My men had become so extravagant of their cartridges that I was forced to interfere. If this nervousness should continue, we should be soon left without ammunition, and every soul would be massacred.
I therefore mustered the troops, and examined all their pouches. Some of the advance-guard had fired away eighty rounds each, only during the morning's march!
Many had fired fifty rounds! The muskets had not used so many, owing to the greater difficulty of loading, but they also had been frightfully extravagant.
The men had come to the conclusion that the only plan of marching in safety through the high grass, which was full of unseen enemies, was to constitute themselves into a sort of infernal machine, that would be perpetually emitting fire and bullets on all sides.
This was all very well with an unlimited supply of ammunition, but we had no idea of what might still be in store for us. We were now slightly more than fifty miles from Foweera. Fortunately, in our journey from the river to Masindi, I had timed every march within five minutes, and I had all particulars in my note-book; therefore I could guess the position pretty closely during the morning's advance.
Having mustered all the men, I turned out all the ammunition from their pouches. The cartridges were counted.
I examined all the reserve ammunition.
The total, including that from the men's cartouche-boxes, was cartridges for snider rifles 4,540 and cartridges for muskets 4,330, making a total of 8,870 rounds.
I now addressed the men, and abused them most forcibly, calling them "old women," and several other uncomplimentary epithets for soldiers. I divided among them forty rounds each, and I swore solemnly by their prophet, "that I would not give them another cartridge from this spot (Chorobeze) until we should reach Major Abdullah's detachment at Fatiko."
I explained that if any man should fire away his ammunition, he should continue the march with an empty pouch—Wah Illahi! Illahi !