7th June.—Rode out early, with a police–orderly to guide me, to inspect the fort at Hope Fountain, ten miles south of Buluwayo, from which one could just see the tops of Matopo Mountains, in which so many of the rebel chiefs are said to be taking up their position. This fort had been attacked about ten days ago, but the enemy never came on with any boldness, and drew off after losing eleven killed. The mission station close by, a very pretty little homestead with nice gardens and trees, had been looted and burnt by the rebels.
I got back to Buluwayo just in time to see Spreckley’s column march off to patrol the country north–east of Buluwayo. A fine body of 400 of the roughest, most workman–like fighters one could wish to see. It comprised both infantry and mounted infantry, artillery, and a levy of wild–looking friendly Matabele.
In the afternoon I rode over yesterday’s battlefield with Vyvyan, recovered my gun,—which, by the way, Sir Frederick has christened “Rodney,”—and photographed the chap who potted me out of the tree.
8th and 9th June.—Office work from early morning up to late at night.
10th June.—Lunched with Maurice Gifford, who had lost his arm in one of the first fights of the war. He is not really in a fit state to be about,—it still hurts him badly, poor chap, and he is a bit feverish,—but quite anxious to have another go at the enemy. He says he feels the pain as if it were in his hand, whereas the arm was taken off at the shoulder.
News came in from MacFarlane of a skirmish he had had near Redbank.
In the afternoon I rode out with Vyvyan to Taba–s’–Induna, a flat–topped hill that stands up bold and abruptly out of the sea–like veldt ten miles from Buluwayo. It was the place of execution for many of Lobengula’s Indunas. Beautiful view from the top over a widespread yellow prairie, with sharp blue mountains on the horizon.
11th June.—The hospital, which has a number of wounded men among its sick, stands away at one corner of the town, and is fortified and garrisoned in case of attack. Eight nuns work their lives out nursing there, and the men, if not demonstrative, are to the full appreciative and grateful, and would do anything for them.
Close to the hospital, on a rise, stands the “Eiffel Tower”: a skeleton look–out tower about 80 feet high, from which the country round for many miles can be watched. The look–out man to–day says he can see a fight going on in the far distance to the north, apparently somewhere in MacFarlane’s direction.