THE REBELS DECLINE TO SURRENDER
_14th July to 18th July_
Plumer’s Victory at Taba–si–ka–Mamba—How the M’limo Oracle is
worked—Reorganisation of the Buluwayo Field Force—The Price of Beer—I
am nicknamed “Impeesa”—The Proclamation of Clemency—The Local Settler’s
View of it—The Rebel’s View of it—The Enemy hopeful—The General’s
Plan of Campaign—Reconnaissance of the Central Matopos—Preparing for
Operations in the Hills—Reconnaissance of Babyan’s Stronghold.
Meanwhile, during the first week in July, the three columns, which had
been out clearing the country to the northward of Buluwayo, returned,
having had a great amount of hard work with only a modicum of fighting.
The rebels of that region had been effectually broken and dispersed
in all direction—except at one spot, near Inyati, some fifty miles
north–east from the town.
[Illustration: CAUGHT IN THE ACT BY A CAPE BOY
The Cape Boys (natives of Cape Colony), when well led, were found to
be most useful for attacking the cave strongholds of the enemy. They
thought it the height of fun to discover a back way into a cave, and
catch its defenders from an unexpected quarter.]
Colonel Plumer accordingly took a column out there,—nearly 800
strong,—and, after a clever and most successful night–march, surprised
the enemy, at dawn, on 5th July, in a desperate–looking koppie
stronghold called Taba–si–ka–Mamba. There was some tough fighting,
and the newly arrived corps of “Cape Boys” (natives and half–castes
from Cape Colony), much to everybody’s surprise, showed themselves
particularly plucky in storming the koppies; but, as in the case of
most natives, their _élan_ is greatly a matter of what sort of leaders
they have, and in this case there was every reason for them to go
well. Major Robertson, their commandant, an old Royal Dragoon, is a
wonderfully cool, keen, and fearless leader under fire.
In the end the place and its many caves was taken. Our loss amounted
to 10 killed, 12 wounded. The enemy lost 150 killed, and we got some
600 prisoners, men, women, and children, 800 head of cattle, and a very
large amount of goods which had been looted from stores and collected
at this place as the property of the M’limo. It was a final smash to
the enemy in the north, though M’qwati, the local priest of the M’limo,
and M’tini, his induna, both escaped.
The M’limo’s cave was found, a most curious place, which I visited
later on: a sort of anteroom in which suppliants had to wait while the
priest went away to invoke the M’limo’s attention; then a narrow cleft
by which they would walk deep into the rock, and which narrowed till it
looked like a split just before the end of the cave. And through this
crevice they made their requests and got their answer from the M’limo.
In reality, another cave entered the hill from the opposite side and
led up to this same crevice, and it was by this back entrance that the
priest re–entered, and, sitting in the dark corner just behind the
crevice, he was able to personate an invisible deity with full effect.
Of such caves there are three or four about the country, where the
rebels just now get their orders as to their course of action.
Office work still very heavy—especially as we have broken up the
original Buluwayo Volunteer Field Force as an unworkable and rather
overpaid organisation (the troopers getting 10s. a day _and_ their
rations!), and are now busy organising it anew as a regularly enlisted
armed police force at 5s. a day, under military law and discipline.
Nicholson, 7th Hussars, is working this task, and is a first–rate man
for it.
The office work, although exacting, is most interesting all the same;
the only drawback is that there are not more than twenty–four hours in
a day in which to get it done. I certainly do look forward, though, to
the hour of luncheon; yes, it sounds greedy—but it is for the glimpse
of sunlight that I look forward, _not_ the lunch. That is scarcely
pleasant either to look forward to or to look back on—consisting as it
generally does of hashed leather which has probably got rinderpest,
no vegetables, and liquid nourishment at prohibitive prices,—_e.g._
local beer at 2s. a glass. I live on bread, jam, and coffee, and _that_
costs 5s. a meal; and prices are rising! Eggs are 32s. a dozen, and not
guaranteed fresh at that!
