Chapter VIII: Part 8

Two o’clock came. Schahofskoy rode up the slope from the village to see for himself from the crest how things were going. As he reached the sky line the Turks marked the mounted group, and a volley of shell-fire was directed upon it. Schahofskoy promptly rolled out of the saddle and crept forward to where the two correspondents were squatting. His eyes were blazing and his face was flushed, as he swore most vigorously in the colloquial Russian of the common soldier. He looked at his watch; it was a few minutes past two. Krüdener seemed, after all these long hours, to be making no headway. Schahofskoy in his impatience threw his orders to the wind and determined to act independently. He turned to his Chief of Staff and shouted, “Bring up the 125th and 126th regiments at once! Quick!” These were his own two regiments which had accompanied him from the foot of the Balkans. General Tchekoff, the brigade commander, came up the slope at a canter and told the Prince the two regiments were following close. They came up with swift swinging stride and deployed just before reaching the crest, breaking to pass through the intervals between the guns. The General had risen, and was standing against a tree saluting his soldiers as they streamed past him. His guns recommenced firing as soon as the infantrymen were descending the further slope, and continued their fire while the regiments were crossing the intervening hollow to the assault of the Turkish positions. The Turkish shells crashed through the ranks as the regiments pressed forward; men were already down in numbers, but the long, undulating line pushed through the undergrowth of the descent and then tramped steadily over the stubble-fields below. No skirmishing line was thrown out in advance. The fighting line retained its formation for a time till, what with eagerness and what with men falling, it broke into a ragged spray of humanity and surged on swiftly, but with no close cohesion. It was a rush of vehement fighting-men on which the spectators looked down with eyes intent--a helter-skelter of men impelled by a burning ardour to get forward and come to close quarters with the enemy calmly firing upon them from behind the shelter of his earthworks. The Turkish position was neared; and now men held their breath. The crackle of the musketry fire rose in a sharp continuous peal. The clamour of the cheering of the fighting-men came back on the wind, making the blood tingle with excitement. The wounded were beginning to withdraw, limping and groaning; the dead and the more severely wounded lay where they fell among the stubbles and amidst the maize. The living wave of fighting-men was pouring over them ever on and on. Suddenly the disconnected men were drawing together, the officers signalling for the concentration by the waving of their swords. Then there followed a headlong rush, led by a brave colonel. The Turks in the shelter trench held their ground, firing steadily and with terrible effect into the advancing assailants. The colonel staggered a few paces and then fell--he was a dead man.

His men, bayonets at the charge, rushed to avenge their gallant dead leader. They were over the shelter trench and over the parapet, and then down in among the Turks like an avalanche. The first redoubt was thus taken; but the Turks had got away ten guns; leaving only two in Russian hands. The captured redoubt was No. 1, which had fallen to the 126th regiment, the right regiment of Schahofskoy’s first line. His left regiment, the 125th, was advancing simultaneously on Redoubt No. 8, about midway between No. 1 and Plevna, but No. 8 was much the stronger, an isolated mamelon with batteries on the rearward slope. Schahofskoy sent forward to No. 1 two batteries and two battalions, and a third battalion to strengthen his left flank, and then he ordered both his front line regiments to converge on redoubt No. 8 and to carry it, no matter at what cost. One could see through the glass Turkish officers on horseback standing behind its parapet and watching the oncoming Russian forces. Presently two rode away at a gallop and immediately returned with a swarm of men on foot, who clapped tackle on the guns in the redoubt and withdrew them all before the Russians took it. The capture at the last was curiously sudden. All of a moment along the lip of the Turkish parapet there was a final spurt of white smoke, through which were visible dimly swarms of dark-coated men scrambling over the ditch and up the outer slope of the work. On the crest of the parapet itself there was a short but sharp struggle. Then through the telescope was seen a crowd of men in lighter blue in apparent full flight across the great stretch of vineyard behind the redoubt.

The Russians, then, at about half-past five of this bloody afternoon, had possessed themselves of two of the Turkish redoubts, but their tenure was very precarious. The Turks had not fled far from the second redoubt, about the northern and western faces of which they hung obstinately, while their cannon from further rearward dropped shell after shell into it with extraordinary precision. Schahofskoy sent forward eight guns to an intermediate knoll, to cover the troops in the redoubt and cope with the Turkish artillery fire which was punishing them so severely; but about six o’clock the Turks pressed forward a strong body of infantry to its recapture. The defence was stubborn, but the Moslems were not to be denied; and in spite of the stubborn Russian resistance, they reoccupied the redoubt half an hour later. In the course of the original advance on it, part of the troops of Schahofskoy’s left had penetrated by a ravine up to near the south-eastern verge of Plevna. From the first, this body was very hard pressed by fresh Turkish reserves issuing from the town. The Russians, bent on entering the place, charged again and again till they could charge no more for sheer fatigue; and then the stubborn, gallant fellows stood leaderless--for nearly all the officers were down--sternly waiting death there for want of leaders to march them back. To their help Schahofskoy sent in succession the two battalions which were his last reserve; but all that these could do was to maintain a front with cruel losses, until the darkness would permit of a retirement to the Radischevo ridge. The ammunition had failed, for the carts had been left far in the rear; and all hope died out of the most sanguine as the sun sank in lurid glory behind the blood-stained and smoke-mantled field.

