
occasion, while off Torquay in a ten-tonner named the _Koh-i-noor_,
they had an experience which would have frightened most boys to such an
extent that the sea and its perils would have been eschewed for ever.
A violent storm broke over them one dark evening, raged throughout the
night and far into the next day, and necessitated a battling with wind
and wave which only the bravest dare face. But Baden-Powell and his
brothers appear to have been boys of infinite bravery and resource.
They travelled extensively about the English and Welsh coasts, and
spent some of their holidays in Norway, and wherever they went they
depended upon themselves for whatever was necessary to be done in
the way of cooking, repairing, and boat-mending. No better schooling
than this, developing as it did the priceless qualities of energy,
self-reliance, and confidence, could have been devised for the boy
who was destined in after years to safeguard the honour of England in
beleaguered Mafeking.
II.
"BATHING-TOWEL"
After being under the care of a tutor until he was eleven years old,
Baden-Powell was sent to a preparatory school at Tunbridge Wells,
and remained there for two years, leaving it at the end of that time
with the sincere regret of his master, who had found him an admirable
example to his fellows. In 1870 he was admitted, on the Duke of
Marlborough's nomination, to the Foundation of Charterhouse, then in
its ancient quarters near Smithfield. Two years later he went with
the Foundation to its new home near Godalming, and there remained, an
inmate of Mr. Girdlestone's house, until 1876. Of these six years of
Baden-Powell's life it is necessary to say something, if one wishes to
form an accurate idea of their importance in moulding and strengthening
his character. School-life exercises a vast influence upon a boy's
future career; it may make or mar it; it is certain, indeed, that he
cannot go through it without receiving influences of the most paramount
importance. All the world knows now what manner of man Baden-Powell is;
all the world has no doubt wondered what sort of boy he was in his days
of school-life.
I recently visited the Charterhouse in order to ask Dr. Haig-Brown,
who was Headmaster of the Charterhouse School from 1863 to 1897,
and has since then been Master of the Charterhouse, if he would
tell me something about his old pupil. There was a certain amount
of satisfaction in setting foot within the precincts of a place so
closely associated with one of the men of the moment; there was a
strong and restful sense of relief, too, in escaping from the whirl
and roar of London's crowded streets into so delightful a haunt of
peace as that which lies in their very midst. Between the noise and
bustle of the much-thronged thoroughfares about Smithfield and the
cloistral quiet of the Master's Lodge in the Charterhouse there was a
difference intensely welcome to a lover of quiet places, and I could
not help thinking as I sat in Dr. Haig-Brown's study, with the noise
of the outer world reduced to a low and easy murmur, that there must
have been moments during the siege of Mafeking when Baden-Powell's
mind turned to the grey walls and quaint gables of his old school with
perhaps a little longing for the peace which broods there always. It
was easy to see that the thought and memory of the old Carthusian was
cherished there. In Dr. Haig-Brown's study hung a picture of the face
now familiar to all of us through the medium of innumerable illustrated
newspapers and magazines, the good-humoured, strong face, shadowed by
the big hat, and in one of the drawing-rooms stood a small table gaily
decorated with red, white and blue ribbons, whereon had been gathered
together a collection of little objects--some of them the penny wares
of the London street vendors--associated with the name of the hero of
Mafeking. It was easy to see, too, that Baden-Powell was deeply placed
in the affections of his old schoolmaster. Dr. Haig-Brown spoke of
him in simple words which showed more feeling than the mere sound of
them implied. He spoke of his great truthfulness, his love of fun and
of sport, of his self-respect, and of his interest in his old school.
He showed me a volume of the school magazine, _The Greyfriar_, which
contained several contributions, literary and artistic, by the man
who has so ably sustained all the best traditions of a great school,
and has thought of it when far away and busily engaged in fighting
his country's cause. And perhaps no greater tribute could be paid to
Baden-Powell's greatness than Dr. Haig-Brown paid him in a few words,
words which convey a great and deep meaning--"He was a boy whose word
you could not doubt."
Dr. Haig-Brown was kind enough to give me a copy of an article on
Baden-Powell which he wrote for a recent number of _The Church
Monthly_, and to allow me to make use of any of the remarks which he
there made as regards his old pupil. It is an article which shows that
in the opinion of his schoolmaster the recent brilliant achievements of
Baden-Powell were foreshadowed in his early youth. Quoting Wordsworth's
famous line,
"The child is father of the man,"
Dr. Haig-Brown goes on to say that though it is not always easy to
found on observation of early life a prophecy of the future career,
it is not so difficult when characteristics have found a field for
display, to trace in the memories of youth the qualities that have
formed a great man, and that the boyish life of Baden-Powell furnishes
an illustration in point. Then he proceeds to speak of Baden-Powell's
joyousness of spirit, of his indomitable energy, his versatility of
talent, his wit, kindliness, and activity of body and mind, and of his
judgment and fidelity in positions of trust and responsibility. And
there is one passage in Dr. Haig-Brown's article which, to my mind, is
of supreme importance to anyone endeavouring to form an estimate of
Baden-Powell's character as illustrated by his school-days. "In his
attitude to the younger boys," says Dr. Haig-Brown, "he was generous,
kind and encouraging, and in those early days gave no slight indication
of the qualities which have since gained for him the confidence,
respect, and love of all the soldiers who have been under his command."