Many of the strongholds to which I had at first learned the way with
patrols, I have now visited again by myself at nights, in order to
further locate the positions of their occupants. In this way I have
actually got to know the country and the way through it better by night
than by day, that is to say, by certain landmarks and leading stars
whose respectively changed appearance or absence in daylight is apt to
be misleading.
The enemy, of course, often see me, but are luckily very suspicious,
and look upon me as a bait to some trap, and are therefore slow to
come at me. They often shout to me; and yesterday my boy, who was with
my horse, told me they were calling to each other that “Impeesa” was
there—_i.e._ “the Wolf,” or, as he translated it, “the beast that does
not sleep, but sneaks about at night.”
[Illustration: “IMPEESA”—“the beast that does not sleep, but sneaks
about at night.”
Marking the Matabele camp–fires in the Matopos.]
_14th July._—Last night I was riding alone across the veldt; I came
suddenly upon a Matabele driving a horse and a mule towards the
Matopos. He turned and fled, and I galloped after him to give him a
fright, and then returned to the beasts, which I drove before me safely
to camp. They were our own branded animals, which had been looted.
On getting back to Buluwayo at 9.30 p. m., after having been away for
some days’ solitary scouting, varied by such patrols as that described
in the last chapter, I found that reports had come in from the officer
commanding Fig Tree Fort, saying that rebel impis were on the move
there. Ferguson had at once been sent off by the General, with 50 men
of the newly–formed police, and Laing’s column of about 150, which had
lately come in from the Belingwe District. No sooner had the troops got
there (on the 13th) than they found that the Matabele impis were merely
pictures in the mind’s eye of the commandant, a Dutchman, who had been
imbibing not wisely, but too well.
_15th July._—“Well! of all the murkiest rot that ever I heard of, this
is the murkiest!” These words, and others to the same effect, but,
to use the speaker’s term, “murkier,” saluted my waking senses at an
unseemly hour of this morning. For a moment I was inclined to reach for
my gun, or, at all events, to let fly my feelings at the two loafers
who stood yarning at my window–sill (we live on the ground floor in
Buluwayo, because there is not a second to our house, nor, indeed,
to any house in the place except “Williams’ Buildings,” and they are
“buildings” being not yet built); but presently a lazy feeling of
curiosity got the better of my momentary irritation, and I played the
eavesdropper. It was merely a discussion of the situation between two
late troopers of the Buluwayo Field Force, dealing more particularly
with the “Proclamation to the Rebels,” which had been issued last
night. Their review of it was remarkable, not only for the vigour,
and—well—the originality of their language, but also because it covered
exactly the ground over which all travelled again when they came to
discuss it with me, or in my hearing, during the remainder of the day.
One thing that struck them all was that this proclamation of clemency
which was now to be published to the rebels was made in England and not
in Rhodesia, and that “it was made by people who had no more conception
of how things were in this part of the world than a boiled dumpling had
of horse–racing”; at least, that was what they inferred from the tenor
of its wording. I do not say that they had read and inwardly digested
the exact literal meaning of the wording. I think, on the contrary,
that they had only grasped a general idea of it all; the very heading
of a “Proclamation of Clemency” at such a juncture having filled their
thoughts with rage, and left them to read the rest with biassed minds.
Unfortunately for the proclamation, within a few hours of its
publication there came from Mashonaland another of the horrid
telegrams with which we are only too familiar now. After telling of
three different murders of friendly natives by rebels on the previous
day, it went on to say: “The wife and two daughters of Mobele, the
native missionary, reached Salisbury from Marendellas this morning.
They related how the missionary was killed by rebels while he was
endeavouring to save the life of James White, who was lying wounded.
White was also killed. Then three little children of the missionary
were killed. And the women themselves were maltreated and left
for dead. They did not know their way to Salisbury, so followed
the telegraph line, and travelled by night only, suffering great
privations.”
