The Matabele Campaign

23d December.– Cloud–wrack and wind, and pale, deceitful sea. Heaving along, we churn our way, till out of the dark swish of the driving rain on a rushing, riotous sea, we suddenly emerge into sunshine and calm in Port Elizabeth roadstead.

Amid the blaze of bunting, and a babel of steamers’ whistles and cheering masses, we follow Cecil Rhodes ashore into the Liverpool of South Africa – and Liverpool at Christmas time (for to–day is Christmas Eve). A banquet lunch of five hundred in the Feather Market, and a dinner at the club at night. Torchlight procession, bands, and “waits.” The whole town – with deputations, too, from all the other “Eastern Province” towns – was keen to do him and Sir Frederick honour; and we, the staff, came in for the full benefit of reflected hospitality. They did us royally! But the genuineness of the feeling towards Rhodes was unmistakable and impressive. It was not a gust of got–up welcome, but a spontaneous burst of enthusiasm, in a place that formerly was distinctly hostile to him. He made five separate speeches in the course of the day – all characteristic.

Christmas Day.– From the rush and whirl of yesterday, one woke to absolute peace in a bright, English–looking bedroom, looking on an English garden with a something more than English wealth of flowers. One could not stay in bed on such a cheerful, sunny morning. After a grand fresh–water tub, Vyvyan and I sallied out to stretch our legs. We started at half–past eight, and only returned ravenous to the club three hours later, after walking out and round the whole of Port Elizabeth. Our walk showed us the miles of busy railway and shipping–wharves, and the stores along the sea–front. Then, by mutual consent, we got out on to the veldt outside the town, both impelled by the same object, viz. to get our coats off. The feeling of sleeves on our arms, when we had been going bare–armed for months, was too irritating to be borne; so we offed coats, rolled up our sleeves, and were happy on the open, breezy racecourse downs, with views of inland veldt and mountains. Then the Park and Botanical Gardens; and the upper town, with avenues of pretty suburban houses, deep sunk in their shady verandahs, with their trim and flowery gardens. In every other one, jolly English children were playing about, and raising their cheery shouts. I only thought how good an object lesson it would be to ship a load of “Little Englanders” out even to this spot alone, just to open their eyes to what a busy, homely colony it is (and yet it is only one of many), and to see what an enormous future generation of strapping colonists is growing up in the glorious sunlight here, for the service of their mother–country.

After breakfast to church. Everything exactly ordered as if at home: the Christmas Day choral service, with a good choir and a fine organ.

And as the anthem of peace and goodwill rolled forth, it brought home to one the fact that a year of strife in savage wilds had now been weathered to a peaceful close.

L’ENVOI

There is little more to add.

That night we were on the ocean steamer Moor. Two days later found us at the Cape.

2nd January.– Table Mountain grows grander and more living every time I see him. His personality grows on one, like that of the Taj Mahal at Agra. I can quite understand certain races worshipping a mountain as their idea of Divinity. Always steadfast and stupendous. You may turn your back on Him and wander away for a while; but whenever you choose to look back, He is there, the same as ever. You have only to go back into His shadow, to find a haven from the chilling wind or withering sun. And you may climb up to Him, to where He sits above the clouds, – which is feasible in proportion to the state of training you are in, – and when you have reached the summit, you can lay you down in peace upon His breast, and contemplate the world below which you have left behind.

6th January.– Cape Town is very busy now, with crowded streets, big shops, electric lighting everywhere, electric trams cavorting through the streets and out to Claremont: such a change from the sleepy, old–world place it used to be. It is much en fête for Rhodes.

To–day we embarked on the Dunvegan Castle (Captain Robinson); splendid new boat. Also on board Cecil Rhodes, Miss Rhodes, and Colonel Frank Rhodes; Lady Grey and Lady Victoria Grey; Sir C. Metcalfe; Olive Schreiner and her husband; Lord C. Bentinck; Hon. J. Ward, M.P.; Rochfort Maguire and his wife; Wilson Tod and Critchley, 4th Hussars; “Bob” Coryndon (also styled Selous the Second), Ronny Moncreiffe, Sir Horace MacMahon, and Eustace Blewitt, etc. etc., and hardly any Jews! A most interesting shipload.

And we left the Cape and its old mountain bathed in the glow of its summer sun – sorry, and yet glad, to go.

A good deck cabin, and the many comforts of Sir Donald Currie’s finest ship, coupled with the varied cheery company on board, made the time fly by. We slipped past Cape de Verd on the 13th, and Madeira at night on the 18th.

27th January.– It is a day to be remembered, is that of a return from foreign parts.

As we head into the green heights around Plymouth, there is one excited old Colonist, buttonholing everyone in turn, shouting with eager irony, “Saw you ever veldt like yon green hills?” And as a fog of driving sleet bursts like a blizzard on us, a mad heart–choking cheer goes up of joy to see real snow again.

A little red–bearded Scottish missionary is dancing wildly about the deck, with his coat–tails flying, yelling, “Man! I haena seen the snaw for twenty years!”

Why does not some one laugh at him? We can’t.

We are back once more in the yellow fog and the grimy slush of thawing snow in dear old, same old England.

Then, from the rushing hum of the special train, through the roar of the sloppy, lamp–lit streets, to the comfort and warmth – of Home.

notes

1

This was not intended for publication, and if it should happen to meet the eye of the gentleman alluded to, I trust he will be magnanimous enough not to sue me for libel – especially as I make the statement believing it to be true.

2

A more detailed account of the operations in the Matopos – together with a complete and interesting description of the organisation and work of the Matabeleland Relief Force – will be found in Lieut.–Colonel Plumer’s book, An Irregular Corps in Matabeleland.

3

See map of Shangani column, p. 304.