The Claw Part 23

"Take up the White Man's burden And reap his old reward, The blame of those ye better The hate of those ye guard."

"No news from the front yet!" That was always the answer to our daily inquiries, and there was nothing to do but feed our anxious, hungry hearts with the old supposition that no news is good news. After the forces had once left Sigala there was no way of getting into telegraphic communication with them and the last direct news we had from our men was when they made a junction with the Salisbury and Victoria Columns, becoming merged in them and thereafter proceeding on the march for Buluwayo.

Afterwards there was a long silence. A silence full of foreboding and fear for us, realising that our men were at last in the wild, unbroken, little known country of the Matabele, where a savage and bloodthirsty enemy lay in wait for them--an enemy that mustered twenty thousand fighting men strongly armed with rifles and a.s.segai, while our troops all told mustered only six hundred and seventy (not including colonial boys and friendly natives).

There was reason enough in the little township for pale faces and haggard eyes, and they were plainly in evidence, but hardly ever without the accompaniment of the old gay _nil desperandum_ smile which seems to be a peculiar attribute of British people when they find themselves in tight corners and unsmiling circ.u.mstances.

About the end of October two men with despatches brought in the first news. There had been a big fight with the Matabele on the 25th October near the Shangani River, when our people had been engaged by a number of the most important of Lobengula's _impis_, including the Insukameni regiment, the third best of the King's crack companies. This battle was afterwards officially described as the Battle of Shangani, and the Matabele losses were about five hundred whilst our forces had lost one man, with six wounded. Two horses had been killed--a very serious matter, for the columns were already short of mounts.

After the Battle of the Shangani our troops had resumed their march to Buluwayo, going slowly, as they were subject to constant small attacks burning kraals as they went, and collecting cattle left behind by the fleeing Matabele.

After this we had no more news until the second week in November, when suddenly one morning the wires were humming with the tidings that Dr Jameson had occupied Buluwayo. The Union Jack strung to a great mimosa tree floated out over the ruined and burning kraal of a dethroned tyrant!

The news came to us from Palapye, the capital of Khama's country, away down south. It had been brought there by Burnham, that brave and intrepid American, whose name will live for ever in the annals of early Rhodesia and in the history of all scouts. He and his mate Ingram (also an American) had ridden with a Zulu boy who knew the road, one hundred and twenty miles to Tati, hoping to find there a telegraph office from which they could telegraph the news to Mr Rhodes. But at Tati they found no wire--it had not yet reached that place. There was only a heliograph station that because of the cloudy weather was of no use to them. Burnham then, though wearied out by the terrible ride they had already accomplished, decided to push on to Palapye, another ninety miles, and there, on the morning of November 9th, he gave to the world the news that civilisation had advanced another great stride, in the subjugating of a savage and cruel nation; while to the map had been added one more of those little pink stains that stand for Empire and Progress.

Oh! how we stood around the telegraph office that day, and many days after, and drank in details of the victory! In thrilling sc.r.a.ps it all came in.

We heard of the Battle of the Imbembesi, which had taken place on the first of November when the very flower of the Matabele army had come forth in all their glory of native war-dress and waving ostrich plumes, shaking the earth beneath their dancing feet, holding their red-and-white ox-skin shields before them and making _jia_ at the white men with their gleaming a.s.segais. They had fought there and died in hundreds at the very gates of the royal kraal; and the old King, desperate at last at the tidings of defeat brought in by his scouts, had fled, taking with him his wives and children and such of his warriors as remained faithful to him in his adversity. But before he went he gave orders for the burning and utter destruction of the kraal of Buluwayo, that scene of savage splendours and innumerable cruelties now for ever past.

A just fate had overtaken Lobengula, but even while we realised it there seemed to us at that time something terribly pathetic in the thought of the old monarch, swollen and tortured with gout and the madness of defeat, full of fierce spleen against those whose friendship he had himself estranged by treachery and false dealing, fleeing now before the winds of adversity and despair. It seemed that some prophetic thought must have lain in the mind of his mother when she named him Lobengula--"_Driven by the wind_."