Then the Turks struck without stint. They had the upper hand now, and were clearly determined to show that they knew how to make the most of it. Through the dusk they advanced in swarms into their original first positions, and recaptured their two guns which the Russians had taken in their first assault, but which they had found no opportunity to withdraw. Turkish shells now again began to whistle and yell over the Radischevo ridge, and to crash into the village behind, by this time crammed with wounded men. The streams of wounded were incessant. The badly-wounded lay where they fell, and were butchered ruthlessly by the Turkish irregulars, who swarmed over the battle-field and slaughtered indiscriminately. The moon rose on their bloodthirsty devilry; and in the hot, still night-air one could hear--and shuddered in the hearing--the shrieks of pain, the futile entreaties for mercy, and the yells of cruel, fanatical triumph.

The Russian defeat was complete. The remains of the army came sullenly back, companies that had gone down hundreds strong returning by tens and twenties. For three hours there had been a steady current of wounded men up from out of the battle to the reverse slope of the Radischevo ridge, to which Schahofskoy still held on grimly. All round, the air was heavy with the moaning of the wounded who had cast themselves down by the fountain at the foot of the slope, craving with a pitiful longing for a few drops of the scanty water. In this awful hour Schahofskoy’s attitude was admirable: now that the day was lost beyond remedy, he was cool and collected. To protect his wounded, and rally what remained of his force, he was determined to hold the ridge to the last extremity. He ordered his bugle to sound the “Assembly.” They gathered to the sound, singly and by twos and threes, many bleeding from flesh-wounds, yet willing still to fight on. But it appeared scarcely a company that came together; it seemed as if the rest of the army was quite dispersed. Schahofrkoy was loth to fall back, for he still hoped that belated troops would come back out of the valley of the shadow of death down below him; but he was disappointed. Meanwhile, as the ambulance work was going on apace, and the wounded withdrawn into the comparative safety of the village in the valley behind, the Turks continued to pour on the ridge a heavy fire of shells and bullets. At length, near midnight, Schahofskoy and his staff quitted the front, now protected, after a fashion, by a cordon of cavalry. As the forlorn _cortège_ rode slowly away in the moonlight, an aide-de-camp remarked in an undertone to his neighbour: “We are following a general who has lost his army going in search of an army which has lost its general, who now, to make the day’s loss complete, has lost his way.” It was a miserable business.

But it was in a measure retrieved by the conduct of Skobeleff. His orders were to prevent any reinforcement from Loftcha from entering Plevna, and in general to cover the extreme left flank of Schahofskoy. For this wide range of duty he had at his disposal one infantry battalion, twelve squadrons of Caucasian Cossacks, and twelve 4-pounder horse-guns. His first undertaking was to make a reconnaissance on Plevna from the south-west, till he looked down on the place from a height within three hundred yards of it. When Schahofskoy began his cannonade on the redoubts, Skobeleff opened fire on the town, and drew upon himself a large body of Osman’s forces. When attacked in strength he, of course, had to withdraw to his main force at Krishin; but he discovered that, from a hill two miles south of Plevna the Turks could enfilade Schahofskoy’s line, and take his advance in reverse. To hinder the enemy from occupying this point he resolved to attack energetically; and he was able, by dint of skill and dexterity, to keep up an active fight throughout the day and on until after nightfall, and also to remove all his wounded. After dark, he made good his retreat to Krishin, and re-assembled there what remained of his little command. He had not spared it, for fifty per cent. was _hors de combat_. But he had gained his object in keeping the Turks away from the Green Hill, from which, had they occupied it, they would have cut Schahofskoy’s force to pieces.

_a_, Plevna; _b_, Plevna Redoubt; _c_,
Grivitza Village; _d_, Grivitza Redoubt; _e_,
Radischevo Ridge; _f_, Balkan Mountains in distance.]

The Russian losses were 169 officers and 7,136 men, out of a total of 30,000 engaged. Of this number, 2,400 were killed and left on the field. One of Schahofskoy’s regiments (the 126th) had 725 killed and over 1,200 wounded--a total loss of about 75 per cent. of its strength. Over their respective responsibility, Krüdener and Schahofskoy quarrelled bitterly. Schahofskoy complained that Krüdener had not supported him. Krüdener retorted that Schahofskoy had disobeyed his orders in assaulting without permission. But the real responsibility for the defeat rested on the shoulders of the Grand Duke Nicolas, who had given peremptory orders from a distance to attack a position of which he knew nothing, and in the teeth of a remonstrance on the part of a commanding-officer who had carefully studied the subject.