It is a far cry from Mashonaland to England, and distance lessens
the sharpness of the sympathy, but to men on the spot—men with an
especially strong, manly, and chivalrous spirit in them, as is the case
in this land of pioneers—to them such cases as these appeal in a manner
which cannot be realised in dear, drowsy, after–lunch Old England. A
man here does not mind carrying his own life in his hand—he likes it,
and takes an attack on himself as a good bit of sport; but touch a
woman or a child, and he is in a blind fury in a moment—and then he is
gently advised to be mild, and to offer clemency to the poor benighted
heathen, who is his brother after all. M’, yes! And though woman is
his first care, and can command his last drop of blood in her defence,
woman is the first to assail him on his return, with venom–pointed pen,
for his brutality!
Then my friends at the window went on to talk on the clause which
permitted loyally–disposed natives to carry arms. “Loyal!”—as if any
native could be loyal if it did not happen to suit his circumstances,
and even then, why should he be allowed arms? “He was not likely to be
at war with his brothers and cousins, and the absence of arms would be
a good assurance of peace; whereas, after the late bitter experience,
how would confidence ever be instilled into farmers to induce them to
come and rebuild the blackened ruins of farmsteads whose owners had
been murdered by the selfsame natives glowering yonder, assegais and
gun in hand?”
My friends were deploring the fact that their would–be rulers far away
are quite out of touch with the circumstances of the case. Writers in
the press, they said, gaily condemn the burning down of kraals and
consequent destruction of the grain stores, which are all the natives
now depend upon for food. But burning down a kraal is more or less a
formal act, which has a deal of meaning for the native comprehension.
That the store of grain is lost thereby is quite a fallacy. The grain
is buried here in pits beneath the kraal; grain will not burn in pits,
it can only be destroyed by drowning.
I was glad when at last my early arguers moved on to get their morning
coffee. Had I been so minded, I might have soothed their feelings
by telling them the latest news we had from captured rebels; that
they need not vex their souls over the wording or the terms of the
proclamation so thoughtfully provided for our use by those at home,
for whether put in that or any other form, there was not the slightest
chance of its being seriously accepted by the rebels. Our informants
came from four different ways, and agreed like one in showing that
although North–Western Matabeleland has thoroughly been cleared,
the lower and more trappy part, in the Matopos, as well as the
North–Eastern parts, remain the home of mutiny, and there, at least,
the impis will not think of giving in until the white man comes to
fight them, and they promise boastfully that he shall suffer then.
The proclamation offering terms to the rebels by which they may
surrender has gone forth to them by the best messengers that could be
got, that is, by men who have been captured in the field, or who have
come in offering to give themselves up, and also by native policemen,
who, having been disarmed on suspicion of rebellious tendencies, have
been since retained in open arrest. But so far the result has not been
fully satisfactory, although it has done some good, and undoubtedly
the thin end of the wedge towards peace has been inserted, but it will
yet need some driving to get it home and finally to split the log of
rebellion.
Many of the rebels would probably give in if the leaders would but let
them. They are tired of war, and sick of being hustled about. But then
these leaders have a strong power over them, and they are fighting with
the halter round their necks, for they know their crimes are far too
great to be condoned, and thus they try to carry on until the bitter
end.
In the north, where they have suffered most hard blows, the impis
are much broken up, and there it is that some of the people are
surrendering of their own accord; they are coming in, in driblets and
small bodies it is true, but still this is a beginning. There are,
so far, no chiefs among them. Then, on the other hand, there exists
a large proportion who still have the idea that they yet may beat
the whites, and drive them from the land, and they are encouraged in
maintaining this idea by spies’ reports, which tell them how the white
men are daily going down–country to the Cape. Now that the road has
been rendered safe and open by the operations in the Matopos, hired
waggons, in addition to the bi–weekly coaches, are taking passengers in
scores. The high cost of living at famine prices, and all business at a
standstill, are the reasons for this exodus.
