John Ames, Native Commissioner: A Romance of the Matabele Rising

Mitford Bertram

John Ames, Native Commissioner: A Romance of the Matabele Rising

Chapter One.

Madúla’s Cattle

Madúla’s kraal, in the Sikumbutana, was in a state of quite unusual excitement.

The kraal, a large one, surrounded by an oval ring-fence of thorn, contained some seventy or eighty huts. Three or four smaller kraals were dotted around within a mile of it, and the whole lay in a wide, open basin sparsely grown with mimosa and low scrub, shut in by round-topped acacia-grown hills bearing up against the sky-line at no great distance.

The time was towards evening, usually the busy time of the day, for then it was that the cattle were driven in for milking. But now, although the sun was within an hour of the western horizon, no lowing herds could be descried, threading, in dappled streams, the surrounding bush, converging upon the kraal. The denizens of the calf-pens might low for their mothers, and might low in vain; and this was primarily at the root of the prevailing excitement.

In the neighbourhood of the chief’s hut squatted six or eight head-ringed men, sullen and resentful, conversing not much, and in low murmurs. At a respectful distance the young men of the kraal clustered in dark groups; less reserved, judging from the fierce hubbub of angry voices, which their elders made no effort to restrain. Few women were visible, and such as were, kept well within the shelter of the huts at the back of those of the chief, peering forth anxiously, or darting out to retrieve some fat runaway toddler, which seemed to be straying in the direction of all sorts of imaginary danger. And, in the centre of all this brewing commotion, quite unconcerned, although clearly the object of it, stood ten men, or to be more accurate, eleven. These were of the same colour and build, of the same cast of features, as those around them, but whereas the excited inhabitants of the kraal wore nothing but the mútya, these were clad in neat uniform, consisting of blue serge tunic, red-braided khaki knee-breeches, and fez caps; and while the others showed no weapons – as yet – save knobsticks, these were armed with Martini rifles and well-filled bandoliers. They consisted, in fact, of a sergeant and ten men of the Chartered Company’s Matabele Police, and to their presence and errand there at that time was due the brooding, not to say dangerous, excitement prevailing. The nature of that errand stood revealed in the indaba then being held between the two opposing parties.

“Who talks of time?” said the police sergeant, swelling himself out in his uniform, with the swagger of a native of no class who finds himself in a position of authority, and by virtue of it qualified to domineer over and flout those of his own race to whom formerly he looked up with deference. “Who talks of time? You have had time, Madúla – more than enough time – yet the cattle have not been sent in. Now we have come to take them. It is the ‘word’ of the Government.”

A click, expressive of contemptuous disgust, broke from the groups of bystanders, and with it deep-toned murmurs of savage wrath. But its only effect was further to develop the arrogant swagger of the native sergeant.

“Keep your dogs quiet, Madúla,” he said insolently, with a sneering glance at the murmurers. “Hau! A man cannot talk amid such a barking of curs.”

“A man! Hau! A man! A dog rather. A dog – who cringes to those who throw stones at him and his father’s house,” they shouted, undeterred by the presence of their elders and chief; for the familiar, and therefore impudent manner in which this uniformed “dog of the Government” had dared to address their chief by name, stung them beyond control. “Who is the ‘dog’? Nanzicele, the bastard. Not his father’s son, for Izwe was a brave man and a true, and could never have been the father of such a whelp as Nanzicele. Au! Go home, Nanzicele. Go home!” they shouted, shaking their sticks with roars of jeering laughter, in which there was no note of real mirth.

At these insults Nanzicele’s broad countenance grew set with fury and his eyes glared, for beneath the uniform seeming to tell of discipline and self-restraint, the heart of a savage beat hard – the heart of a savage as fierce and ruthless as that which beat in the dusky breast of any of those around. A Matabele of pure blood, he had fought in the ranks of Lo Bengula during the war of occupation, and that he and others should have taken service under their conquerors was an offence the conquered were not likely to forgive. As to his courage though, there was no question, and for all his insolence and swagger, no qualm of misgiving was in his mind as he faced the jeering, infuriated crowd with a savage contempt not less than their own. They represented a couple of hundred at least, and he and his ten men, for all their rifles and cartridges, would be a mere mouthful to them in the event of a sudden rush.

“Dogs? Nay, nay. It is ye who are the dogs – all dogs – dogs of the Government which has made me a chief,” was his fierce retort, as he stood swelling out his chest in the pride of his newly acquired importance. “You have no chiefs now; all are dogs – dogs of the Government. I —I am a chief.”

