The Shangani Patrol (41 page)
Read The Shangani Patrol Online
Authors: John Wilcox
‘I don’t like any of this,’ said Alice. ‘The fundamentally immoral nature of Rhodes’s position here is being exposed all the time. Things are building up. Rhodes must not push Lobengula too far. If he does, the lid really will come off the pot.’
There had been so many false alarms, however, both on the long journey to the north and in the petty skirmishes since the farmers and miners had become tentatively established, that few of the white folk in the tiny townships or out on the veldt believed that the explosion would come. For the Fonthills, the news was brought by a Kaffir on horseback, who arrived at their remote holding with a message from Jameson. It was terse and to the point:
Big trouble with Matabele around Fort Victoria. Can you come right away?
Simon had come to respect the little Scotsman, and such a request could not be resisted. With Jenkins and Mzingeli, therefore, he prepared to ride south. His intention was that Alice would stay with the two boys and look after the cattle. Inevitably, though, she insisted on joining them. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the ‘big trouble’, this would be too good a story to resist, and the arrival of the telegraph at Victoria meant that she could cable a dispatch to the
Morning Post
immediately. Simon’s protests were easily overridden, and the four arrived to find that the situation around the little town had become critical.
Morning Post
immediately. Simon’s protests were easily overridden, and the four arrived to find that the situation around the little town had become critical.
They rode through country just outside Victoria that was littered with the corpses of killed and mutilated Mashonas. The Matabele impi had taken this opportunity to wash their spears, and it seemed that few had been spared, including natives working on the new farms, some of whom had been pursued into the farmhouses and butchered under the horrified eyes of the settlers.
Fonthill found Jameson in a determined but unfazed mood.
‘Glad you could come with your private army, old chap,’ he said, rising from the chair in a little hut near the ramparts where he had set up his headquarters. He bowed gallantly to Alice.
‘How did it start?’ asked Fonthill.
‘Usual thing. The local Mashona chief here refused to bend the knee to Lobengula. In his time-honoured fashion, the king sent two and a half thousand warriors to carry out what he felt was some well-deserved disembowelling. This time, though, the chief lived close to the town. The arrival of an impi in full war regalia was frightening enough to our folk here, but then the Matabele proceeded to kill
all
of the Mashonas in the area, including, as you have seen, many who worked for the white men. Settlers from around have flocked into the town behind our rather flimsy walls and the war drums are beating.’
all
of the Mashonas in the area, including, as you have seen, many who worked for the white men. Settlers from around have flocked into the town behind our rather flimsy walls and the war drums are beating.’
Alice looked up from her notebook. ‘Have any white people been killed?’
‘Not yet, although cattle have been stolen.’ Jameson removed his spectacles and vigorously polished the lenses with his handkerchief. ‘
I
certainly don’t want war and I am sure that Lobengula doesn’t either. If we do have a little skirmish here, then I think the king might even be glad that we have relieved a bit of the pressure on him by thrashing some of his young warriors.’
I
certainly don’t want war and I am sure that Lobengula doesn’t either. If we do have a little skirmish here, then I think the king might even be glad that we have relieved a bit of the pressure on him by thrashing some of his young warriors.’
‘Depends upon whether his foot is achin’ or not, I should think,’ murmured Jenkins, but no one seemed to hear him.
‘The trouble is,’ continued Jameson, ‘the settlers here have put up with a lot over the last few days. This impi is composed of very arrogant young bloods who undoubtedly have behaved extremely badly. I am afraid that, uncharacteristically, so has Lobengula.’ The administrator leaned forward. ‘He has sent a most brusque letter to the magistrate here, demanding that the Mashonas who are sheltering within the walls of the fort should be handed over to Manyao, the
inDuna
who is leading the impi. He has offered one insolent concession: he says that they will not be killed near the river, where they might pollute the water, but would be finished off in the bush.’
inDuna
who is leading the impi. He has offered one insolent concession: he says that they will not be killed near the river, where they might pollute the water, but would be finished off in the bush.’
Fonthill frowned. ‘It sounds as though things have gone too far.’
‘Yes. The other complicating factor is that the settlers here, having been frightened out of their lives, are just itching for a fight, and are talking about dealing with the Matabele “now and for ever”. So I’ve got two lots of hotheads on my hands, so to speak. Even so, I think I can handle it.’ He sat back in his chair, his bald pate gleaming.
‘What do you propose to do?’ asked Fonthill.