Then the M’limo, fearful for his own old skin, continues to issue most
encouraging news and orders. He has revived with much success the story
that disease is sweeping off the whites in Buluwayo, and promises
that any warrior “doctored” by his charm is proof against the British
bullets, which on his hide will turn to water. They only have to wait
till all the whites are dead or fled, and then they will enjoy the good
things of the town, and live in palaces of corrugated iron. All this
they believe implicitly.
The rebels in the south have every reliance, and with reason, on the
impregnability of their rock–strongholds; and their confidence is
strengthened by their store of grain and cattle, which were being
brought, long before the outbreak, into the hills by the M’limo’s
orders. Of arms and ammunition they have plenty, although the puzzle
is to say from whence they come. But there they are—Martinis,
Lee–Metfords, Winchesters, besides the blunderbusses and elephant guns,
which at the close quarters of this fighting make very deadly practice.
And then our so–called friendlies are known to be supplying them with
information of our moves, as well as with such luxuries as Kaffir beer
and cartridges.
It is only, even now, internal jealousies among the rebel chiefs that
save the whites from being blotted out. The attempt to make Nyamanda
king, if ever seriously intended, fell through abortively; each of the
great chiefs desires that honour for himself, and thus the different
impis do not amalgamate to crush us; but they let our puny force go
round and punch them all in turn, in such a way as breaks them daily
smaller.
The proclamation has gone forth to these men too; but answer comes
there none, except at times when scouting parties meet, and then the
rebels shout to us, from their look–out rocks, such words as these:
“And so you want to end the war, do you? Yes, it will be ended soon,
for none of you will live to keep it on.” And then they add a stream
of highly–coloured threats of personal damage they will do to our nice
white corpses. The tired, desponding tone of impending submission which
one would hope to hear is altogether absent from their talk.
Then, even those who have surrendered have done it in a mere
half–hearted way; that is to say, scarce one among them has produced
his gun. Of course, the terms of their surrender include the giving
up of their arms; but that is an extent to which they do not wish to
yield. They cannot tell when they may want to break out again, and
where would they be then without their guns? That is the way they
reason with themselves. It suits them, for the time, to come and
“konza” to make peace, to save their skins and sow their crops; but,
all the same, they stow away their guns and ammunition in their holes
among the rocks, and hand up, as their “arms,” their oldest assegais
and shields. Thus, even when the present military force has broken
up the impis in the field, and cleared their strongholds out, there
will remain a tale of work for local police to do in carrying out
disarmament. And it is then, and only then, that peace can settle
firmly on the land.
The doses being given now may seem too bitter to our tender–hearted
countrymen at home; but, “though bitter now, they’re better then.” It
seems the only way to get these men to understand there is a greater
power than their M’limo; and once the lesson has been unmistakably
brought home to them, there is some hope that a time of peace _en
permanence_ may dawn for them. It is the end for which we all are
striving here. And the present system of Sir Frederick Carrington is
the most promising that could be devised to suit the circumstances.
With his tiny force, he goes from point to point where impis are
collected; in every case he strikes them hard, and promptly builds a
fort there on the spot, and leaves a party in possession. The people
round are told they may surrender. The forts are then to act as police
posts in the future, to ensure the peace of every outside district, by
standing as a sword of Damocles to all offenders, and a handy tower of
refuge for friendlies who are oppressed.
We shall soon be in a position to judge the value of the rebels’
threats, for all is now prepared for our campaign in the Matopos;
Laing’s column (200 strong) being encamped near the western end,
Plumer’s (of 800) at “Usher’s No. 1,” near the central part. This
latter camp I visited late at night on the 15th.
[Illustration: PREPARING LUNCH
While out on patrol one day we were invited to lunch by a friendly
chief. Lunch was prepared at our feet, the whole process from start to
finish being gone through—from the cutting of the sheep’s throat (as
above) to his final dishing–up.]