Here, indeed, the promise of the boy has been amply fulfilled in the
performance of the man.
Another foreshadowing of Baden-Powell's future career is found in
a characteristic entry in the school's _Football Annual_ for 1876,
wherein it is recorded that "R.S.S.B.-P. is a good goalkeeper, keeping
cool, and always to be depended upon." Keeping cool--always to be
depended upon--what a magnificent endowment! How many of us, fighting
our little battles in life's war-time, would give all that we possess
if we could always keep cool--if we knew that other folk could always
depend upon us! Those of us who believe in athletic exercises as
forming no inconsiderable part of a boy's training will find no
difficulty in believing that much of the coolness and resource which
have distinguished Baden-Powell in his various campaigns were deepened
and strengthened by the fact that he was very fond of football. The two
qualities were there before, of course, but the goalkeeping added a
new fibre or two of strength to them. Dr. Haig-Brown took me out upon
a terrace which commanded a view of the old Charterhouse playground.
It, like the school buildings, is now used by the Merchant Taylors'
School, and in one corner stood two or three practice-nets for cricket,
while at each end of the playing area a certain wornness of aspect
showed where many a struggle had taken place around the goal-posts
during the bygone spring and winter. Dr. Haig-Brown told me that
his old pupil played other games than football, notably cricket and
racquets, but added that football was his chief love, and goalkeeping
his great forte. One characteristic he possessed as goalkeeper which is
not often found on the football field. When the fight was raging far
off in the enemy's quarters, and he himself was relieved of immediate
duty for the moment, he used to delight the onlookers who crowded
round about the goal which he was defending by cracking all sorts of
extraordinary jokes, which only ceased when he rushed forward to repel
an attack with a vigour and force not less strenuous than his wonderful
flow of spirits. Naturally enough, there was always a little group of
spectators round the goal-posts where "Bathing-Towel" (a nickname which
has clung to him always in the minds of old Carthusians) stood intent
and alert, but not so entirely preoccupied as to forget the humour
which was always bubbling up within him.
During his school-days, either in the precincts of the ancient
Charterhouse or in the new home of the school at Godalming, where he
was an inmate of Mr. Girdlestone's house, "Bathing-Towel," in true
promise of his later years, appears to have been very fully occupied,
and to have had quite a multitude of interests. He was extremely fond
of theatrical representations, and became such a favourite that his
mere appearance on the stage invariably evoked wild applause from
his schoolfellows. He wrote for the school magazine, and helped to
illustrate it; he was a member of the chapel choir, assisted in forming
the school rifle corps, which he represented as one of the Charterhouse
VIII. for three consecutive years at Wimbledon, and persuaded the
powers that were into instituting a school orchestra. He played
various instruments, and notably the violin, with some skill, and it
is said that he was on one occasion discovered playing the piano with
his toes. He was always in high spirits, always making jokes, always
good-humoured. The whoop in which he was wont to indulge when he became
excited by the struggles of the football field is still remembered by
those of his old schoolfellows who heard it, and there is scarcely an
old Carthusian of "Bathing-Towel's" day who has not some quaint story
to tell of him, or whose manner in telling it does not suggest that the
defender of Mafeking must have been one of the sunniest-natured boys
that one could wish to meet.
But all this, of course, only deals with one side of "Bathing-Towel's"
school-days--the side which after all has more to do with the pleasant
things of life than with the serious things. Now that everybody knows
what manner of man he is who held Mafeking against the Boers through
seven long months of privation, no one will be surprised to hear that
"Bathing-Towel" was just as earnest in his work at school as he was
joyous in his play. Dr. Haig-Brown says of him that he never showed
want of respect for his masters or lack of consideration for his
schoolfellows. He speaks with some stress of his liberality of feeling
and of his natural gift as a leader. He worked hard and seriously,
and though he was very reserved he was never shy, and approached his
masters on any subject on which he desired advice and enlightenment
with a total absence of timidity or embarrassment. Naturally, then, he
was a great favourite in the school. He entered Charterhouse by a low
form, for there had very wisely been no attempt to force his education,
but so well did he work there that by 1875--five years after his
admission--he had reached the sixth form, and on the recommendation of
Mr. Girdlestone, his house-master, was made a monitor. Dr. Haig-Brown
says that he discharged the duties of this responsible position
with judgment and fidelity, bringing his intelligence to bear on
the interpretation of the school's traditions, and being especially
considerate and thoughtful in his attitude to the younger boys.
