OUR WORK IN THE MATOPOS
_25th July to 2nd August_
Reconnaissance of the Chabez Valley—Kershaw completes the
Reconnaissance—War Correspondents—Pack–train organised—A Night March and
Attack on the Chabez Position—Successful Artillery Work by the Screw
Guns—Cattle–raiding—Bowled over, but not wounded—Inyanda’s Stronghold
cleared—Stores of Corn—Scene of Brand’s Fight of 10th April—“The Human
Animal in Battle”—His State of Mind and Thirsty Condition.
_25th July._—To–day I have had a long day reconnoitring, taking Pyke,
Jan Grootboom, and Tagili. Pyke, as I have before indicated, is one
of the best among a very good lot of young Colonial officers serving
in Plumer’s corps; and a very keen and useful scouting officer. Jan
Grootboom is a Cape Boy of Zulu extraction, and is a man of exceptional
courage and soldierly ability. As one of Grey’s Scouts—and one who
loathed the ordinary Kaffir—said of him: “He is not a proper nigger;
his skin is black, but he has a white man’s heart. I will shake hands
with him.” He is a clever scout, and a daring spy—one who has no
hesitation in disguising himself as a Matabele, on occasion, and going
in among their women to gather information. And he is a first–rate
man in a fight. So, altogether, he was of the greatest service to me.
Tagili is a good native scout, and faithful, but not “in the same
street” with Grootboom.
We went into the Matopos, to the gorge of the Chabez River, about
fifteen miles east of camp. It is a very nasty bit of country, and
we had to keep our eyes open as we went, for we knew the rebels were
about, although we could see nothing of them. This is a particularly
dangerous sign; if they see you are a strong party, too strong for them
to attack or capture, they do not mind showing themselves, and they
come out to get a better look at you; but if it is a small party, and
one which they have hopes of, they will hide and lie low, in order to
get you in their grasp. I think they had hopes of us, for we got pretty
close to their stronghold, and saw where they ought to be, but not one
of them showed up. As we prowled around, we came across frequent tracks
not many minutes old; possibly they went and waited for us on the path
by which we arrived, but if they did so, they were sold, for we came
back by an entirely different route.
The Chabez River rises in the valley of the Umzingwane, and runs south
through the Matopos. It enters the Matopos through an enormous gorge,
in the cliffs and heights of which the rebels have numerous caves,
while they keep their cattle in the thick bush jungle along the river
banks.
We first approached the place by the upper ground among the mountains,
then, making our way round, we got into the Umzingwane valley, from
which we could look into the mouth of the gorge, and could see what an
impossible country it was for working in. We spent some time guessing
at the enemy’s position, determining which would be the best way to
attack them, and in mapping the ground; and then we retired a short
distance across the valley to a koppie, from which we could watch the
place without fear of anybody approaching us unseen.
But the way we had come was an impossible one for waggons, and I
wanted to ascertain whether it was possible to bring them by a better
route along the Umzingwane valley; so, leaving Pyke and Grootboom to
watch the stronghold,—for we hoped that as evening came on, the enemy
would light up their fires for cooking, and would thus betray their
position,—I made my way back along the valley in the direction of our
camp. Here I arrived after dark, having found this way also impossible
for waggons. It would therefore seem necessary to organise some pack
transport to take us to the Chabez stronghold, and afterwards, by the
Umzingwane valley, towards the strongholds of the eastern end of the
Matopos. Once here, we shall be on the Tuli–Buluwayo road, where the
waggons, having gone round by Hope Fountain, or by Buluwayo, could
rejoin us (_vide_ map, p. 103).
_27th July._—Major Kershaw took out a strong patrol for a further
reconnaissance of the Chabez position. He was able to get up to the
high ground overlooking the river gorge, and found that it broke up
into most difficult country, of koppies and bush and deep ravines
leading down to the river. While he was there, a good number of the
enemy showed themselves on the different koppies, evidently watching
his moves, but not inclined to attack him. On his return march to camp,
Major Kershaw, with one or two others, was riding at some distance from
the main party, when he came across a large party of the enemy going
towards the Chabez; he luckily saw them first, and was able to hide
until they had passed by.
Out in camp here Press correspondents have to bring me their messages,
in order to get them signed for transmission by the field telegraph,
and it is most interesting to see what marvellous news some of them
can manage to fake up out of very inadequate material. Anything to
be different from his rival! but is it always certain whether the
information sent is true or not? Poor old Mother Necessity is not “in
it” with a budding war correspondent. Many of them do not seem to
grasp the broader military features of what is going on; but the local
pressmen, being often fighting men themselves, are much the best in
this respect, and it is a great pity that it is not their news which is
cabled home.