_BY E. F. KNIGHT_]

“They were men of men, and their fathers were men before them,” were the words of old Umjan, the chief induna of the Imbezu Impi--Lobengula’s Royal Regiment--as he described the gallant stand of that handful of men under Major Allan Wilson which was cut to pieces by the Matabele, hard by the Shangani river, on December 4th, 1893. Umjan, a full-blooded Zulu warrior, who, as a stripling, had taken part in the conquest of Matabeleland with Moselekatse’s raiding horde, led the force that slaughtered Major Wilson’s party, and the terms of keen admiration which he employed when speaking of those brave men but represented the feeling of his whole people. That day’s fight produced a deep impression throughout the country. Till then the Matabele were inclined to despise the white men, and considered them weak and timorous. True, the Matabele had been vanquished; but they argued that they had not been routed in fair fight, but by the aid of witchcraft--by the deadly fire of those invincible Maxims, which spirits had manufactured for the white men; they boasted that without Maxims the white men would never have had the heart to face the valorous _amajakas_ of Lobengula. But they were undeceived by the brave doings of December 4th, which cannot rightly be called a day of disaster--valuable though were the lives we lost--when it is remembered how glorious was that gallant stand, how far-reaching were its results. That engagement brought the war to a sudden conclusion, and obviated further bloodshed. It inspired the Matabele with a profound respect and regard for their conquerors, which our previous victories alone would not have given them. Without that sacrifice it would have been long before we had brought about a true peace. Our vanquished foes would have regarded any clemency on our part as a sign of cowardice; the young _amajakas_ would have bragged at their periodic beer-drinkings, and organised risings against the white men. But having suffered so severely from that stubborn resistance to the death of a handful of white men unprovided with Maxims, they realised the hopelessness of again trying conclusions with the Chartered Company’s forces; they were terrified at their own victory, and, as I myself experienced, it was possible, immediately after the Shangani fight, for a white man to travel alone and unarmed with safety throughout the greater portion of Matabeleland. The death of Wilson and his men brought a complete peace to the land, so they did not fall in vain. The story of the Shangani will be told in many a kraal; and the prestige these Britons won for their countrymen will go far to check the ardour of turbulent tribes and to preserve the peace of Africa.

Not one man of Wilson’s party survived to tell the tale of that hopeless but fierce stand of the thirty-four against thousands; but various native rumours reached us. I was at Inyati when Dawson, some three months after the fight, returned from his mission to the Shangani: he gave me the full details he had gathered from Matabele who had taken part in the fight; and later on old Umjan himself came in, and told us all that had taken place, extolling the bravery of the white men with a simple but most impressive eloquence. It is his narrative I purpose to repeat here.

It will be well first to recall the events that led up to the despatch of Wilson’s patrol. Lobengula’s impis had been broken in two decisive battles; Buluwayo had been occupied by the Company’s troops; a considerable proportion of the disheartened Matabele, having been offered by Dr. Jameson easy terms of peace, and, realising that they would be treated with generosity, were quite ready to “come in,” but dared not so long as the King was still holding out with a large force of his followers. It was therefore essential that the King should be captured or be induced to submit, in order to effect the pacification of the country and avoid further bloodshed. Lobengula, in reply to Dr. Jameson’s messages inviting him to surrender and guaranteeing his safety, had at first promised to “come in,” but had subsequently either altered his intention, or had been constrained by his warlike following. Spies brought in information that he was retreating to the north with a considerable force consisting of the remnants of his broken impis, with the object either of organising a stand further on, or of crossing the Zambesi to establish another military despotism beyond the great river.

Dr. Jameson accordingly sent a force, under Major P. W. Forbes, in pursuit of the King; but this column failed to come up with the fugitive, for, having exhausted its supplies, it was compelled to retire on Inyati, a mission station forty miles to the north-east of Buluwayo. It was afterwards ascertained that Lobengula was only three miles away when his pursuers turned back.

Reinforcements with food and ammunition were then sent to Shiloh, another mission station between Buluwayo and Inyati, and from this place Major Forbes set out afresh with 300 men, on November 25th, to overtake the King. There had been very heavy rains, and the roadless wilderness through which they had to go was little better than a morass, almost impassable for waggons. They had made but little progress by November 29th, and Major Forbes, finding that his horses and oxen were becoming exhausted and realising that the King would never be caught unless the column travelled faster, sent all his waggons and a considerable portion of his force back to Inyati, only retaining 160 men, mounted on the best of the horses, of whom sixty were troopers of the Bechuanaland Border Police, the remainder volunteers of the Salisbury, Victoria, and Tuli columns. He took with him two Maxims, and horses carrying ten days’ rations for each man. This little force then pushed on rapidly, despite the heavy rains and the fever that prevails at that season in the lowlands. They were on a hot scent, and knew that the King could not be far ahead of them. Each day they came to his recently abandoned camps, and found frequent signs of his retreat. They thrust their way through the thick bush and across the swamps, following the spoor of the King’s three waggons, occasionally capturing stragglers from his force or some, of his cattle. The Matabele hovered round, watching them all the while; but no attack was made upon them, though the scouts had narrow escapes.