‘I have rushed a very polite but firm letter by special messenger over to Lobengula in Bulawayo, asking him to withdraw his impi at once. In the meantime, however, I have summoned Manyao to a meeting on the banks of the River Tokwe. As you know, I have always believed that talking is better than fighting. I think I can calm everyone down.’
Alice looked up from her pad, her face flushed. ‘I do hope so,’ she said. ‘Lobengula has been pushed pretty far already in my view. I don’t think anyone back home - and particularly in the government - wants another native war. It’s Lord Salisbury in Number Ten now, you know. Not Disraeli.’
‘Aye, I understand that. But if the members of the House of Commons could see the bodies that you saw when you rode in, then perhaps they might have a different view of things. But as I say, I am going to try and cool things down. You’re welcome to come to the meeting.’
The following morning, Jameson took his kitchen chair down to the banks of the river and sat with his back to the fort, with a handful of settlers and Captain Lendy, the officer in charge of the modest detachment of soldiers based at Victoria. Fonthill, Alice, Jenkins and Mzingeli joined them.
As Fonthill arrived, he drew in his breath at the Matabele ranged opposite the little doctor, a small group of
inDunas
at their head. He had never before seen so many of Lobengula’s men arrayed for battle. One hundred and fifty of the two and a half thousand massed on the other side of the river formed a semicircle in front of Jameson. They were splendid specimens. Tall and muscular, and naked except for their loincloths and monkey tails at calf and biceps, they wore warpaint on their faces and chests and their black skin glistened in the morning sunlight. Plumes nodded from their heads, and most carried assegais and shields, though some were proudly nursing new rifles. They were restive and their postures exuded hostility, most of the warriors jigging up and down. It was as if their killing spree had released a long-pent-up savagery within them.
inDunas
at their head. He had never before seen so many of Lobengula’s men arrayed for battle. One hundred and fifty of the two and a half thousand massed on the other side of the river formed a semicircle in front of Jameson. They were splendid specimens. Tall and muscular, and naked except for their loincloths and monkey tails at calf and biceps, they wore warpaint on their faces and chests and their black skin glistened in the morning sunlight. Plumes nodded from their heads, and most carried assegais and shields, though some were proudly nursing new rifles. They were restive and their postures exuded hostility, most of the warriors jigging up and down. It was as if their killing spree had released a long-pent-up savagery within them.
‘Blimey,’ murmured Jenkins. ‘I don’t like the look of that lot. ’Ow many men ’ave we got to fight ’em, if it comes to it?’
Fonthill spoke softly so that Alice could not hear. ‘About forty or so soldiers, I think, with probably the same number of settlers who can handle weapons. Not exactly an army. Let’s hope that Jameson can talk them out of more killing.’
The doctors raised his hand for silence. For a moment all that could be heard was the buzzing of the thousands of flies that had decided to attend the conference, probably still gorged from feasting on the bodies that surrounded the fort. Then Jameson began to speak. He did so observing the etiquette that members of the Zulu race espoused at meetings of this sort: welcoming Manyao and his
inDunas
with compliments but suggesting that they had gone too far by indulging in the mass slaughter in the country that he, Jameson, now controlled.
inDunas
with compliments but suggesting that they had gone too far by indulging in the mass slaughter in the country that he, Jameson, now controlled.
Manyao was an elderly man, with the
isiCoco
ring of the
inDuna
woven into his grey hair, and he spoke with equal politeness and dignity. Through his interpreter he pointed out that the original treaty with Rhodes had acknowledged that Lobengula was king not only of Matabeleland but also of Mashonaland, and that the only powers given to the white men had been to dig for minerals, not to erect forts or settle the land. For more than a century the Matabele had collected tribute from the Mashona, and the law decreed that default was punishable by death. The action taken had been within the law and following precedent. No white people had been hurt.
isiCoco
ring of the
inDuna
woven into his grey hair, and he spoke with equal politeness and dignity. Through his interpreter he pointed out that the original treaty with Rhodes had acknowledged that Lobengula was king not only of Matabeleland but also of Mashonaland, and that the only powers given to the white men had been to dig for minerals, not to erect forts or settle the land. For more than a century the Matabele had collected tribute from the Mashona, and the law decreed that default was punishable by death. The action taken had been within the law and following precedent. No white people had been hurt.
Alice put her pencil in her mouth and tugged at her husband’s sleeve. ‘I don’t approve of the killings,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘but if this was a court of law, old Manyao would have won the verdict hands down.’