_29th July._—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 dappled ox–hide shield; and, in his
right, a yellow walking–staff.
[Illustration: A MATABELE WARRIOR
In his war–paint of white cows’–tails, and ball of feathers on his head,
armed with assegais and shield.]
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.
_31st July._—We started on the war–path again. We broke up camp,
sending the waggons round to go by Hope Fountain on to the Tuli road,
there to meet us two days hence. Colonel Bridge had organised a
pack–horse train, and this now accompanied the column, carrying four
days’ supplies; but, as events proved, the horses, from overwork and
want of food, are scarcely up to the job.
In the evening we started on our march to the eastward, past the fort
which had been erected near Babyan’s old stronghold, and a couple of
miles beyond this we bivouacked, no fires nor lights being allowed.
At 3 a. m. we were roused up and continued the march. There was no
difficulty in finding the way, as I have got to know this ground pretty
well. The only difficulty was to lead so that the column, which was
marching in a big square, ready against an attack at any moment, should
be incommoded as little as possible by the frequent thick patches of
bush.
Just before dawn we arrived on Purser’s Farm, one of the most
delightful spots for a settler that I have seen in this country, but
with its homestead and gardens now all ruthlessly destroyed.
Here we formed ready for the attack against the high ground overlooking
the Chabez, which lay about a mile to our front. Kershaw, having
already been on the ground, was detailed to command the attack, while
I was sent round with Coope’s Scouts to have a look in at the back of
the position and to see whether a second effective attack could be
delivered from that direction. We accordingly got away down to a rocky
ridge which overlooked the entrance of the Chabez gorge; from this
point we had an excellent view of the back cliffs and their caves
which formed the enemy’s lair. And we sent back word to Colonel Plumer
that the guns would have a good opening here, and that the Cape Boys
would probably be able to deliver an effective attack. Presently we
could hear Kershaw’s men opening fire beyond the skyline of the ridge
overlooking the gorge, and we could see the enemy swarming out of their
caves to meet them. We accordingly worked our way nearer and nearer to
them, and for a long time we were unnoticed, but when, after a time,
the main body of our force began to appear in the valley, the alarm
cry of the enemy could be heard echoing along the heights; still they
seemed to consider us too distant to do them any harm, and they took no
precaution to hide themselves from our view.
In an incredibly short space of time M’Culloch with his mule–guns was
clambering up the rugged koppie on which we were posted, and the two
7–pounders were very soon fitted together and ready for action on the
summit of the rocks.
[Illustration:
THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF WAR
A Matabele officer’s lecture interrupted by an overhead shell. As seen
through my telescope.]
Meantime we could hear heavy firing going on among the heights
opposite, but could see very little of what was going on, as most of
it was taking place just over the skyline. But, seeing a small knot of
niggers clustered on one of the nearer ridges, the artillery let fly
a shell or two at them. It was very funny to note the effect of the
first one through my telescope. I was watching three men sitting on
the rock; one of them was talking eagerly to two others, gesticulating
with his right hand and scratching himself with his left. “Bang!” went
the gun close to my ear, but of course the little group before me
did not hear it; the man talked on and scratched away, it seemed for
well–nigh a minute. Suddenly the three of them were sprawling off the
rock in different directions, throwing themselves down apparently head
first, and then running for their lives! the shell had evidently just
passed over their heads. The next two or three shells were similarly a
little high, and burst out of sight on the other side of the ridge. It
afterwards turned out that they could not have been better sent, for,
dropping well into the next valley, they had scattered their charge
of shrapnel over the main force of rebels (four hundred men) who were
gathered there, and who had not then been found by Major Kershaw’s
party. A very few shells were enough for them; they scattered and fled
before they even came to blows with our men, merely given them a good
target as they retired down into the deep gorges of the lower Chabez
River.
This ended the skirmish, and we made our way down to the river and
there bivouacked for breakfast.
Then, leaving the dismounted men and guns and baggage, the mounted
part of the force went on for a raid towards the cattle valley near
Inyanda’s stronghold. We moved along the open valley close under the
foot of the Matopo Mountains for about four or five miles, till we
came on some cattle–paths leading from the grazing–grounds into the
hills. Following up the main one, we (Coope’s Scouts) found ourselves
in a very nasty little gorge leading in between the mountains. Leaving
our horses under a guard at the entrance, we clambered in amongst
boulders and thick jungle that blocked the little path. For about
half a mile it was as nasty a place to be caught in as one could wish;
then, getting on to rocks where the gorge opened out a little, we could
hear the cattle lowing, dogs barking, women and boys yelling, as they
evidently drove the herd from the farther end of the valley deeper into
the mountains; and, at the same time, along the heights on either side
we could see the Matabele gathering and moving to cut us off at the
entrance. Seeing it was useless to try and follow the cattle in such
a place, we amused ourselves in checking the boldness of the rebels
moving on the heights by throwing in our shot among them.