At last, on the 3rd of December, they came to a valley near the banks of the Shangani and found a _scherm_ (enclosure of bushes), which had evidently been vacated but a very short time before, for the fires were still burning within it. A chiefs son, who was captured at this place, confessed that the King had slept there on the previous night, and was not far off. This was good news, and all hoped that they would be rewarded for the privations they had undergone by the speedy capture of Lobengula. But it was now five o’clock in the evening, and darkness would soon make it impossible for the column to proceed; so Major Forbes, having selected a strong position in which to laagar for the night, decided to send Major Allan Wilson with a party of about twenty men, to reconnoitre. Among those who volunteered to go on this patrol were several officers and some of the leading settlers in Mashonaland: it consisted, indeed, of the very pick of frontier manhood. Major Wilson’s instructions were to follow the King’s spoor and ascertain his whereabouts, and to return to the laagar before dark. It was Major Forbes’s intention to remain where he was until dawn, and then to make a final dash for the King. Supplies were now running short, and unless Lobengula was captured on the morrow the chase would have to be abandoned, and the column would have to return to Inyati. Shortly after the patrol had set out, a native prisoner gave Major Forbes reliable information to the effect that an impi of about 3,000 Matabele was then hemming in his force, so extra precautions were taken to guard the laagar against surprise during the night, which was an exceedingly dark one.

Early in the night, two of Major Wilson’s party rode in with a message for the commanding officer. They reported that the patrol had crossed the Shangani, and that Major Wilson, having ascertained that the King, accompanied by but few of his followers, was only a short distance ahead of him, had thought it best not to return that night, but would bivouac where he was, close on the King’s heels.

Before midnight three more men came in from Major Wilson. They corroborated the report that the King had sent his impi to surround the column and prevent its crossing the river. They said that the patrol had found a native to guide them, had followed the King’s spoor for some distance, and passed several _scherms_ full of women, children, and cattle. Then they fell in with some of the King’s men, who offered no resistance, possibly imagining that this was the advance guard of the whole column, and that the dreaded Maxims were close behind. An officer, who was acting as interpreter, shouted to the natives that the white men would not injure them, but wanted to talk to the King. Just as it was getting dark, they approached some _scherms_, in one of which, the guide told them, was the King himself. A number of armed Matabele came out with threatening action ready to protect the waggons, and were surrounding the patrol. A heavy rain-storm now rendered the obscurity intense, so Major Wilson was compelled to retire, and took up his position for the night in the bush half a mile away.

MR. RILEY. UMJAN. MR. DAWSON.

(The waggon is the one in which Messrs Dawson and Riley
returned from the Shangani with the King’s wives as
described.)]

Major Forbes, hemmed in as he was by the enemy’s impi, would have been guilty of extreme rashness had he ventured to take his whole force and his Maxims across a difficult river and through dense bush on a dark night, when the Matabele could have easily rushed the column with their assegais and annihilated it; but he at once despatched Captain Borrow to Major Wilson with a reinforcement of twenty men, while he explained in a letter that he would cross the river at daylight with the column to join him.

At dawn, the column under Major Forbes prepared to advance, and, while doing so, heavy firing was heard across the river, showing that Wilson’s party was already in action with the enemy. Major Forbes followed the King’s spoor towards the Shangani drift, and no sooner had the column reached the high river bank than a heavy fire was opened on it by the enemy concealed in the surrounding bush. The troopers were quickly formed up, the Maxims were got into action, and a smart skirmish ensued, in the course of which the white force lost sixteen horses, and had five men wounded. At last the enemy’s fire was silenced, and Major Forbes was able to retire along the river bank and take up a better position where bush afforded cover.

In every way luck seemed to be against the white men on this fatal day; for it was now observed that the Shangani, which had been easily fordable on the previous day, had, as is the way of African rivers, suddenly swollen by the morning to a broad, deep, and rushing flood, across which it would be impossible to take a body of armed men, to say nothing of the Maxims. Heavy storms had been raging on the distant hills, and all the rivers were up, so that the main column and the patrol were cut off from one another.

But while the action I have described was taking place, three men had succeeded with some difficulty in swimming the Shangani. These were three troopers from Wilson’s party. They rode up to the column with haggard faces that plainly told of disaster, and one of them--Burnham, the American scout--came up to Major Forbes, and said with breathless emotion: “I think I may say that we are the sole survivors of that fight.”

Then he told his story. Captain Borrow and the reinforcement had reached Major Wilson’s camp on the previous night, without falling in with the enemy.

At dawn, Major Wilson decided to make a rush on the King’s waggons. The whole force galloped up to within a few yards of the _scherm_, and then halted, while the interpreter shouted out to the King to come out and speak with the white men. The reply was a heavy fire from the King’s _scherm_ and from the bush on either side. The fire was returned by our men; but, finding that the enemy were surrounding him, Major Wilson retreated for about half a mile, and took up a position on one of the gigantic ant-heaps which are frequent in this part of Africa. Here the action was carried on for some time, the Matabele fire being very wild and-producing little effect; but as the enemy were again surrounding him, under cover of the dense bush, Major Wilson ordered his men to remount, and the party commenced their retreat towards the river, retracing their way along the spoor of the King’s waggons.

Major Wilson then asked Burnham to make an attempt to reach the column and inform Major Forbes of the position of affairs. Burnham took with him two of the best-mounted troopers, and the three galloped off. They had not ridden far before they came upon a large body of Matabele, which was evidently marching to cut off Major Wilson’s retreat. The three troopers rode for their lives through the storm of bullets that was directed upon them, and contrived to escape uninjured to the river-bank. As they rode, they heard a heavy firing behind them, which told them that the body of the enemy they had just passed had attacked Wilson’s party. Burnham said that the patrol must have been completely surrounded by several thousands of Matabele warriors, and that it was impossible that a single trooper could escape; for the patrol, as he explained, could only retreat slowly, if at all--it could not cut its way through the Matebele: several of the horses had been killed, so that some horses had to carry two men; most of the horses were worn out, and there would be wounded men also to carry off. True, the best-mounted men might have galloped through and saved their lives; but a _sauve qui peut_ is an expedient not resorted to in African warfare by white men, and still less so by men of the stamp of Wilson and his companions: they would certainly have stood by each other to the end.