It is scarcely necessary to say that "Bathing-Towel's" memory is much
cherished by his old schoolfellows, nor that he himself keeps a very
warm corner in his heart for the great foundation to which he now
belongs in a stronger sense than ever. Whenever he is in England he
quickly makes his way to Godalming, there to renew his youth, and
it was to Dr. Haig-Brown, whom he visited at the Charterhouse just
before sailing for South Africa, that he expressed the wish--very
soon to be amply satisfied!--that the authorities would give him a
warm corner. _The Greyfriar_, the illustrated school magazine which
possesses a peculiar charm for all Carthusians, past and present, has
at various times been enlivened by contributions from his pen and
pencil, and on more than one occasion he has made another appearance
on the stage where his boyish jokes used to find such favour. No
wonder that Charterhouse cherishes his memory and is proud of his
career. "Baden-Powell," says Dr. Haig-Brown, "has already secured a
distinguished place among Carthusian heroes. Probably, if his youth
had been spent elsewhere, he would not have fallen short of the high
distinction he has won; but those who love Charterhouse (and they are
many) may be excused if they feel some pride in this association with a
man who has devoted such varied and sterling qualities to the service
of his country."
III.
LEARNING THE TRADE
It seems somewhat strange to learn that when Baden-Powell left school
it was with no definite notion of entering the army. One would have
thought, considering all his subsequent brilliant achievements,
that his mind had been set on being a soldier from some very early
age. This, however, was not the case. When he said good-bye to the
Charterhouse he had no definite idea as to the character of his future
career, beyond a strong impulse to engage in some pursuit which would
show him the wild places of the world. There was some talk of his
going into the Indian Civil Service, especially as he wanted to study
life and nature in that country, but it was pointed out to him that
military life in India would give him equal if not superior facilities
to that of the civilian. His first intention, however, was to proceed
to Oxford, and by the advice of his godfather, the late Professor
Jowett, he was entered at Christ Church, where he meant to spend two
years. Then came one of those curious events, which, looked at in the
light of after happenings, seem to work as special interpositions of
Providence. Hearing that an army examination was about to be held,
Baden-Powell, apparently more out of whimsicality than anything else,
decided to go in for it. The examination over, he set out for a
yachting cruise in company with his brother, quite careless, so far as
one may be permitted to judge, of the immediate results of this testing
of his abilities. The immediate results were, to say the least of them,
surprising and even startling. The examination took place in the summer
of 1876; ere summer was over he received an official communication from
the Duke of Cambridge, as Commander-in-Chief, informing him that out
of 718 candidates he had passed fifth (ranking as second place for a
cavalry regiment), and that in consequence of his success he had been
gazetted to a second lieutenancy in the 13th Hussars, his commission
being ante-dated by two years as a reward for the uniform good work
shown in his papers. This was the beginning of Baden-Powell's military
career. Within a few days of his receipt of the official communication
he was on his way to join his regiment, which at that time was
stationed in India.
The 13th Hussars, thus suddenly reinforced by this bright and lively
young prodigy, prides itself greatly on the fact that it figured in
the great affair at Balaklava, when in company with the 4th and 5th
Dragoon Guards, the 1st, 2nd and 6th Dragoons, the 4th, 8th and 11th
Hussars, the 17th Lancers, and the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders,
it assisted in performing certain deeds and affairs which have made
military critics wonder ever since in more ways than one. It was then
known as the 13th Light Dragoons. Like nearly every British regiment
it possesses numerous nicknames. It is sometimes called "The Green
Dragoons," sometimes "The Ragged Brigade." It has a third nickname in
"The Evergreens," a fourth in "The Geraniums," a fifth in "Gardner's
Dragoons." These five varying sobriquets are much more pleasant than a
sixth--"The Great Runaway Prestonpans"--which seems to imply certain
things that one would rather not think of. Its motto is "_Vivet in
Æternum_"; its badge a V.R. in a Garter, crowned. When Baden-Powell
joined it in India in 1876 it was in command of Sir Baker Russell, a
fine soldier who had served through the terrible times of the Indian
Mutiny and recently passed through the Ashanti War of 1873.
The light-heartedness which characterized Baden-Powell's early days
appears to have increased rather than deteriorated when he entered
upon the serious business of life. There is a curious story told of
one of his first doings on joining his regiment in India which serves
to show what high spirits and whimsical notions were his in those
days. Assembling all the European children he could find or hear of,
he produced from his kit an ocarina--an instrument from which most
people would surely despair of extracting much music!--and forming his
youthful following into procession, marched at their head through the
streets playing "The Girl I Left Behind Me." One learns a good deal
about Baden-Powell from that little incident, and it is not surprising
that it should have done a good deal to make him popular with the folk
amongst whom he had suddenly appeared. But his popularity with his
brother officers seems to have been assured from the first. Just as he
had been the life and soul of Charterhouse in all things appertaining
to gaiety and amusements, so he speedily became a moving spirit in
regimental jinks and jollities. It was not long ere his fellows
discovered that they had got a veritable prodigy amongst them where
theatrical matters were concerned, and that behind the new-comer's
somewhat reserved manner there lay such funds of light and original
humour as are too seldom met with in this world. At this time, no
doubt, Baden-Powell's wonderful versatility was widening and deepening,
and his extraordinary facility in doing anything that had to be done
must have been nothing short of astonishing to those who witnessed it.
