Returning from the huts, they became aware of a certain amount of excitement in front of the store. A trooper of the Matabeleland Mounted Police had just ridden up. The rising was a fact, and he had been sent round to warn everybody to come in to Bulawayo if possible; if not, to collect together and form laagers. Several prospectors and miners had been murdered in the Sikumbutana district, but how far the outbreak had spread could not as yet be determined. He was on his way to warn Hollingworth; after that, if he could manage it, he must get through to John Ames’.
The excitement produced by this news was mingled with consternation. Half of those there collected were unarmed. Those who had weapons had left them behind at their camps; while some, with the habitual British carelessness which passes for intrepidity, had not even got any there.
The police trooper’s horse was offsaddled and put into one of the huts which did duty for stable for a feed and a brief rest, and then the whole party re-entered the store to discuss the situation and a fresh round of drinks. While this was in progress some one reported a party of natives approaching from the open side in front of the house. Quickly Jekyll got out a powerful binocular.
“There are about thirty of them,” he said, “but they’ve got no guns—only knobkerries and some axes. On the face of the latest news I believe they mean mischief. Now, chaps, we’ll startle ’em some. They won’t know there’s a whole crowd of you here. They’ll think there’s only me and Selwyn to deal with. Who’ve got guns?”
Seven answered in the affirmative.
“All right. Now then. You, Carbutt and Harris, get to that front window in t’other room—don’t let ’em see you, though. I’ll go out in front and indaba them. Selwyn ’ll stand in the doorway lighting his pipe—and when I sing out, ‘Let go,’ blaze away into the foremost of them. I shall want some men to go outside at the back of the house, though.”
All volunteered.
“No. You three’ll do”—indicating the policeman and two others. “Directly you hear the first shot fired, whip round to the front and blaze into them for all you’re worth. See the plan?”
“Rather, and an A1 plan it is,” said Moseley, who was one of the rearguard, slipping a couple of heavy buckshot cartridges into his shot-gun.
Those for behind scrambled through the back windows—the other two were already in position, one armed with a Winchester, the other with a Lee-Metford. Hardly had they done so than the natives emerged from the sparse bush in front.