The
inDuna
finished speaking, and it was clear that, for once, Jameson had no reply. The silence hung on the air like a blanket of embarrassment as the doctor sought uncharacteristically for words. Then one of the minor
inDunas
, named Umgandaan, stepped forward. He was much younger than Manyao, tall and well muscled, a warrior in his prime. But while Manyao had been rational and elegant, Umgandaan was truculent and loud. His king, he said, was paramount in his own country, and he had been sent to perform the king’s will. No white man would stop him.
inDuna
finished speaking, and it was clear that, for once, Jameson had no reply. The silence hung on the air like a blanket of embarrassment as the doctor sought uncharacteristically for words. Then one of the minor
inDunas
, named Umgandaan, stepped forward. He was much younger than Manyao, tall and well muscled, a warrior in his prime. But while Manyao had been rational and elegant, Umgandaan was truculent and loud. His king, he said, was paramount in his own country, and he had been sent to perform the king’s will. No white man would stop him.
His aggression produced a murmur of dissatisfaction from the small group of settlers behind Jameson’s chair and gave the doctor his prompt. He cut the young man short and ordered Manyao to withdraw all of his impi across the river before sundown, or his white soldiers would drive them across.
‘With what?’ asked Jenkins sotto voce. ‘Three blokes on ’orseback?’
The meeting broke up in surly disarray. Jameson picked up his chair and strode towards Fonthill, who blew out his cheeks in consternation. He remembered hearing that the doctor had earned a reputation in Kimberley as a hard-nosed poker player. ‘You’re taking a big risk, aren’t you, Jameson? What will you do if they call your bluff? We’re outnumbered by about fifty to one. And they’ve got rifles.’
The little man seemed completely unfazed. ‘They’ll go,’ he said. ‘I know these people. They think they’re Zulus but they’re not really. They will move back by tonight, you’ll see.’
But they did not.
Looking down from the flimsy mud ramparts of the fort as the sun sank towards the horizon, Jameson, with Lendy and Fonthill, realised that the Matabele impi remained firmly encamped on the Victoria side of the river. Many of those who had remained on the far side for the morning’s meeting had obviously crossed during the day and were now either sitting cross-legged on the bank or milling about, quite unperturbed, under the walls of the township. Fonthill noted, however, that all carried their weapons. In the distance, he saw that another kraal had been set on fire and more of the company’s cattle were being rounded up.
‘Well, I was wrong,’ admitted Jameson.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Fonthill.
The little Scotsman looked up sharply. ‘Do? Why, disperse them, of course. Send ’em back across the river. Off you go, Lendy. How many men do you need?’
The captain looked down on the milling throng below. ‘Well, it would be unwise to take all of my troop,’ he said. ‘Should keep some in reserve back here. I’ll take forty. That should do it.’
Fonthill gulped. Forty against two and a half thousand! ‘Jenkins and I will come with you,’ he said.
‘Rather you didn’t, Fonthill,’ said Jameson. ‘I would be grateful if you two stayed back here with me and organised the manning of the walls. Haven’t got too many chaps, you see, who know what they’re doing in these matters.’
The doctor still seemed quite unconcerned. Simon’s brain, unbidden, recalled the words to him of the British commander at Isandlwana when warned that twenty thousand Zulus were about to descend on him: ‘I hope Johnny Zulu does attack. I’ll give him a bloody nose . . .’
Captain Lendy strode away and Fonthill heard him giving orders to his little troop below. Simon exchanged glances with Jenkins. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘We have little time. Come with me. We’ll run through the streets calling for every fit man to bring his rifle and gather in the square below. Quickly now.’
The two ran down and took to the streets. Within the eight-foot-high mud walls - not high enough, thought Fonthill - the township was more of a hamlet, with insubstantial wooden huts radiating out from the square behind the wooden doors guarding the only entrance, and forming only four streets. It took barely five minutes, given that many men were already on the ramparts, for the main population of the town to gather around them. Fonthill counted: some seventy men, old and young, but all of them carrying rifles, some more than one. Almost as many women and children had accompanied them. To one side stood the ten troopers that Lendy had left behind.
Fonthill looked over his shoulder. Lendy and his men had not saddled up yet. ‘Right,’ he shouted to his little group. ‘Ladies, go and fetch whatever spare ammunition you have. Bring it back as quickly as you can, then take the children and lock yourselves and them in the houses.’
‘I’m not doin’ that,’ one amply proportioned woman called from the back. ‘I’m stayin’ with my man. And the little ’uns will do the same.’ A chorus of approval rang out from the rest of the women.
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