Always ready and always willing to take anything in hand, it is little
wonder that those who remember him in those early days in India speak
of him with an affection which is not the less real because there is
always a vein of merriment in it.
[Illustration: The Horse Guard.]
But while Baden-Powell was continuing his old pranks and cultivating
his old spirit of laughter, he lost no opportunity of learning his
trade as a soldier. It is characteristic of the man that though until
he entered the army he had cherished no very definite notion of a
military career, he had no sooner taken the final step than he began to
devote himself to his profession with all his might. He speedily became
a perfect horseman, made himself fully acquainted with regimental
duties and details, and began to read systematically. He took a
first class and special certificate for topography in the Garrison
Class Examination of 1878. Coming back to England soon afterwards
for musketry instruction at Hythe, he soon took a first class extra
certificate, and on his return to India was appointed Musketry
Instructor at Quetta. His advancement in his profession, indeed, if not
extraordinarily rapid, was sure and certain. It is not pertinent to the
character of such a necessarily brief sketch of his life as this to lay
too much stress on all that he did ere he came into special prominence
some few years ago. But when one considers the brief facts of his
military career one easily sees how thoroughly Baden-Powell--to use a
well-understood phrase--learnt his trade. He served with his regiment
(of which he was adjutant for many years) in India, Afghanistan, and
South Africa; he was on the Staff as Assistant Military Secretary
in South Africa in 1887-89; he was in the operations in Zululand in
1888, and was mentioned in despatches; he acted as Assistant Military
Secretary at Malta from 1890 to 1893; he went on special service to
Ashanti in 1895, and was Chief Staff Officer in the Matabele Campaign
of 1896, and was promoted from his old regiment to the command of the
5th Dragoon Guards in 1897. It required little knowledge of military
life and matters to realize how thoroughly the future hero of Mafeking
had made himself acquainted with the duties of the perfectly-equipped
soldier during the twenty-one years dealt with in this brief outline of
his doings. Such an outline is indeed less than brief, for it records
scarcely anything but the main facts of his military advancement.
When one comes to remember that in addition to all the active service
here mentioned he contrived to find time to write books, some of them
about Tactics, some about Sport, some describing his participation
in or conduct of important military operations, one is amazed to find
that a single brain can compass so many things. But the amazement
deepens when it is remembered that in addition to all this Baden-Powell
also found time to do many other things--to act, sing, paint, etch,
make innumerable sketches, hunt, shoot, yacht, get up theatrical
entertainments and stage-manage them, attend foreign military
evolutions, and travel extensively. To an ordinary mortal the question
must needs occur,--How does he manage to do it all? To that the only
possible answer can be that Baden-Powell, in addition to possessing
many qualities denied to other men, is blessed with yet another of
which most men are not so keen to take advantage--that of always being
occupied, and of being thoroughly absorbed in the thing that occupies
him. He has never shown this quality more thoroughly, perhaps, than
during those portions of his career when duty called him to play--or
rather, work--the part of regimental officer. Most of us know how
such a part may be played--how the officer in barracks may spend his
time in doing a minimum of duty and a maximum of pleasure, how he
may ignore the men under him, and generally behave as if the service
were a bore and all its surroundings unpalatable. Some officers do
order their lives after such a fashion; others again affect a languid
indifference to things in general, which is scarcely less hurtful to
the best interests of the service. Baden-Powell, as regimental officer,
was neither bored nor indifferent. He was always doing something for
his men, interesting himself in games and amusements, lecturing to
them, acting, reciting, and making fun for them, and there was not a
man in his troop who did not feel that he had a friend in his energetic
captain. It is not difficult to realise what all this means. The man
who can command the respect and affection of those serving under him
to such an extent that they would go anywhere and do anything at his
lightest word must needs possess a personal magnetism which proves him
worthy of leading not merely a troop but an army.
IV.
SCOUT AND SPORTSMAN
[Illustration: Following up the Spoor.]
In his youthful days Baden-Powell was very fond of exploring such
unknown regions as are accessible to a small boy, and it is related
of him that nothing gave him so much pleasure as to find himself
and his companions lost and his own ingenuity taxed to restore them
to the paths of safety. When he arrived at years of discretion this
passion for wandering did not desert him--on the contrary it increased
within him, and finally culminated in a devotion to scouting, which
has made his name famous all over the world. It is needless to say
that in this matter, as in most other matters closely affecting him,
Baden-Powell has largely depended upon himself for success and mastery.
As he remarks in his "Aids to Scouting," a little military handbook
the proofs of which accompanied the last despatches got through the
Boer lines at Mafeking, "Scouting is a thing that can be learnt, but
cannot be taught. A man must pick up much of it for himself by his own
effort." How much of it Baden-Powell has _not_ picked up for himself
can only be guessed by a careful perusal of this little treatise, which
is packed with the results of keen observation, and gives one perhaps
a better notion of what its author really is as a born soldier and
leader of soldiers than anything else of his. It was, no doubt, with
sublime unconsciousness that he describes himself in describing the
perfect scout, the man of pluck, self-reliance, and discretion, the
man who can use his ears and eyes, his sense of smell and touch, who
can keep himself hidden and track others, who can make his way across
strange lands and take good care of himself and his horse, and who in
everything he does is always dominated by the desire to secure valuable
information. And it is with perhaps still more sublime unconsciousness
that he insists that the first three necessary qualifications spring
from--confidence in one's own powers.