_16th July._—Early this morning I picked up Pyke and Taylor (the Native
Commissioner), and we rode on to inspect the country between the centre
and west of the enemy’s position. At Jozan’s Kraal (friendly), about
four miles north of the enemy, we stopped to talk, get news, and lunch.
Lunch was got for us by our host, Jozan, as follows:—A live sheep was
brought, and laid before us on some leafy twigs; its throat was then
gently cut, the liver taken out, and fried in an iron bowl. Off this
we made our meal, without any bread or other concomitant, excepting
salt, which was held by a human salt–cellar for us. We took our salt by
dipping each his hunk of meat into the nigger’s grimy palm.
We had a good look at the enemy’s position, and then we got thirty of
Jozan’s men, armed with assegais and shields, to go with us across the
neutral valley and examine the great kraal that lay opposite, in which
watch–fires had been burning the night before. As we got near to it,
we spread out our little army into a crescent shape, with two horns
advanced, and we attacked the village in style; but the only enemy
there were two men and one ox, and these cleared out in a great hurry
before we got in. We burned the kraal, and then reconnoitred into the
koppies beyond, where we found another kraal, also deserted, which we
burned. Among other odds and ends of loot in this kraal, we found a
high–jump standard, evidently stolen from the Athletic Sports Ground
near Buluwayo.
But my release from town and office life now came. As I knew the
Matopos country and the enemy’s whereabouts, I was sent to act as
guide to Colonel Plumer, who was to have the immediate direction of
operations in the Matopos, Vyvyan taking the office work off my hands.
[Illustration: A HUMAN SALT–CELLAR
During lunch one of the natives produced some salt for us, and sat
holding it for us throughout the meal, so that we could dip our bits of
meat into it.]
_17th July._—The General now took up his quarters in camp, to direct
affairs against the Matopos. And the following day I took Pyke,
Richardson (interpreter), and four native scouts into the Matopos,
to get a view of Babyan’s stronghold: Babyan’s being the central and
important impi of all, and in close communication with the westernmost
impi at Inugu.
We approached the position through open, park–like country interspersed
with piles of granite boulders a hundred feet in height; from these
koppies we could hear the look–out men calling a warning cry to each
other, and now and again we could see them, perched up on high,
watching our movements. I was sorry then that we had brought natives
with us, as, if the enemy were to come and have a try at us now, it
would be easy enough for us three, had we been alone, to gallop away;
but, having the boys on foot with us, we should now have to stick to
them and help them away. So they hampered us somewhat. But still we
didn’t do badly.
The valley in which the enemy lay was surrounded by rugged koppies;
one of these was a great, dome–shaped mass of granite; we went for it,
as being easy to climb, and less trappy and liable to ambush. Upon its
crest stood the ruins of a farm belonging to Usher, and a path led
up a little gully to the huts. Instead of taking this path, we were
sufficiently wily to go round the hill for a bit; then, leaving our
horses hidden in a clump of bushes, with two sharp–eyed boys in charge,
we quickly scrambled on to the top of the koppie. Two or three of the
enemy, who had been using this as a look–out place, bolted away before
us. We had a very useful view from here of the lie of the ground, and
of the position of the enemy, as shown by the smoke of his camp–fires.
One felt tempted to stay there, and drink in every detail and map it
down; but suddenly I saw the head and shoulders of a crouching figure
dash across the opening between two rocks at the foot of our position,
followed by another, and another—not fifty yards from us. They were
racing to cut us off in the glen! They had seen us on the top, and
guessed that our horses would naturally have been left on the pathway.
But they were sold—as were also another party, whom we could see
hastening out into the bush to cut us off on our homeward path. We gave
them a few shots, and then scuttled down the far side of the rock, got
our horses, sent our boys trotting along ahead of us, and we quietly
got away through the bush by a totally different route to that by which
we came.