Then we made our way out again, and, remounting, continued our way
along the foot of the hills.
Riding along by myself in the bush, my heart jumped with joy when I
suddenly came upon the fresh spoor of cattle and of men leading into
another small valley; I sounded my whistle and started along on the
spoor, the scouts rounding up to me and taking up the trail just like
a pack of hounds. After tearing through the bush for a short distance,
we presently came upon a kraal in a secluded spot among the rocks; and
there were the cattle right before us, with the men driving them! The
men did not stop for us to catch them, but took refuge among the rocks,
and while one part of the scouts dismounted to cover the operation with
their fire if necessary, the remainder circled round the cattle and
headed them back from the hills, through the bush, out into the open
valley. One or two of the niggers in the rocks fired at us, and as we
were advancing towards them to dislodge them, I suddenly felt a blow on
my thigh as though someone had struck me with a hammer; it knocked me
down, and I turned round, thinking that I must have run against a tree
stump, but none was there; and then I realised that I had been struck
with a stone covered with lead, fired from one of these big bore guns.
It did not even cut me, but my thigh is now a mighty bruise, black
and blue all over and very stiff. Our only other casualty was Bodle’s
horse, which was struck with a Lee–Metford bullet through the hoof. In
the course of the intermittent firing which was going on I had to use
“Rodney” pretty freely, but it was for the last time, for, in helping
the men to catch some goats among the rocks, I broke his stock, and he
was useless to me for the rest of the campaign.
It was now getting late, and though part of our scouts had got among
the outlying kraals of Inyanda’s stronghold, we had now to make our
way back to camp, some six miles, very pleased with ourselves and very
tired.
_2nd August._—Started at 5.30 from our bivouac on the Chabez. As we
intended to camp the night on the Tuli road at the point where it
passes the Umzingwane River (at Dawson’s Store), we sent our pack train
direct to the spot, some twelve miles across the valley, while our main
body went on to complete yesterday’s reconnaissance. We moved along to
Inyanda’s stronghold, which is a lofty mountain of great pinnacles of
rock with jumbled boulders, caves, and bushy gorges (_vide_ map, p.
103).
First, we shelled the front of it, where the main kraal was situated,
until the rebels evacuated this point, and made their way to the back
of the mountain. A flanking patrol of ours to the right was suddenly
attacked by a strong party of the enemy, but the patrol held its own
well, and extricated itself cleverly from the difficult ground it was
in, without any casualties, having killed five of the enemy.
[Illustration: A CHANCE SHOT
While investigating Inyanda’s stronghold after its capture, Captain
Lloyd, our signalling officer, was struck by a chance shot through the
leg. We found here a great store of grain packed in huge grass–woven
baskets and stowed in the driest parts of the caves—as above shown.]
On the left we worked round through the bush to the rear face of the
mountain. Here were the caves which formed the grain–stores of the
rebels, and after shelling these for a short time, we sent up parties
to capture them. The enemy made no attempt to hold the place, but had
retired over the back of the mountain by the time our men had got up
to the caves; but one of them, firing a parting shot, wounded Captain
Lloyd, our signalling officer, through the lower part of the thigh.
Once more my pocket–case of bandages came in useful, as there was no
medical officer up there with us, but the wound was not a serious
one. We found very large stores of grain here, packed in immense
neatly–woven grass baskets made with a small mouth which was sealed
up with mortar; there were mealies (maize), inyaooti (Kaffir corn),
monkey–nuts, rice, dried melons, and Mahoba–hoba fruit, etc., these
were all stored in large, dry caves, of which the entrances had been
stockaded. We found many cooking–pots, shields, assegais, clothes, and
even children’s dolls; these latter were merely little clay models of
bodies with short arms and legs, but no heads, and these are said to be
of precisely the same pattern as the dolls of the ancients which have
been excavated in some of the old ruins of the country.
From Inyanda’s we moved on to the spot where I had formerly located
Sikombo’s impi. This we found deserted, but the size and extent of the
scherms still standing there showed that at least two thousand men must
have been lately in camp in them. We burned these, and, continuing our
march through the hills for another mile or two eastward, we came out
on the Tuli road just at the spot where it enters the Matopo Pass.