Of the many wonderful things done by Baden-Powell nothing seems to
me so wonderful as the way in which the man who has had so many and
such varied occupations has perfected himself in scouting. He seems
to be all eyes and ears, to never lose cognizance of anything that
happens, and to give an attention to little points of detail which less
extraordinary men would feel tempted to ignore. "It should be a point
of honour with a scout," he remarks, "that nobody sees any object that
he has not already seen for himself. For this your eyes must be never
resting, continually glancing round in every direction, and trained to
see objects in the far distance. A scout must have eyes in the back of
his head. Riding with a really trained scout, such as Buffalo Bill or
Burnham, you will notice that while he talks with you his eyes scarcely
look you in the face for a moment, they keep glancing from point to
point of the country round from sheer force of habit." Then he quotes a
slight incident from his own experience to show how a little reflection
and common-sense will suggest the most likely point for which to look
for the presence of an enemy. He and a Shikari in Kashmir were having
a match as to which of them could see furthest. The Shikari, pointing
out a hillside rising at some distance, inquired if his opponent could
say how many cattle were grazing along its slopes. Baden-Powell could
only see the cattle with great difficulty, but he presently astonished
the Shikari by asking him if he could see the man who was herding the
cattle. He could not see the man himself, but he had argued the thing
out and knew where the man was. First of all, where there were cattle
there would be a herd in charge of them. Secondly, it was most likely
that he would be up-hill, above them. Thirdly, up-hill above them stood
a solitary tree. Fourthly, the day was very hot, and the tree was the
only means of affording shade. Because of these reasons the man must
be under the tree--and when Baden-Powell and the Shikari brought their
glasses into operation there the man was.
An instance of Baden-Powell's careful attention to small details is
given in the same chapter of "Aids to Scouting." "I was once acting as
scout for a party in a desert country," he says, "where we were getting
done up for want of water. I had gone out two or three miles ahead to
where I thought the ground seemed to slope slightly downwards, but
except a very shallow, dry water-course, there was no sign of water.
As I was making my way slowly back again, I noticed a scratching in
the sand, evidently recently made by a buck, and the sand thrown up
was of a darker colour, therefore damper, than that on the surface. I
dismounted and scooped up more with my hands, and found the under-soil
quite moist, so water was evidently near, and could probably be got
by digging. But at that moment two pigeons sprang up and flew away
from under a rock near by; full of hope, I went to the spot and found
there a small pool of water, which yielded sufficient for the immediate
requirements of the party. Had I not noticed the buck-scratching, or
the pigeons flying up, we should have had a painful toil of many miles
before we struck on the river, which we eventually did come to."
There are abundant evidences in "Aids to Scouting" of the extraordinary
patience which its author possesses, and of the way in which he has
exercised it in perfecting himself as a scout. He mentions, as if it
were a mere nothing, that he once took up a position amongst some rocks
overhanging a path, and so close to it that he could have touched
passers-by with a fishing-rod, and remained there for two hours in
order to see how many people who passed him would perceive him. He took
no pains to conceal himself, but merely sat down, a little above the
level of a man's eye. During the two hours fifty-four persons passed
him, and he was only noticed by eleven of them. But how many of us are
there who have the patience to remain motionless for two hours?--all
for the sake of an experiment! But Baden-Powell's patience gains a
great deal in its value to him as a scout by its being linked with
a marvellous power of deduction. He likes to find out everything he
can about all that he sees, keeps a sharp eye on the people he meets,
tries to deduce what they are from their personal appearance, outward
signs, and chance observations, and is all the better satisfied if
he finds that his conclusions are true. When he was in India he used
to go out in the early mornings looking for what he could find and
deducing arguments from signs and things thus found. He gives numerous
illustrations of this exercise of his logical faculties in "Aids to
Scouting," of which the following is a typical example:--
EXAMPLE OF DEDUCTION FROM SIGNS. ("Aids to Scouting," p. 75.)
_Locality._--A mountain path in Kashmir.
_Weather._--Dry and fine. There had been heavy rain two days before,
but the ground had dried the same night.
_Signs observed._--Passing a tree stump, I noticed a stone lying on it
about the size of a cocoa-nut. I wondered for the moment how it came to
be there, and soon discovered the reason.
On the stump, and also sticking to the stone, were some bits of bruised
walnut-rind, green, but dried up. Bits of shell of about four walnuts
were lying about the ground near a leaning rock about 30 yards away
south of the stump. The only walnut-tree in sight was about 150 yards
north of the stump.
At the foot of the stump, just where a man would stand to use the stone
on it, was a cake of hardened mud that had evidently fallen from the
sole of a grass sandal.
