Filthiness is next to Healthiness—Through the Selukwe District—We join Colonel Paget’s Column for the Attack on Monogula’s—On visiting the Stronghold we find it deserted—We clear and destroy the Place—Gwelo—The Difficulties of a Commandant—The End of the War in Matabeleland—We are ordered to Taba Insimba—Enkledoorn Laager—Night March—We attack Taba Insimba (Magneze Poort)—Doctoring wounded Enemies—A Patent Syringe—I return to the General—Smoking on Sentry.
For the next four days we have continued our march,—practically across country, as there were a few cart–tracks, some leading right and some wrong, but I had got the right landmarks from one of Jackson’s boys before he left us (which he did at the end of our patrol). We now left his—the Belingwe—district and got into the Gwelo country.
25th October.—Although it’s Sunday, which we generally make a day for divine service and for rest, we have had to put in a lot of marching in order to get to Paget in fair time. One cannot reckon on doing so many miles a day in this country; you can only say it will be so many hours. For instance, it took us five hours to do two miles two different days in this march, i.e. in making drifts over bad rivers like the Singweza and the Lundi.
We are a wonderfully dirty and ragged–looking crew now—especially me, because I left Buluwayo six weeks ago to join this column only with such things as I could carry on a led pony (including bedding and food). My breeches and shirts are in tatters, my socks have nearly disappeared in shreds. Umtini, my Matabele boy, has made sandals for me to wear over—or at least outside—my soleless shoes.
And everywhere the veldt has been burnt by grass–fires—every breeze carries about the fine black dust, and five minutes after washing, your hands and arms and face are as grimy and black as ever—as if you were in London again.
Bathing “the altogether” too often is apt to result in fever. Too much washing of hands is apt to help veldt sores to originate—so we don’t trouble to keep clean.
Veldt sores bother nearly every one of us. Every scratch you get (and you get a good number from thorns, etc.) at once becomes a small sore, gradually grows, and lasts sometimes for weeks. It is partly the effect of hot sun and dry air too rapidly drying up the wound, and also probably the blood is not in too good a state from living on unchanging diet of tinned half salt beef and tinned vegetables. We have very little variety, except when we loot some sheep or kill a buck. No vegetables, and we are out of sugar, tea, cocoa, and rice.
A Dangerous Practice