When our men at last arrived at the royal kraal, pitched high on the brow of a great plateau commanding a view of the whole country, they found that like Jericho of old its walls were down to the feet of the invader, but for a time they could see nothing clearly for the smoke that arose in black-and-grey spirals and suffused the landscape, blotting out the sunlight, while a disgusting and indescribable odour of burning refuse stung their throats and terribly a.s.sailed their nostrils.

Besides firing the mean dwellings of his tribe, Lobengula had caused huts full of splendid ivory and furs and karosses to be given to the flames, and grain enough to feed a nation had been ruthlessly destroyed.

While in the centre of a huge open s.p.a.ce surrounded by rings a hundred feet wide of smouldering huts, were the ruins of what had lately been the King's palace.

This great s.p.a.ce had been the place of the King's privacy and at the same time his Throne-room and the arena of justice and state. There had been times when its white dust lay shimmering in an almost terrible peace, while the King sat before his door in the morning sunlight watching his magnificent peac.o.c.ks as they strutted and scratched, preening their jewelled feathers and crying their sinister unmusical cries. In those hours many eyes secretly watched the tyrant through holes bored in the walls of their huts, but none except the peac.o.c.ks dared break the silence when the Lion of Matabeleland sat considering his savage politics and arranging the affairs of his nation.

There were other times when the court-yard witnessed scenes of barbaric glory and ferocity unparalleled since the time of b.l.o.o.d.y Tchaka of Zululand. It was there that the King would come forth in state to receive the royal salute--"_Bayete_!"--from the brazen throats of his _impis_ drawn up in countless splendid lines--lines of rippling muscular bodies, black as polished ebony and as bare, save for the _moocha_ of leopard skin and the bands and bangles of bra.s.s. There when the spirit moved them to slay and they wished for permission to go forth and plunge their a.s.segais into the bosoms of the hapless Mashonas, his warriors danced before Lobengula, making the ground tremble and thunder beneath their leaping feet. There the great _indabas_ had taken place and the b.l.o.o.d.y "smelling out" ceremonies of the witch-doctors. Many a time had the wide level s.p.a.ce been stained with hot gushing life-blood, and strewn with dead men, while the old King, great in stature as in cruelty, sat upon his three-legged stool of state, laughing in his thick throat, his small keen eyes like knife-points in his grossly featured face.

Now all lay in ruins. Everything was broken and devastated and wrecked by the tremendous explosion of eighty thousand rounds of ammunition which had been fired at the last moment as the King's commands.

On top of the heaps of _debris_, forlorn and overturned, was found the silver elephant which had been given to Lobengula by the Tati Company to whom he had granted concessions. He had greatly prized this silver model, seeing in it a flattering reference to his own might and greatness. Now it lay amidst the ruins of his glory, a symbol of power broken and despotism thrown down.

Our men had done splendidly. There had been deaths and casualties, but they were deaths bravely met--facing fearful odds--and the casualties were few, considering the enormous difference in numbers between the conflicting forces.

Later in the month we got more news from men who had arrived in Salisbury with despatches, having left Buluwayo some little time after its occupation by our forces. They said that Dr Jameson was "sitting"