DEDUCTION.
_That a man was carrying a load._--Had it been anyone not carrying a
load he or she would not have sat down on the stump or close to it;
instead of that, he had gone 30 yards away to where a slanting rock
was; this would support his load while he leant back against it to rest
and eat his walnuts (whose shells were lying there). Women do not carry
loads on their backs.
_He was on a long journey._--As he wore sandals instead of bare feet.
_Towards the south._--He had got the walnuts 150 yards north of the
stump, had stopped there to break them with the stone, and had gone 30
yards further on his road to the rock to eat them.
_He had passed there two days ago._--The cake of mud off his sandal
showed that when he was there the ground was wet, and the dried husk of
the walnuts corroborated this deduction.
_Total information._--A man had passed here two days ago, on a long
journey, carrying a load southward.
It goes without saying that Baden-Powell has had plenty of adventures
and excitement out of his love of scouting. How often his life has been
in such danger that it was apparently not worth a moment's purchase, it
is probable he himself does not know. But if there is anybody who knows
what an extraordinarily watchful life it is that has thus risked itself
a thousand times, it is the Matabele against whom Baden-Powell brought
his keen senses to bear during the campaign of 1896, and who conferred
upon him a sobriquet which is likely to stick to him as long as his
old nickname of "Bathing-Towel," or the modern "B.-P." of admiring
crowds. Writing of his work during July, 1896 ("The Matabele Campaign,"
p. 127-8), he says: "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 shouting
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." Since then a good many folk have learnt much of the Wolf that
does not sleep. But if this same sleepless Wolf were asked if there had
not been many compensations for his sneaking about at night, he would
probably be able to say that for every moment of anxiety he had spent a
thousand of satisfaction. To how many men leading hum-drum stay-at-home
lives is it ever granted to see one such picture as that Baden-Powell
records in his journal under date July 29th, 1896? ("The Matabele
Campaign," p. 175.)
"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 dapple ox-hide shield; and, in his right, a yellow walking-staff.
"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."
But lest those who read these words should imagine that the life of
a scout is all pleasurable excitement with a little danger thrown
in to give it an added zest, let them read an extract from one of
Baden-Powell's letters to the _Daily Chronicle_, to which he at one
time acted as special correspondent. It describes setting 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.
* * * * *
" ... 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 watchfire, 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."
It may be that Baden-Powell would never have been so great an exponent
of the art and science of scouting if he had not always been a
thoroughly good sportsman. To sport his devotion has invariably been
marked since the days when he first felt the charm of wild life. He
hunts and shoots, and in Mrs. Baden-Powell's house in St. George's
Place there are innumerable trophies of his skill, including lions
and tigers. Perhaps his favourite sport is pig-sticking, of which he
became a devotee soon after he joined the 13th Hussars in India. In
1883 he won the Kadir Cup--the highest distinction open to followers
of this very fascinating sport--and in 1885 he published his work on
"Pig-sticking," from which the following characteristically written
account of a fight which he once witnessed between a tiger and a boar
is extracted:--
" ... He eagerly watched the development of this strange _rencontre_.
The tiger was now crouching low, crawling stealthily round and round
the boar, who changed front with every movement of his lithe and sinewy
adversary, keeping his determined head and sharp, deadly tusks ever
facing his stealthy and treacherous foe. The bristles of the boar's
back were up at a right angle from the strong spine. The wedge-shaped
head poised on the strong neck and thick rampart of muscular shoulder
was bent low, and the whole attitude of the body betokened full
alertness and angry resoluteness. In their circlings the two brutes
were now nearer to each other and nearer to us, and thus we could mark
every movement with greater precision. The tiger was now growling and
showing his teeth; and all this, that takes such a time to tell, was
but the work of a few short minutes. Crouching now still lower, till
he seemed almost flat on the ground, and gathering his sinewy limbs
beneath his lithe, lean body, he suddenly startled the stillness with
a loud roar, and quick as lightning sprang upon the boar. For a brief
minute the struggle was thrilling in its intense excitement. With one
swift, dexterous sweep of the strong, ready paw, the tiger fetched
the boar a terrific slap right across the jaw, which made the strong
beast reel, but with a hoarse grunt of resolute defiance, with two or
three sharp digs of the strong head and neck, and swift, cutting blows
of the cruel, gashing tusks, he seemed to make a hole or two in the
tiger's coat, marking it with more stripes than Nature has ever painted
there; and presently both combatants were streaming with gore. The
tremendous buffet of the sharp claws had torn flesh and skin away from
off the boar's cheek and forehead, leaving a great ugly flap hanging
over his face and half blinding him. The pig was now on his mettle.
