On my arrival in camp yesterday, it had been reported to me that one man of the Mounted Infantry, while out on patrol in the forest, had become separated from his party and was missing. Additional patrols had been sent out to search for him and though they had followed up his spoor for some distance, they had been unable to find him. To–day, again, patrols had gone out accompanied by native trackers, but towards evening they returned, having again been unsuccessful in finding him; they reported that his spoor led back in the direction of the camp, and so they had hoped he would have returned before them, but he has not yet returned. Luckily, he was carrying on his saddle the day’s rations for the other three men of his section, so that if he can only keep his head, and not overwork his horse, there is every hope that he will turn up again. But that is the worst of these men when they get lost,—they seem to lose their heads, and tear off in all directions, until they exhaust themselves and their horses, when they become a prey to the enemy or go out of their mind. At night we send up rockets and fire guns in order to show the wanderer whereabouts the camp lies.
At sunset all the natives in camp, both friendlies, refugees, and prisoners, were paraded to witness the execution of Uwini. He was taken out to an open place in the centre of his stronghold, where all his people who were still holding out could see what was being done, and he was there shot by a firing party from the troops.
I have great hopes that the moral effect of this will be particularly good among the rebels, as he was the head and centre of revolution in these parts, and had come to be looked upon by them as a god. No doubt, when they have realised that he is after all but a mortal, that he has succumbed to our power, and that they have no other head to take his place, they won’t delay long to surrender.
Indeed, I sent one old lady out to the rebel stronghold to–day to advise them to give themselves up, and to assure them that they could do so with perfect safety, but the old girl returned from her mission without bringing any of them with her. As she came back into camp, carrying her pass in a cleft stick, I was amused to hear one of the men say to her as she passed, “Hullo, old girl, are you back off furlough already?”
No Respecter of Persons
“Hulloh, old gal! Back again off furlo’?” is the greeting of Tommy Atkins to an aged princess returning from a mission to the rebels.
I had proposed to start off some of my column to the northward this evening, but in the afternoon a small boy came into camp and reported that there was a party of Matabele camped about fifteen miles away to the southward, on the Uvunkwe River, so I got Ridley to take fifty men and make a night march to attack them. The patrol started after dark, at seven o’clock, and very soon after they had left camp, we heard rapid firing in their direction. On sending out to ascertain the cause, we found that Ridley’s party, in passing near to the piquet which was guarding the enemy’s water–supply, had been mistaken by them for Matabele, and had been fired on, but luckily no one was hurt. I ran in the officer of the piquet, and after hearing his explanation of how the mistake arose, I abused him roundly, not for making the mistake, for we are all of us liable to do that at times, but because, when he opened fire, his men were not able to hit the hussars. This hurt him more than the most violent reprimand, because he prided himself on the good shooting of his men.
14th September.—Firing was kept up during the night by this piquet at frequent intervals. It was evident that the rebels were getting very thirsty; for two days and nights now they had not been allowed to get any water. During the few hours of darkness, just before dawn, numbers of them slipped away, and the remainder came and gave themselves up, many of them bringing in their arms. Thus, within a very few hours of his execution, the death of Uwini began to have its effect.