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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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