With another hoarse grunt he made straight for the tiger, who very
dexterously eluded the charge, and, lithe and quick as a cat after a
mouse, doubled almost on himself, and alighted clean on the boar's
back, inserting his teeth above the shoulders, tearing with his claws,
and biting out great mouthfuls of flesh from the quivering carcase of
his maddened antagonist. He seemed now to be having all the best of it,
so much so that the boar discreetly stumbled and fell forward, whether
by accident or design I know not, but the effect was to bring the tiger
clean over his head, sprawling clumsily on the ground ... the tables
were turned. Getting his forefeet on the tiger's prostrate carcase, the
boar now gave two or three short, ripping gashes with his strong white
tusks, almost disembowelling his foe, and then exhausted seemingly
by the effort, apparently giddy and sick, he staggered aside and lay
down, panting and champing his tusks, but still defiant...." One can
conceive, after reading this passage, that Baden-Powell must needs have
a considerable respect for the wild pig of India, and find in him a foe
worthy his own skill and courage.
An extract from the journal which he kept during the Matabele Campaign
shows Baden-Powell in the character of lion-hunter:--
"_October 10th_ (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 then 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 (or 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 further 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.
"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 recognized
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, &c., of which he was
now the proud possessor, would buy him several cattle when he got back
to Natal."
In addition to his fame as a sticker of pigs, a hunter of hogs, a
slayer of lions and tigers, Baden-Powell has also greatly distinguished
himself as a hunter of big game and an expert polo-player. But there is
scarcely anything in the shape of sport and the pursuit of outdoor life
which he does not care for. Nature in her wildest and loneliest moods
he loves with a whole-hearted devotion, and it is easy to perceive when
reading his books and journals that he knows her in all her phases
and attitudes, and loves her in them all. It would be strange if it
were not so in the case of a man who has so often laid down in the
loneliness of the African veldt and slept as trustfully as if he were
in his own bed--always taking care, though, with his usual caution, to
be sure that his revolver is under his knees, and its lanyard round his
neck. To such as him the open air is as the breath of heaven to the
saint, and communion with the wild places and wild life of the earth as
meat to the hungry.
V.
THE KINDLY HUMORIST
It seems to me that the distinguishing quality of Baden-Powell's life
and character, so far as the man in the street has been permitted
to inform himself about them, is a sense of humour, so strong as to
dominate everything else within him. He is essentially the man who,
whatever happens, will come up smiling. It is only necessary to look at
him to feel sure of that--there is something in the tall, spare figure,
in the well-cut, determined face and quick, observant, fun-loving eyes
which gives the beholder a sense of very pleasant security. Everybody
who knows Baden-Powell bears testimony to the great and unvarying
quality of his humour. It is the humour of a great nature--now
exuberant even to the verge of mischief, now dry and caustic enough to
suit an epigram-loving philosopher, now of a whimsical sort that makes
it all the more charming. But it has a further quality which may not be
overlooked--it is always kindly. Only a good-natured, sunny-tempered,
laughter-loving man could or would have done all the things which are
credited to Baden-Powell--things which have been done more for the
pleasure which a great nature always feels in lightening life for
others than for the mere desire of provoking laughter. The man who was
always ready as regimental officer to amuse his men by his powers as an
actor, maker of jokes, and general entertainer, differs only from the
schoolboy who was always full of fun and high spirits in the sense that
his abilities were being turned to more serious account.
The humour which is Baden-Powell's great characteristic is of much
variety and shows itself in the most astonishing ways. It is
wonderfully whimsical, and sometimes appears when one would never
dream of seeing it. What a whimsical notion, for instance, to assemble
the European children, on joining his regiment in India, and march
them through the streets to the tune of "The Girl I left behind me,"
played upon an ocarina! Or to send a dispatch from Mafeking which
laconically said, "All well, FOUR hours' bombardment--one dog killed."
Or to present himself at a picture exhibition, and on being informed
that he must leave his stick outside, to turn away and return a moment
later limping so badly that the tabooed stick was perforce allowed to
accompany him. Or to seat himself, a full-grown English officer, upon
a kerb-stone and pretend to sob bitterly until a constable inquired
as to his woes, and then to inform the astonished man that he had
just fallen out of his nurse's arms, and that the unfeeling woman had
gone on and left him. This sort of thing is not merely whimsical, but
in the last two cases closely allied to practical joking. But it is
characteristic of the man who, when Commandant Eloff surrendered to
him at Mafeking, said, "How do you do?--come and have some dinner."