On reaching the river at the point they had crossed it on the previous day, Burnham and his two companions found it in flood, and had to follow the bank for a considerable distance before they came to a place where they could swim across.

There was now nothing left to Major Forbes but to save the remnant of his force, and retreat on Inyati and Buluwayo. The river was still up, and might remain so for days. It was absolutely impossible to transport Maxims across it, and to have sent men over the river without Maxims would have been to condemn them to certain slaughter. Major Forbes remained where he was for one day, in the hope of hearing some news of Wilson’s party; but none came. He then commenced his retreat along the left bank of the Shangani river, having first despatched two troopers to find their way to Buluwayo and ask Dr. Jameson to send reinforcements, food, and ammunition to meet him.

The hazardous retreat to Inyati occupied eleven days. The column suffered great privations, and was perpetually harassed by the Matabele, who hovered round it, creeping along through the bush on either side of the line of march, watching for an opportunity to rush the white men, but having a due respect for the Maxims. They occasionally opened a hot fire on the troopers and their horses, they attempted surprises, and were not repulsed without further loss to the already weakened column. In these skirmishes, the enemy succeeded in shooting a number of the horses, while many other horses died, or became so feeble that they had to be abandoned on the way: in all, about 130 horses were lost. The wounded men rode, but the troopers who were not ill and Major Forbes himself were now without mounts, and had to march over such rough ground that their boots soon wore out, and many of the men were walking in their wallets. At last there were no horses left sufficiently strong to carry the Maxims, so the gun-carriages were abandoned, and the Maxims were carried by men on foot. All baggage also was thrown away, the men retaining but a blanket each.

The men were worn out by the hard marching and constant anxiety, but displayed an admirable spirit. All supplies had run out, and they lived on the tough flesh of their exhausted horses. On one occasion they captured some of Lobengula’s cattle; but the enemy then fell on the column, and, during the progress of a smart skirmish, recovered the cattle and drove them all off again.

At last, when they were within a day’s march of Inyati, the troopers met the relief column that had been sent from Buluwayo with a good supply of food: they had now done with their privations and alarms, and reached Buluwayo without further difficulties.

At the end of January another patrol of 180 troopers of the Bechuanaland Border Police, under Colonel Gould Adams, with two Maxims, set out for the scene of the Shangani disaster, with the object of recovering the remains of Major Wilson’s party and the abandoned gun-carriages. It was also the aim of this expedition to follow up the Matabele _amajakas_--who were still holding out in force on the Shangani, and were preventing others from coming in--and to bring the King to terms if possible. This patrol, which I accompanied, did not get farther than Inyati. Very heavy rains made it impossible to push beyond that point for some weeks, and then, as the rainy season had set in in earnest, and the men, bivouacking night after night on the muddy ground, would have suffered much from the lowland fever, the Imperial authorities countermanded the patrol.

Dr. Jameson was still very anxious to enter into communication with Lobengula, whose whereabouts was unknown. There could be no secured peace until he had come to terms. Several natives whom the Administrator had sent with messages to the King failed to reach him; they came back and confessed that when they had fallen in with raiding parties of young warriors from the King’s force they had been afraid to go further, lest they should be put to death as spies of the white men.

As native messengers, not unnaturally, shirked the duty, it became apparent that Lobengula could only be approached by some white man who happened to be a _persona grata_ to the King, and who was willing to undertake the perilous adventure. Mr. James Dawson--a Scotchman, who had for some years been residing in Buluwayo as a trader, respected by both white and black, a man possessed of the tact so necessary to one negotiating with suspicious savages, and whose relations with the King had always been most friendly--now pluckily volunteered to go to the King himself and deliver Dr. Jameson’s message. He accordingly set out with a Scotch cart on February the 4th, 1894, accompanied by one other brave white man, Mr. Patrick Riley, also an old resident in Matabeleland and a friend of Lobengula’s.

We waited anxiously until March the 7th, on which day Messrs. Dawson and Riley, having successfully accomplished the objects of their hazardous mission, returned to Inyati. As it came in there were signs to show that the party had had a very rough journey. The Scotch cart, dilapidated, its tent-cover torn by the thorny bush, was slowly drawn towards the camp by weary oxen; while the natives, who had set out from here thirty-two days before, active, well-nourished, and cheerful, now painfully crawled along with a miserable air, lean, haggard, their wasted limbs aching with the fever of the pestilential region they had traversed.