“Hau! A dog-chief. Nkose! We hail thee, Nanzicele, chief of the dogs!” roared some; while others, more infuriated than the rest, began to crowd in upon the little knot of police. Before the latter could even bring their rifles to the present, Madúla rose, with both hands outspread. Like magic the tumult was stayed at the gesture, though deep-toned mutterings still rolled through the crowd like the threatening of distant thunder.

The chief, Madúla, was an elderly man, tall and powerfully built. Like the police sergeant he was of the “Abezantzi,” the “people from below” – i.e. those from lower down the country, who came up with Umzilikazi, and who constituted the aristocratic order of the Matabele nation, being of pure Zulu parentage; whereas many of his tribal followers were not; hence the haughty contempt with which the police sergeant treated the menacing attitude of the crowd. Standing there; his shaven head – crowned with the shiny ring – thrown back in the easy unconscious dignity of command; his tall erect frame destitute of clothing save the mútya round the loins – of adornment save for a string of symbolical wooden beads, the savage chieftain showed to immeasurable advantage as contrasted with the cheap swagger of the drilled and uniformed convert to the new civilisation who confronted him. Now he spoke.

“Hearken, Nanzicele. Here we have none of the King’s cattle. All we have is our own. When we sent in such of the King’s cattle as were among us, we were told to send in more. We asked for time to search and see if there were a few more that had been overlooked, and we were granted time. Now we have searched and there are no more. If there are no more we can send no more. Can anything be clearer than that?”

A full-throated shout of assent went up from the young men. Their chief had spoken, therefore there was an end of the matter. Nanzicele and his police could now go home, and go empty handed. But Nanzicele had no intention of doing anything of the sort.

“Then that is your ‘word,’ Madúla,” he said. “You will send no cattle?”

“Have I not spoken?” returned the chief. “Whau! The Government must employ queer messengers if it sends men who cannot understand plain words. If there are no King’s cattle for me to send, how can I send any? Is not that ‘word’ plain enough, Nanzicele?” And again a shout of uproarious delight went up from the young men.

“There is a plainer ‘word,’” retorted the police sergeant, “and that is the ‘word’ of the Government. All the cattle in the country are King’s cattle, therefore the cattle of Madúla are King’s cattle, and as Madúla will not send them in I am here to take them. Fare ye well, children of Madúla. You have resisted the arm of the Government, and you have insulted its mouth. Fare ye well;” and there was a volume of threatening significance in the tone.

No movement was made to hinder them as the handful of police marched out between the serried ranks of dusky forms, the glare of savage animosity darting forth from hostile eyes. But as they gained the outside of the kraal a great roar of derision went up, coupled with allusions which caused Nanzicele to scowl darkly. For the incident to which they referred was the curt refusal of a follower of Madúla to give him one of his daughters to wife, at less than the current market value; in which the obdurate parent received the full support of his chief, who was in nowise disposed to befriend the Government policeman. The man had since married his daughter to somebody else, but Nanzicele had neither forgotten nor forgiven. And now the young men of the kraal followed him jeering, and improvising songs asking whether Nanzicele had found a wife yet.

But soon such good humour as underlay their mirth was turned to downright hate. They had followed the retreating police as far as the brow of an eminence some little distance from the kraal, and now a sight met their view which turned every heart black with pent up hostility. Away over the plain a dust cloud was moving, and behind it the multicoloured hides of a considerable herd of cattle. These were travelling at a swift pace, propelled by the shouts of a number of running figures. The bulk, if not the whole, of Madúla’s cattle were being swept away by the Government emissaries.

No further time had Madúla’s people to devote to this handful of police, whom hitherto they had busied themselves with annoying. With long-drawn whoops of wrath and rally, they surged forward, intent only on retaking their cherished, and, in fact, their only possessions. Assegai blades flashed suddenly aloft, drawn forth from their places of concealment, and the plain was alive with the dark forms of bounding savages. There would be a collision and bloodshed, and the country was in no state for the heaping of fuel upon a smouldering fire.

But Nanzicele’s native astuteness had not been caught napping. He had been prepared for some such move, for his quick glance had not been slow to note that many of those who had followed him from the kraal were arrayed in skin karosses or other nondescript articles of attire, whereas, only just before, except for their mútyas, they had been naked. This could mean nothing but concealed weapons, and when such were produced he was ready for the contingency. With hurried, muttered commands to his men to hold their rifles in readiness, he pressed them forward at the double, and arrived on the scene of turmoil not much later than Madúla’s excited tribesmen.

