Salisbury—two widely–spread townships in a basin among wooded rising grounds, with little of the regularity of building plots as seen in Buluwayo, but altogether a prettier–looking spot. Houses mostly of bright red brick with white tin roofs—all single–storeyed and verandahed, of course; many of them with nice gardens. One wooded hill overlooks the town, and on this stands the original Fort Salisbury, built by the “pioneers” who first opened up Mashonaland in 1891. At the foot of this hill runs the only regular street of the place—where all the stores, etc., are situated. The rest of the two townships was described to me thus: “There’s the post office, there are the Government buildings, there is the hospital, and there is the club—the remainder are mostly drink–shops.” This is maligning the town rather—but it has its allowance of “drink–shops” all the same.
We were put up in the Commercial Hotel, and had nice offices provided near the Government Offices. And we settled down in a few minutes most comfortably.
It is curious to come off the veldt, where we have not seen a sign of natives for days, almost weeks past, although hunting about—all of us—off the road in the bush, and yet to be told on arrival here that they don’t consider the road safe yet—that the rebels are still about everywhere!
Then comes an alarming telegram from Buluwayo to say: “A white man murdered close to the town; general rising of the natives expected; town–guard of volunteers without pay being formed,” etc. Again one of those unmeaning panics, which seems to strike people who have been living on tenter–hooks for a short time—sort of spasms that revisit them now and again till their nerves are restored. But it is very annoying, and often involves moving troops about for fear that this time it should be a true report. We have already caught two or three lunatics who had spread such rumours, and sent them out of the country, but there is apparently at least one left. A nervous man is forty thousand times worse than a frightened woman, especially when, as is the case here, he has any number of drink–fuddled “funk–sticks” ready to echo his alarm.
I remember being in a theatre when an inexplicable movement took place among the people in the pit. Almost immediately a “funk–stick” in the dress circle, seeing the commotion, but not seeing the cause for it, shouted out his own fear—“Fire!” In a moment others like him echoed his cry, and there was for some few minutes a very pretty exhibition of panic. Manly heroes handing out the women? Not a bit of it; jumping over them to get first to the door!
Salisbury is just now full of interesting celebrities—Major Forbes, fresh from the country beyond the Zambesi, where he was administrating the Company’s affairs, and pushing on the telegraph to Khartoum. He had been reported killed in the rebellion, but had got down all right, although his companion was murdered.
Captain Younghusband, sent by the Times to report on the South African situation generally, having just done three months’ visit to the Transvaal among my old friends Paul Kruger, Joubert, etc. etc., at Pretoria.
H. Cust, M.P., filling himself up with local information and experience, and with lots of good to say of George (of all people!). Lord and Lady Grey and Lady Victoria, Cecil Rhodes, Sir Charles Metcalfe, etc.
21st November.—The General visited the hospital to see the sick and wounded. There were three officers still in, Sir Horace MacMahon and Eustace (both shipmates of mine on the Tantallon), both severely wounded in the foot, but going on well.
Montgomery shot in the head, and consequently partially paralysed; trepanned, and doing well. About a dozen men. One poor chap was shot in both arms; one had been amputated, the other was all smashed above the elbow, but the doctors hope to save it. He also had two or three slight wounds about the body, but was as cheery as possible and getting on well.