Mr. Dawson told me the story of his journey. The heaviest rains of the season fell while he and his companions were away, and their progress was very slow. Four days after their departure they came to an uninhabited country, where they travelled with difficulty among rocky _kopjies_ or across deep morasses, often having to cut a way through the dense bush. Here wild beasts abounded, and each night numbers of lions roared around their camp. On reaching the banks of the Shangani they fell in with small parties of Matabele, who had decided to “come in,” and were on their way to Buluwayo. From these Dawson first learnt that the King was dead, and that his message would, therefore, have to be delivered to the chief indunas. On February 13th the mission arrived at the Shangani drift, and there found a number of natives suffering terribly from disease and lack of proper food: they had no grain of any sort, and had been subsisting on flesh alone. They were all anxious to “come in,” but had been afraid to do so, thinking that the white men would kill them in revenge for the cutting off of Major Wilson’s party. They were delighted to see Dawson and to hear his reassuring promises.

On the further side of the river was stationed a large force of Matabele, the _amajakas_ of the Royal Regiment and others. These young warriors, suspecting that the two white men were the scouts of some patrol that was advancing to attack them, at first made hostile demonstrations; and it was, possibly, fortunate for Dawson and Riley that the Shangani was full at the time and quite impassable. The river did not subside until February 22nd; but in the meanwhile Dawson and the indunas of the regiments opposite communicated with each other by shouting across the swollen stream. Dawson thus succeeded in delivering his message of peace, allayed the apprehension of the Matabele, and established friendly relations with them. On the 22nd some men swam across the river to Dawson, and he was enabled to more fully explain to them the treatment they would receive if they “came in.”

On February 23rd the two white men crossed the river. This district must be excessively pestilential, for out of the thousands of Matabele whom Dawson found on the further bank of the Shangani, there was scarcely a man who was not down with fever, while numbers had perished. Their condition was most pitiable: many looked more like skeletons than men. Dawson found that even the young _amajakas_, weakened and dispirited by the sufferings they had undergone, had no heart for further fighting, but were anxious to “come in.” Dawson succeeded in convincing them that the white men, far from wishing to kill those who had fought in the war, respected these men most, and would treat them honourably. Umjan, who conducted the negotiations, was rejoiced to hear this, and said he knew the white indunas meant the Matabele well, for had they not sent to them as envoys the old friends of their people, Dawson and Riley, whom they trusted, and not strangers? So all agreed to go in and lay down their arms. The object of the mission was thus effected, and the rapid pacification of the country was insured.

Dawson found at this deadly spot not only Umjan, the old commander-in-chief, but several others of the leading indunas. He learnt that a number of people of note had died of disease or had committed suicide, and on Lobengula’s death several of his wives had hung themselves. Umjan told Dawson the story of the King’s decease and obsequies. Lobengula was suffering from fever and smallpox, but his heart was broken because the _amajakas_ of his own--his favourite regiment, the Imbezu--had deserted him after the last fight: he contemplated suicide. Buzungwan, the head dance-doctor, or master of the ceremonies at the great festival of the first fruits, was the only man of note with the dying King. Umjan was sent for, but arrived too late to see Lobengula alive. “It is now time for your work--to bury the King,” said Buzungwan to him, pointing to the corpse. Umjan performed this honourable duty according to the traditional custom. He carried the body to a hollow under a precipice, and placed it on a stone so that it sat upright with the face turned towards the rising sun. He put upon it the richest royal raiment and ornaments, and placed the King’s war assegais in the dead hands. After piercing the body with an assegai, Umjan built a chamber of stones around it, with one great flat stone at the top, and then went away leaving Lobengula, the Calf of the Great Elephant, sitting in state, just as he was wont to do when alive.

All the people now prepared to leave the deadly banks of the Shangani and “come in.” Numbers were too weak to travel, so Dawson promised that food and medicine should be sent to them without delay. Some of the indunas accompanied him back to Inyati to represent the others. I was present when they were brought before Dr. Jameson. The Administrator explained to them that there would be no more king, and the white men would govern the country, but the indunas who behaved well would still rule their people, being answerable to the white magistrates; and there must be no more killing or witchcraft. He promised them full protection, and told them to return to the cultivation of the lands they had occupied before the war. He assured them that the white men bore no grudge against those of the Matabele who had taken up arms against them and killed their soldiers. White men knew they must lose some of their number when they went to war. The man he respected most in the whole country was old Urnjan, who had fought hardest against us, and had stood by his King to the very end. Dr. Jameson then asked the indunas if they had anything to say. They replied that, having no other road to go, they had come to lay down their heads before the great white chief, who could kill them or not. They were pleased with the treatment they had received at the hands of the white man. “And now we can sleep,” they concluded by saying--the usual Zulu method of expressing relief from anxiety. Often when men came in to surrender at Buluwayo, and Dr. Jameson asked them what they wanted, they would reply: “We have come to learn if we may sleep.”

When Dawson and Riley were on the Shangani, the natives took them to the spot where Wilson’s party had fallen--about four miles from the river-bank. They found the bones of the thirty-four troopers lying close together where the men had stood at bay and died fighting. Dawson buried these remains temporarily under a mopani tree, on which he cut the simple inscription: “To brave men.” He described the trees and bushes all round this spot as being cut about by what must have been a tremendous fire. It is estimated that the thirty-four white men killed ten times their number of the enemy, at least, on that day before they were slaughtered.