These, for their part, had rushed the situation on all sides, and things were already tolerably lively. The scared and maddened cattle, frenzied by the dark forms surging around them front and rear, halted, bunched, “milled” around for a moment in blind unreasoning fear, then broke up and streamed forth over the plain in a dozen different directions, bellowing wildly, and pursued by the whooping, bounding figures in their rear and on their flanks; and in a few moments, save for long lines of lingering dust-clouds, not one remained in sight. Nanzicele’s plan had miscarried entirely. In a fury the latter turned upon his corporal.

“Fool – dog – jackal!” he snarled. “Is this how my orders are obeyed? Instead of carrying them out promptly, were ye all asleep or drinking beer with the women? Yonder cattle should have been halfway to Jonemi’s by this time, and lo now, Madúla and his herd of Amaholi are laughing at us. Thou, Singisa – I will have thee flogged out of the ranks with raw-hide whips. Was I to keep Madúla talking for a moon instead of a very small piece of a day, to give thee time to rest thy lazy carcase and go to sleep? Ye shall all suffer for this, and dearly.”

But the corporal was not much perturbed by this threat. He merely shrugged his shoulders.

“I know not,” he said. “But this I know, Nanzicele. Seven men cannot move quicker than two hundred, and as many were yonder” – pointing in the direction of the retreating dust-clouds. “And we were under no orders to fire upon Madúla’s people, nor indeed do I think we were under orders to take his cattle at all.”

“Thou art a fool, Singisa,” retorted Nanzicele, with a savage scowl.

But whether Singisa was a fool or not, the fact remained with them that Nanzicele’s plan had miscarried. All he had effected by his attempted coup de main was to render the name of the Matabele police a trifle more putrescent in the nostrils of the Matabele than it already was, and in the mean time Madúla’s cattle were still in Madúla’s possession. And, after all, that possession is nine points of the law – meaning presumably nine-tenths – still remains a good old English axiom.

Chapter Two.

John Ames

John Ames was Native Commissioner for the district of Sikumbutana.

Now, the area of the said district contained about as many square miles as did one half of England. It likewise contained some thousands of its original inhabitants, a considerable percentage of which were Matabele, and the residue Makalaka, the bulk of whom had, prior to the war of occupation, been incorporated into the ranks of Lo Bengula’s fighting-men. Indeed, they reckoned themselves as integral with the nation – as much so as the original Abezantzi, even then fast dwindling numerically – and by no means welcomed their so-called emancipation at the hands of the British with the acclaim our theoretically humane civilisation had striven to persuade itself they would. They were settled upon reservations there as in other districts under the charge of Native Commissioners appointed by the Government of the Chartered Company.

Now the duties of these Native Commissioners were multifarious, if ill-defined. They involved the collection of hut tax; the keeping of a vigilant eye upon the people at large; the carrying out of the disarmament programme; the settlement of all local disputes that were potient of settlement; and of about half a hundred other questions that might arise from day to day. These officials were expected to act the part of benevolent uncle all round, to the natives under their charge; and in order to effect this thoroughly, they had to be continually on the move, keeping up a constant system of patrol in order to become acquainted with every nook and corner of their somewhat vast area, and see that things were going on all right in general; and bearing in mind the extent of that area, it will be seen that this alone constituted a very laborious and responsible side of their duties. For it was no case of progressing in a fairly comfortable conveyance: neither the natural formation of the country nor the not very munificent travelling allowance granted by their government would admit of that. It meant real downright roughing it. Day after day of long rides on horseback, over mountain and plain and low-lying fever belt in all weathers, and a camp under rock or tree at night; and when it is remembered that such peregrinations amounted in the aggregate to about half the year, it follows that the faculties both physical and mental, of these useful public servants were not likely to stagnate for lack of use.

There was one other duty which devolved upon them at the time of our story; the collecting of the cattle which the Chartered Company exacted as a war indemnity from the not thoroughly conquered Matabele; and remembering that cattle constitutes the whole worldly wealth of a native, it may be imagined what a thankless and uningratiating task was thrown upon their hands.

John Ames was an excellent specimen of this class of public official. Born on a Natal farm, he could speak the native languages fluently, and had all the idiosyncrasies of the native character at his fingers’ ends, a phase of useful knowledge which a few years spent at an English public school had failed to obliterate, and which, on his return to the land of his birth, he was able to turn to practical account. He had come to Rhodesia with the early Pioneers, and having served through the Matabele war of 1893, had elected to remain in the country. He was of goodly height and proportion, standing six feet in his socks, handsome withal, having regular features, and steadfast and penetrating grey eyes; and at the time we make his acquaintance had just turned thirty, but looked more.