[Illustration: OUR FIELD TELEGRAPH
The Engineer Corps (Volunteers) rigged a most effective and useful field
telegraph between Buluwayo and field headquarters. The line was largely
composed of ordinary fencing wire, and was reeled off from a home–made
drum carried on an ordinary mule–waggon.]
It was here that Brand’s patrol was attacked on the 10th April by
overwhelming forces of rebels, and had a very tough fight of it before
they succeeded in getting clear of their attackers and in making their
way back to Buluwayo. Out of their party of a hundred and fifty, they
had lost five killed and fifteen wounded, and some thirty horses
killed; the dead had to be left on the ground, and there was only one
two–wheeled cart and a Maxim gun on which the wounded could be carried.
As no force had been out here since the fight, we halted for a space,
and went over the ground, and buried the remains of the killed. It
was very easy to follow the course of the fight by the footprints and
wheel–marks of the Maxim, which still remained, and by the carcasses
of the horses which were lying about the veldt. In the evening we made
our way back along the road to Dawson’s Store (ten miles), where our
pack–train had been joined by our waggons.
We have supped, and most of us are asleep, although it is not eight
o’clock yet.
* * * * *
I have seen in the _Fortnightly_ an article on “The Human Animal in
Battle.”
It is interesting, but it doesn’t exactly tally with the impressions
gleaned from experiences here. Allowance must be made, of course,
for individual constitutions, but the author seems to imply that for
the generality, “courage is a powerful exercise of will to overcome
the more natural tendency to run away”; but it seems to me to be an
exercise that is put into practice very promptly and automatically by
some people.
He talks of the soldier as going into a fight with his mind full of the
question as to whether he is going to be killed, and if so—why? That
he then discovers that fighting is not pleasure, it is not sport; he
merely gets dazed, and all his senses are blurred.
As far as I know, men going into action are, as a rule, thinking of
anything but getting killed, and they are anything but dazed. If they
happen to think at all about anybody being killed, they do so as in
ordinary life—and death: they reckon on their neighbours dying, but not
on themselves.
There is naturally a sort of excitement which takes possession of one,
and which, I think, works on you to the same extent as a couple of
glasses of champagne. You forget all fatigue, and your wits are more
than usually sharpened.
This brightening of the wits is similar to that which occurs in the
case of an actor on the stage. Ask him in the wings, just before he
goes on, what are his next few lines, and he probably could not tell
you: he steps before the footlights, and at that same moment his mind,
I suppose, concentrates itself on the matter in hand, the lines come to
him without effort of memory, and his wits are about him to the extent
that if one of the “gods” interrupts with a bit of chaff, the actor
can rap back a repartee at him that would take him a month to work out
in cold blood. In the same way, one’s wits brighten in a fight: one
seems to see clearly in every direction at once, to grasp what the
enemy is at, and also what is wanted on one’s own side, before, around,
and behind one. The mind is clear and not confused, and is buoyed
with a feeling of elation and cheery excitement, but with a cruel
under–current, close below the surface, which the Kaffirs so aptly
describe as “seeing red.”
A little instance in a fight two days ago will illustrate my meaning.
A trooper coming back from the firing line with a message to the rear,
saw, as he passed, one of our Cape Boys skulking under cover behind
a rock. “For’ard on, Alexander!” he shouted cheerily, and picked up
a stone to playfully enforce his command. At this moment a Matabele
in a cave close by fired and just missed him; he merely altered the
direction and the force of his throw, and hurled the stone hard at the
cave instead of at the Cape Boy. Then with eager haste, mad with rage,
and swearing volubly, he dashed up the rocks to “give the nigger snuff.”
This sudden change from cheery light–heartedness to blood–thirsting
rage is one of the peculiarities of the mind during a fight.
Another curious statement in the article is that in action fear plays
some game with one’s secretion of saliva, and that an intense thirst
results. Speaking for myself, I have been in as great a funk as any
man of my weight and years; but I do not recollect any particular
thirst connected with it. I have for my part never seen much difference
between the thirst of the battlefield and that of the polo–field, the
cricket–field, or any other field, except perhaps one, the pig–sticking
field, which certainly can produce a thirst peculiarly its own, and one
which transcends that of any other pursuit—but even that thirst is not
the result of fear.
[Illustration:
Signaller Baden–Powell, 13th Hrs. Turner, 42nd
Fraser, 7th Hrs. R. Moncreiffe Col. Plumer, Y. & L. Rgt. De Moleyns, 4th Hrs.
(lying down)
COLONEL PLUMER AND STAFF
Watching a fight in the Matopos.]