(_From a sketch from life by Mr. A. E. Maund._)]

The fine old warrior, Umjan, whom I met at Buluwayo when he “came in” to surrender to the Administrator, gave a graphic and clear account of all that occurred. Umjan said that the King was not with his waggons when Major Wilson’s party attacked them: he had fled the day before with several of his indunas. Umjan had been sent by Lobengula on December 2nd with a strong impi to fall on Forbes’ column in the dense bush. Finding the column encamped in the open near the river, Umjan had to alter his plans. He left a portion of his force to lie in ambush on either side of the drift, and returned with the remainder to guard the King.

On the night of the 3rd, Umjan returned to the King’s waggons and learnt that the King had gone, and he was informed that Major Wilson’s patrol was encamped not far off in the bush. Umjan decided to do nothing that night, and await dawn. Wilson’s party was thus caught in a trap: behind it was the force ambushed at the drift, which had allowed the white men to ride by; in front was the force with Umjan.

In the morning Major Wilson attacked the waggons, and was repulsed in the manner described by Burnham. Umjan said that the white men retreated towards the river for about three miles, fighting gallantly all the while; and it was then that their further retreat was cut off by the other Matabele force which had crossed the river in the night, and which, hearing the heavy firing, had left the drift and was hurrying along the King’s spoor to take part in the fight.

Umjan and those with him saw Burnham and the other two troopers ride off just before the white men were completely hemmed in by overwhelming numbers. The Matabele did not understand that these three men had been despatched to obtain reinforcements, and marvelled that those others of the white men who had horses did not also “take refuge in flight instead of fighting by the side of their comrades until all were dead together.” We have only the Matabele account of what took place subsequent to the riding off of Burnham. Umjan said that the white men made several desperate attempts to break through the encircling swarms of Matabele, who were continually being reinforced by fresh arrivals.

At last, having lost several horses and having some men wounded, the troopers determined to sell their lives dearly. They formed into a close ring and, under cover of their fallen horses, opened a deadly fire on the Matabele whenever a rush was attempted. Umjan spoke with keen enthusiasm of the grand standing at bay of his white foemen. As they repelled each fresh attack with rifles and revolvers, and added to the heaps of Matabele dead that surrounded them, the troopers, said Umjan, “cheered and jeered at us as cowards, challenging us to come nearer.” The Matabele perpetually raised their guttural war-cry, “_Shzee! shzee!_” while, from under cover of the bush, they poured a constant fire into the thick of the white men. There was no crying for quarter on the part of the latter. They fought on grimly: when a man was wounded he laid down and continued to fire, or, if he was unable to fight, handed up his ammunition to his companions. “The white men are indeed the right men to meet in battle, even when they have no Maxims!” exclaimed old Umjan with flashing eyes.

And so they fought on, until at last all were either killed or wounded so severely that they could not fight longer, with the exception of one big man “who would not die.” “We could not kill him, often though we wounded him,” declared Umjan, “and we thought that he must have been a wizard.” This man, who was never identified, stood on the top of a large ant-heap, which was in the centre of an open space. He had collected round him the revolvers and the rifles, and ammunition of several of his dead comrades, and he killed a number of his assailants. The Matabele could not muster courage to approach him, for, according to their description, “he picked up weapon after weapon and fired rapidly, and with wonderful accuracy in all directions--in front of him, to the side of him, and over his shoulders--whenever Matabele ventured to come out of the bush into the open.” After killing many of them, he was at last shot in the hip, and had to fight sitting down. He sold his life dearly, and it was not till he sank exhausted from loss of blood from many wounds, that the Matabele made a rush on him, and stabbed him to death with their assegais. Even then it was not all over, for some of the dying troopers summoned sufficient strength to fire their revolvers at the approaching Matabele; and by this time the indomitable resistance they had met with, and the extent of their losses, had so awed and scared the enemy that they fled precipitately into the bush from that narrow circle of dead and dying Englishmen, and did not come back until some hours later when they found all was quiet: not one of their brave foemen was left alive.

Umjan, himself a gallant leader, far superior to his degenerate Zulu warriors, who often refused to follow him, thoroughly appreciated the dogged valour displayed by Wilson and his men. These were men after his own heart. Speaking to some of his _amajakas_ in Dawson’s hearing, he said: “We were fighting then with men of men, whose fathers were men of men before them. They fought and died together: those who could have saved themselves chose to remain and die with their brothers. Do not forget this. You did not think that white men were as brave as Matabele; but now you must see that they are men indeed, to whom you are as but timid girls.”

Our men, it appears, did not exhaust their ammunition before they were slaughtered, as was at first reported, and Dawson found cartridges in the pouches and in the revolvers of the dead troopers; so it is more than probable that Wilson and his comrades gave a very good account of themselves, and sold their lives dearly as they fell, man after man, to the very last; and it is certain that they did not die before they had killed some four hundred of the enemy.