there, waiting for an answer from the King whom he had sent after and told to come in. There had been some delay and difficulty in getting boys to go with this message, as unless they were Matabele they stood a very good chance of being killed before they could reach the presence of the King. However, eventually three colonial boys had volunteered to go, and the Doctor had given them a letter written in English, Dutch, and Zulu, telling the King that the nation was beaten and that to avoid further bloodshed he must come in. His personal safety was guaranteed, and he was further told that after the return of the messengers two days would be given him in which to return. The Doctor had also despatched some native spies--Zambesi boys--to find out all they could concerning the whereabouts and doings of the King. These returned a couple of days later and reported that the Matabele were ma.s.sed in large numbers about thirty or forty miles to the north of Buluwayo. They were extended in camps across the country with the idea of protecting the King, who lay at a place called Intaba-gi-konga, a small hill surrounded by thick bush about fifty miles away from Buluwayo. The spies had been in the camps and talked to the enemy (pretending to be in search of some of their own people who had left their kraals) and they reported the Matabele very cowed and depressed by their recent reverses. The men of the Imbezu regiment who had bragged to the King that they would walk through the _laagers_ of the white men, killing the elder men and bringing back the rest for slaves, had lost at the Imbembezi fight about five hundred out of seven hundred men, and were so much demoralised by their beating that the Zambesi boys had actually gone in amongst them and spoken to them like equals, whereas in days not long past it meant death to an inferior native who addressed himself to an Imbezu.

This news lifted a burden from our hearts, and we realised at last that our vigil with anxiety was at an end. The war was over! Our men would soon be home, all but those who meant to stay and occupy Matabeleland, of whom it was said there would be many, especially amongst the mining men. Rumours had already arrived that the country round Buluwayo showed signs of gold-bearing reef.

It was certain at any rate that Lobengula must come in and surrender himself before long. He might linger for a while and try to make favourable terms, of course; or he might be persuaded by some of his younger warriors who had not had enough fighting, to hold out a little longer. But it was now known that the King was a very sick man, and for that reason alone it seemed most unlikely he would wish to continue a struggle that would keep him out for some months longer in a wild and uncultivated part of the country without proper shelter for himself and his queens and children. It is supposed by many people that natives can live anywhere and in any state of wildness as long as they are in their own country; but this is a mistake. The Matabele, for instance, had left their kraals and their growing crops behind them to go into the bush where there was nothing for them to eat except the cattle they had brought with them, and the small amount of grain they had been able to carry away. In the meantime the wet season was advancing rapidly, and there would be no shelter for them from the heavy flooding rains that fall in November, December, and early January. It surprised me to hear that natives cannot stand exposure to the furious elements any more than white people can. They sicken and die just as we should do.

Furthermore, they cannot live on a perpetual meat diet; they need meal, and grain, and green mealies, and rice; and if they cannot get these things they cannot live.

It was known too that small-pox was rife amongst the Matabele. This was one of the reasons that our native allies from Bechua.n.a.land--the Bamangwatoos--had deserted us early in the campaign, and returned to their kraals. A thousand of them under their Chief Khama had started for Mashonaland to fight under Colonel Gould-Adams, who was bringing up a flying column of Bechua.n.a.land Border Police to reinforce our men; but when they heard of small-pox, and further realised that the campaign was likely to last some months, they calmly gave notice to quit, and returning to their own country set about reaping their crops. Their att.i.tude was the att.i.tude of Dr Abingdon. They had not lost any Matabele, neither any small-pox; why should they seek for these things?

Fortunately, there proved to be no need for the services of such valorous allies. The Southern Column was quite able to account for itself without native a.s.sistance, and had already arrived within fifty miles of Buluwayo, having met and ignominiously dispersed about eight thousand Matebele under the command of Gambo, the son-in-law of the King.

The country south of Buluwayo was now quite clear of the enemy and the whole road to Tati and Tuli was reported to be crowded with transport-waggons bringing up loads of things to Mashonaland, and also hurrying with stores and provisions to the capital of the newly opened country.

Odds and ends of private letters began to reach us from the front: some were brought in by native carriers--Maholi and Mashona boys who, now that the danger was all past were glad to return to the service of the white men (full of soft words of explanation and apology for having left so abruptly)--and some by despatch riders with official news. Mrs Grant got a long letter from her husband and Mr Stair a few lines from Gerry Deshon, and several other people received belated doc.u.ments, which were thumbed and pa.s.sed under many more eyes than they were originally intended for, within a few hours of their arrival. Mrs Marriott had a letter from her husband which changed the face of life for her and turned her into a laughing, weeping child. No one asked to see _her_ letter.