That strong, saving sense of humour--which really means a total lack
of miserable, morbid self-consciousness--must have been strong in
Baden-Powell at a very early age. There is a story told of him in his
very youthful days which shows that when little more than a baby his
sense of humour was already strong. While staying at the seaside he had
the ill-luck to fall into a somewhat deep hole in the rocks, just when
the tide was coming in, and was promptly treated to a ducking, which,
as he phrases it, "comed up all over my head," and made him think that
he should never "tum out adain." But he fought, tooth and nail, to "tum
out adain," and was met a few minutes later, a dripping and bedraggled
figure, by a lady to whom he coolly explained what had happened. There
was no howling and crying about the thing now that it was over--that
was Baden-Powell's sense of humour. Many a long year after that we find
him jotting down in his journal some particulars of a narrow escape
from sudden death, or at least from serious injury. When the mule
battery moved off from Beresford's position, after the fight of August
5th, 1896, during the proceedings of the Matabele Campaign, one of the
mules carried a carbine strapped on its pack-saddle. The carbine had
very carelessly been left loaded, and at full cock, and in passing
a bush it was discharged, the bullet nearly hitting Baden-Powell,
who was close behind. Most men would have made this incident the
text for nauseous thankings of Providence, for self-reflection, and
the like--Baden-Powell merely remarks: "Many a man has nearly been
shot by an ass, but I claim to have been nearly shot by a mule." It
is a fortunate gift to possess, this saving sense of humour, but it
strikes some folk as gruesome, all the same. There is a story told
to the effect that when the siege of Mafeking began, some individual
who had offended very seriously was brought before Baden-Powell. The
delinquent's account of what happened is full of charm. "He told me
that if I ever did it again he would have me shot immediately--_and
then he began to whistle a tune_!" Exactly--but the wrongdoer did not
know that it is one of the defender of Mafeking's great beliefs that
when one is very much bothered by naughty people or awkward things
it is a very good thing to--whistle a tune. What the Boers thought
of Baden-Powell's humour we shall possibly find out in time to come.
Commandant Eloff, captive at last, and receiving his captor's off-hand,
cheery invitation to dine, was, no doubt, not surprised by it, for
he had already experienced something of his antagonist's methods of
regarding things. During the siege Eloff wrote to Baden-Powell saying
that he learnt that the beleaguered garrison amused itself with balls,
concerts, tournaments, cricket matches, and the like on Sundays,
and hinted that he and his men would very much like to come in and
take part, life being pretty dull amongst the Boer forces. To this
Baden-Powell replied that he thought the return match had better be
postponed until the one then proceeding was finished, and suggested
that as Cronje, Snyman, and others had been well tried without effect
on the garrison, which was then 200 and not out, there had better be
another change of bowling. All which Commander Eloff, no doubt, read
with mixed feelings, in which, let us hope, a sense of amused agreement
with his correspondent predominated.
Of purely amusing stories about Baden-Powell there have been quite
enough given in the public prints to fill a small volume. Whether it is
exactly pertinent to the understanding of his character to continually
harp on the mirth-provoking side of it is a question which need not
be answered, but no one doubts that a great man is made all the more
human and all the more attractive to ordinary mortals if he happens
to possess a wholesome love of fun. Love of fun, even of what very
young ladies call mere frivol, appears to have possessed Baden-Powell
ever since he was a small boy. He was always in for a lark. There
was a master at the Charterhouse whose usual answer to any boy who
bothered him with a question was a more or less testy, "Don't you know
I'm engaged?" It happened to be noised abroad that this gentleman had
succeeded in persuading some young lady to share his fortunes, and
Baden-Powell was one of the first to hear the news. His brilliant, and
one may righteously say mischievous mind, conceived a brilliant notion.
He approached the Benedict-to-be as the latter stood amidst a group of
other masters, and made some remark or request. Quick came the usual
question: "Don't you know I'm engaged?" "Bathing-Towel" assumed one
of the looks which only he could assume. "_Oh_, SIR!" he exclaimed in
accents that expressed--himself best knew what.
[Illustration: Britannia.]
There is another story told of him which illustrates his humour in its
mischievous best. He was staying at a country house whose mistress
was in despair one evening because a professional conjurer on whose
services she had been relying had not arrived at the time when his
performance was announced to commence. She appealed to Baden-Powell
to do something amusing until the man arrived. With characteristic
readiness to step into a breach, Baden-Powell mounted the platform,
and having announced himself as an amateur conjurer, invited any
gentleman present to be so obliging as to lend him a silk hat. Some
unsuspecting and innocent gentleman "obliged" in the manner requested.
Baden-Powell, having carefully examined the head-gear thus entrusted
to him, tore out the lining, cut off the brim, and then slowly cut the
rest of the article into very small pieces. He then made a mysterious
request for a tray of some particular pattern, and while the house was
being ransacked for what he wanted, he amused his audience with the
glib utterances of the professional entertainer. At last the tray came,
and Baden-Powell heaped the fragments upon it, covered them over, and
looked solemnly at his audience. "You have seen me cut up the hat," he
said, "and you know that the pieces are under this covering. The next
part of the performance will be to restore the hat whole to its owner.
As the real conjurer has just arrived, I will leave that part of the
performance to him." And therewith this very boyish man bowed himself
off the platform.
It is just because he is a boyish man that Baden-Powell is what he is.
Who could doubt that a man so light-hearted, so full of bright good
humour, so sunny of disposition, could fail to uphold the honour of
his country, considering that to these desirable qualities he adds
the strength, skill, sagacity, and indomitable bravery of the born
soldier? I have always thought that the most characteristic thing which
Baden-Powell has ever said was when he replied to Cronje's demand
for a surrender: "Tell General Cronje that I will let him know when
we have had enough." Enough?--it may well be doubted if the man whom
the Matabele aptly termed "The Wolf that never Sleeps" will ever have
enough until he sleeps for ever.