Dawson made a second journey to the banks of the Shangani, to carry supplies of food and medicine to the suffering Matabele, and brought back with him several leading natives and the surviving queens of Lobengula. The appearance of these people fully bore out his description of their condition. Though he had selected the strongest and most fit to travel, they were frightfully emaciated, some being reduced by famine and fever to the nearest approach to skeletons possible for a living creature: despite all his care, twenty-five people perished on the journey. On this occasion, Dawson disinterred the remains of Wilson’s party, and brought back with him the thirty-four skulls, most of which, we observed, had been pierced by bullets. These skulls are to be buried in consecrated ground near those grand remains of an unknown civilisation and religion--the ruins of the Zimbabwe temple. Here Mr. Cecil Rhodes proposes to raise a granite monolith to the memory of these brave men. I have seen the site, than which none more suitable could have been selected--a bare rocky mound rising above a wilderness of dense tropical bush and flowering trees, halfway between the pagan temple on the plain and the rugged Zimbabwe _kopjie_, crowned with massive fortifications of immense antiquity. A monument of simple dignity, standing amid these mysterious ruins, and surrounded by this wild and lonely scenery, will produce a most impressive effect.

THE SIEGE AND STORMING OF DELHI

BY CHARLES LOWE]

Delhi, the ancient and magnificent capital of the Grand Moguls, or Mahomedan rulers of India, became the focus of the great and ever-memorable mutiny which made our Indian Empire run with blood during the year 1857. Of this mutiny among the native Indian troops, or sepoys, in British pay, some ugly signs had already been observed early in the year; but it was only on the 10th of May that military revolt openly raised its terrible head at Meerut--a place about forty miles north-east of Delhi. There were several causes of this rebellion, but perhaps the chief one was the fact that the native troops had been forced to use greased cartridges, which their religious principles or prejudices forbade them even to touch, as being encased with the fat of so unclean an animal as a pig. Out of respect for their scruples on this head, new rules had been made allowing the sepoys to tear, instead of bite, off the ends of the cartridges; but even this concession did not satisfy them, and, for positively refusing to touch the cartridges that were offered them, about a squadron of native cavalry at Meerut were sentenced to ten years’ penal servitude. In presence of the whole garrison, they were stripped of their uniforms, fitted with fetters, and marched off to prison, yelling out curses at their colonel as they went. Next evening the storm of evil and long-pent-up passions broke loose. The sepoy regiments at Meerut rose in open revolt, rushed to the gaol and released their comrades, murdered some of their English officers and their wives, plundered and slew like demons, and, leaving the place running with blood and wrapt in flames, fled to Delhi, the great stronghold of the Mahomedan dynasty and faith. So sudden and sanguinary had been this outburst against the British rule and name that the English commanders--all but a few whose energetic counsel was rejected--lost their heads completely for the time being, as if paralysed with astonishment and unbelief; and by the time they had recovered their senses the fugitive mutineers were safe within the walls of Delhi.

Standing on the right, or western, bank of the Jumna, which is here about a quarter of a mile broad, Delhi had a circumference of about seven miles and a population of nearly 200,000. In its palmiest days the city was said to have covered an area of twenty square miles. At the time of the mutiny it formed a magnificent collection of temples, mosques, and palaces. Of the mosques the chief was that of the Jumma Musjid, or great Mahomedan cathedral--a truly noble structure, towering above the rest of the city. Again, there was the mosque of Roushan-ud-Daulah, where, in 1739, Nadir Shar sat and witnessed the massacre of the unfortunate inhabitants. But that was nothing to what the present king of Delhi, Bahadoor Shah, was now about to look upon. Under the English, this descendant of Timour the Tartar had become the mere shadow of a king, and the thought that he was no longer a potentate, but a mere puppet in the hands of the real masters of India, had inflamed his heart against them with a passion which only needed a spark of fire to set it in a blaze. That spark was supplied by the sudden advent of the mutineers from Meerut on the 11th of May.

Crossing the Jumna by the bridge of boats they swarmed into the courtyard of the palace, where they were eagerly joined by the royal guards. Captain Douglas, the commander of these guards, rushed down from the presence of the King to quiet the turmoil, but his presence only made it worse. He was joined by Mr. Fraser, the Commissioner, and Mr. Hutchinson, the Collector; but the surging, roaring crowd closed in upon them with murder in their eyes The Englishmen attempted flight, Captain Douglas flinging himself into the moat; but he was badly hurt by his fall, while Mr. Hutchinson was also wounded. As these two were being carried to the apartments over the palace gateway, Mr. Fraser made one last effort to appease the multitude; but while in the act of speaking he was cut down and hewn to pieces. The whole ferocious crew then rushed to the upper rooms, where Mr. Jennings, the Chaplain, his daughter, and a young lady friend were tending the wounds of Captain Douglas and Mr. Hutchinson. Bursting open the doors, the dark, demoniacal throng poured in and hacked them to pieces. Then the sepoys, maddened with blood, streamed forth from the palace, and, accompanied by the scum of the city--the very vilest of mankind--flew to the European quarters, where they slew, burned, ravished, and raged without mercy--tossing English babies up on the points of their bayonets, and committing the most inhuman barbarities on their mothers, of which the very description would still bring burning tears to the eyes. An English telegraph clerk heard the awful uproar, but even when the flood of murder came surging towards him he went on with his work--click, click, click--flashing his warning message up to the authorities at the various military stations in the Punjab. “The sepoys,” he wired, “have come in from Meerut and are burning everything. Mr. Todd is dead, and, we hear, several Europeans. We must shut up.” The last click died away. The red-handed rebels burst in, and the staunch, cool-headed signaller died at his post, as most of his English countrymen did, and all were prepared to do, on that awful day of blood.