Every one was able to glean some sc.r.a.p of information to apply like a healing ointment to an aching wound, and every one seemed to have something to weep or smile over, except me. Neither letter nor message came for me! It is true that I gathered from others that Anthony Kinsella was well and had done splendid work, and incidentally I heard that he had despatched private letters to Fort George by carrier. But that carrier never came. If there was a letter for me, then like many another it never reached its destination. Often in the months that came after, sodden native pouches containing white pulp which had once been letters were found lying on the veldt--in one or two instances with a skull near by to tell a little tragic, eloquent tale.

Every one wrote that they would be back very shortly--as soon as Lobengula came in and gave himself up. He had sent a specious letter to Dr Jameson to say that he was coming, and the Doctor was still waiting for the promise to be fulfilled. But the days went by and the King of the Matabele did not materialise. As a matter of fact, he was hastening to put as great a distance as possible between himself and Buluwayo. He was for the North. It seemed to him that the high fertile country beyond the Zambesi would be a good place to get out of the white man's range and found a new dynasty, and thither he was hurrying with such speed as his fat and enormous body would permit. He was far too unwieldy to walk even if he had not been nicked with gout; so his warriors carried him, and at other times dragged him along in a Bath-chair. When that broke down at last, and his oxen died from lack of food and rest, he commanded his men to span themselves to the waggon and pull him along, and they did so; whilst close upon the spoor of the waggons came trooping crowds of women and children and boys driving cattle; all making for the new land of despotism that was to be founded beyond the waters of the Zambesi.

In the meantime a feeling of insecurity and impatience began once more to prevail in the rest of the country. It was realised that no progress of any consequence could be made, no real advancement furthered until the question of the Matabele powers was settled for ever. Lobengula, if he would not surrender, must be laid by the heels, and there were men "sitting" in Buluwayo who were eager enough and able enough to do the laying.

It was no use letting him settle and grow powerful on the other side of the Zambesi, ready to swoop down and give more trouble some day. There could be no security until every belligerent native had laid down his arms and returned to peaceable occupation.

It was a great relief to the whole country when the news came that a column had started out after the King. Then indeed we knew that the beginning of the end had come, and that we might thereafter possess our souls in peace and security.

_Laager_ was broken in Fort George, and we slept in real beds once more.

The coaches from "up" and "down" country began to pa.s.s through again, and we got regular mails and were no longer cut off from the civilised world. I was soon reminded of this fact by letters from Salisbury urging me to take coach and rejoin my sister-in-law there. My brother d.i.c.k was one of those who were remaining in Buluwayo to see things finally "fixed up." However, it did not seem to me to be urgently indicated that I should join Judy just then. Instead, I left my hotel and at the invitation of Mrs Marriott took up my residence with her in her little series of huts.

It was round about Christmas time and a sprightly air began to prevail in the township. One day some waggons arrived with machinery for a neighbouring mine and when they had off-loaded at the Mining Company's stores in the town some one said:

"Why should not we borrow one of these nice waggons and go for a picnic somewhere away from this old town in which we have lived too long and wearily?"

And some one else said:

"Good idea! Why not, indeed?"

And before any one knew how or where it was done it had been definitely decided that we should have a Christmas picnic in a lovely spot called Green Streams ten miles away.

Personally I was not very keen on this plan, and I knew that a great many others felt the same way about it. There seemed to be a certain heartlessness in celebrating Christmas so pleasantly while our men were still away at the front, even though we were a.s.sured that all was well with them--that they were not fighting, but merely making a triumphal march on the retreating enemy, in order to bring back the legal trophies of war. However, so many people seemed eager for the picnic, and really physically to need a change of air and scene from Fort George, and the children were so wistful about it, that it seemed selfish to protest against the plan. And I am sure that it was mainly for the children's sake that many of us resisted the desire to remain at home, instead of picnicking on the veldt.

