Shelling the Enemy out of the Matopos
The artillery gun is called by English–speaking natives “the By–and–by,” because after it has been fired there is a pause, and “by and by” the shell arrives at its target. The 7–pounder mountain gun has proved most useful from its portability and accuracy.
Then I went on with three others to find a fresh position for the guns, and to reconnoitre a neighbouring valley. We found a place for the guns, and sat there admiring the view, while De Moleyns went off about two hundred yards from us to find a way down between the rocks into the valley. We saw him coming back towards us, and just as he got within fifty yards, there was a yell, two shots, and De Moleyns, hatless, came galloping in like mad. Some half a dozen Matabele were stalking up to us among the rocks; he had come unexpectedly among them, and they had missed him at about ten yards. We banged away at where we saw their smoke, and they replied, but very soon their firing ceased, and we saw them streaking away over the next hill. We then went to have a look at this valley, and while studying the far side with our glasses, we saw a number of Matabele creeping down to lie for us among the rocks. A very pretty sight they were, lithe and active, bounding down from rock to rock, their dark skins shining in the setting sun and showing off their white war–ornaments. But we did not admire for very long, for, noting that they seemed to gather in one particular spot among the rocks, we put a few well–directed shots into it at 900 yards, and they quickly scuttled out again and went back the way they came, one dropping in his tracks to a shot from Coope. After this we stood up boldly on a rock to admire the view at leisure, till suddenly there was a ragged volley and the “phit–phit” of bullets overhead; these came from some niggers we could not see, but we fired back at the koppie which we suspected, and then gracefully retired to a less exposed position.
We took a circuit round and burnt a hut or two, and then went down to the water in a bog about four hundred yards from the camp; here we watered and grazed our horses, bathed ourselves, filled up our billies, and cut a lot of grass to make our beds with on the hard rock platform that was to form our bivouac for the night. Suddenly our peaceful operations were interrupted by first one shot and then another fired up at the camp. These shots were soon followed by a more regular rattle of musketry, then came volleys in which the jolly Maxims joined, and finally the solid bang of the 7–pounders swelled the chorus. We were missing all the fun; we soon got mounted, gathered up our grass and our billies, and made our way up to the camp.
What I call a camp is hardly what the ordinary mind would picture: there are, of course, no tents or other such luxuries; the force is merely formed in an extended square with guns and Maxims at each of the corners, and where each man happens to stand in the ranks, there is his place to cook his food, to eat, and to spread his blanket for the night.
The spot we were camped on was a huge, open, flat rock, closely approached on three sides by broken rocks and bush, and in this broken ground a small but daring party of the enemy had crept up and were endeavouring to exact satisfaction for the loss of their cattle. It was curious to see how calmly the men in the square took it all; only that side of the square on which the enemy appeared bothered themselves to notice him, the other three sides went on with their cooking and suppers just as if the bullets whizzing over their heads were swallows flying through the air at sunset. After five or ten minutes the enemy retired and the firing died away. Half an hour later, just after dark, it suddenly broke out again; the enemy had crept up once more within fifty yards, and were firing at our fires. They seemed to become accustomed to the fire of the Maxims, but when we let them have it with the 7–pounder, loaded with case, at fifty yards, they did not like it, and when the Cape Boys made a sortie round their flank, they fled for good, leaving four dead on the ground; but as they went, they found time to shout “good–night” to us, telling us to sleep well, since that night would be our last—they “would have our livers fried for breakfast in the morning.”