Once the thing was settled, though, every one threw themselves with a zest into preparations. Cooking went on at a great rate, and the whole town smelt of belated plum-puddings, and hams bubbling in three-legged pots. And outside every house were to be seen half-a-dozen Mashona hens with their necks wrung. I may mention that there is about three mouthfuls of flesh on each of these birds.

Every one was frightfully busy filling empty packing-cases with crockery and pots and pans, and late into the night people were still carrying things to be piled into the waggon. It was like the preparations of the Israelites for their departure to the promised land.

The next day, at six o'clock of a blue-and-gold morning, we set out.

Some of the women-folk, and the smaller children, rode in the waggon, but most of us cheerfully padded the hoof, glad of the opportunity to stretch our limbs over the short, burnt gra.s.s, regardless of such trifles as stick-gra.s.s and ticks.

The children begged to wear their scarlet uniforms, and they danced along yelling and prancing, like a band of red Indians let loose.

We reached Green Streams at about nine o'clock and found it a lovely open glade with clumps of trees scattered everywhere, and huge cliffy rocks standing alone, and a slender little fringed river curling like a silver caterpillar through the middle of the scene. Soon the lovely smell of wood fires was on the air, and every climbable rock had a scarlet spot decorating its summit.

"I think it was an excellent idea of yours, Miss Saurin, to let the children wear their uniforms," said Mrs Burney. "We can't possibly lose sight of them now, can we?"

"It was their own idea," I said. "They adore that get-up of theirs."

"Yes, and they adore you, too. I'd like to know who doesn't," she said so unexpectedly that I was quite overwhelmed. Of course I was frightfully pleased at such a remark coming from her so warmly and spontaneously, and I really could not help believing that they did like me a little better than in the beginning of _laager_; but of course it was absurd to talk of any one adoring me. It was only necessary to watch the faces of the Salisbury women when I was in their vicinity to see how cordially I was detested by them at least. As soon as we arrived they had ensconced themselves under the shadiest bunch of trees (not too far from the commissariat department) and were ordering Monty Skeffington-Smythe and another man about like dogs, to look for cushions and rugs and make them comfortable in the shade. They still clung together, but not from love, I think. I never saw three women more _ennuie_ with each other. They were absolutely drooping with boredom, and I believe the only active feeling any of them possessed was dislike of me. It was really a wonder that they had found the energy to come to the picnic, but the Fort George women laughingly and perhaps a little maliciously suggested that their probable reason for coming was that they thought it the easiest and simplest way of securing an excellent Christmas dinner without any personal exertion. Adriana had for sometime past been professing herself to be precariously ill. The mysterious malady she was suffering from did not affect her appet.i.te or prevent her from looking extremely robust; and rumour unkindly put it that she was in reality jibbing at last at having to do simply everything for three well-grown, able-bodied women who were perfectly capable of looking after themselves. However, she had recovered her health and strength for that day at least, and was at the moment a.s.sisting Monty Skeffington-Smythe and the Doctor to carry coffee and _roaster-cookies_ to the languid party under the trees.

"What are you going to do, Miss Saurin?" Mrs Rookwood asked me in her wistful way. Now that _laager_ was over she had grown very tragic about the eyes again, and her mirthless laugh with its defiant note began to be frequently heard. She always stayed as near me as possible, perhaps because I made it my business to repay in kind everything in the shape of a snub that came her way.

The Fort George women it is true were always kind to her, and forgot her sins in the remembrance of all her kindness and humble helpfulness to them and the children. The intimacy of _laager_ life had broken down barriers that would otherwise never have been overcome. Moreover, the objectionable Mr Geach had been so extremely obliging as to break his neck somewhere in the Cape Colony, so that as soon as George came back from the front all would be well with the Rookwoods. But the Salisburyites showed by the expression of their noses that they considered the air more than ever polluted when "the Geach person" was anywhere near.