“Here’s a pretty kettle of fish,” he was saying, as he sat in his compound on the day following the events recorded in the last chapter. “This thing will have to be gone into, Inglefield, and that pretty thoroughly.”

“Certainly, old chap, certainly. But what is the ‘thing’ when all’s said and done, and what sort of fish are in the kettle? You forget you’ve been pattering away to these chaps for the last half-hour, and except for a word or two, I haven’t caught any of it. Even now I don’t know what it’s all about.”

“These police of yours seem to have been rather playing the fool,” was the direct answer.

He addressed as Inglefield was the sub-inspector in charge of the Matabele Police, whose camp lay about a mile away. Inglefield was an English importation, an ex-subaltern in a line regiment, who having lived at the rate of about double his means for a few years, had, in common with not a few of his kind, found it necessary to migrate with the object of “picking up something;” and he had duly “picked up” a commission in the Matabele Police. Now Inglefield twirled his moustache and looked annoyed.

“Oh, the police again!” he retorted, somewhat snappishly. “I say, Ames. Can they by any chance ever do anything right according to you fellows?”

The two men were seated together outside the hut which Ames used for an office. In front of them about a dozen Matabele squatted in a semicircle. One of these – a ringed man – had been speaking at some length, but the bulk of his conversation was utterly unintelligible to Inglefield.

“Granting for the sake of argument they never can, it is hardly to be wondered at,” replied Ames, tranquilly. “Their very existence as at present constituted is a mistake, and may prove a most serious one some of these days. First of all, the Matabele have never been more than half conquered, and having given them peace – on not such easy terms, mind – the first thing we do is to pick out a number of them, arm them, and teach them to shoot. And such fellows are turned loose to keep their own crowd in order. Well, it isn’t in human nature that the plan won’t lead to ructions, and this is only another of them. I know natives, Inglefield, and you don’t, if you’ll excuse my saying so. Now, every man Jack of your Matabele Police imagines himself a bigger man than the old indunas of the country before whom he used to shake in his shoes. And the Matabele won’t stand that for ever.”

“Oh, come now, Ames, you’re putting things rather strong. Besides, we seem to have heard all that before.”

“And so these fellows can swagger around in their uniforms and put on side, and crow over the old indunas, and bully the crowd at large, and – what is worse, use their position to pay off old grudges. Which is just what seems to have been done in the present case.”

“The devil it does! Who says so?”

“The man who has been talking the most is Samvu, the brother of Madúla,” went on Ames. “He is here to complain of your men. They appear to have acted in a pretty high-handed way at Madúla’s, and the wonder is they didn’t come to blows. You remember what the orders were to Nanzicele? We gave them conjointly.”

“Yes. He was to remind Madúla that more cattle were due from him, and that it is time they were sent in.”

“Precisely. Well, what do you think the fellow has been doing? He sent half his patrol to drive off all Madúla’s cattle, while he kept the people of the kraal busy with indaba. Even then he seems to have cheeked the chief and played Harry all round. The wonder is he didn’t bring on a fight. As it was, the whole kraal turned out, and simply ran all the cattle back again.”

“If he did that, of course he exceeded his orders,” allowed Inglefield, albeit somewhat grudgingly. “But how do we know these chaps are not lying?”

“I don’t think they are, but of course we must have a full investigation. We can begin it this afternoon. It’s dinner-time now. Come in and have a bite, Inglefield.”

“No thanks, old chap. I’ve got something going at the camp, and my cook will get careless if I keep disappointing him. I’ll look round in an hour or so. But – I say. Why the deuce should Nanzicele – oh, dash it, I can’t get round these infernal clicks! – why should he have played the fool at that particular kraal?”

“There comes in what I was saying before about paying off old grudges. He had a squabble about a girl at that very kraal a little while back, and now sees his chance. Well, so long. We’ll go thoroughly into the thing.”

The police officer mounted his horse and rode away in the direction of the camp, and John Ames, having said a few words to the squatting Matabele, dismissed them for the present, and turned into the hut which he used as a dining and general sitting-room. This was a large, circular hut, rough and ready of aspect outside, with its plastered wall and high conical thatch, but the interior was not without comfort and even tastefulness. It was hung around with a dark blue fabric commonly called by the whites “limbo,” being a corruption of the native name “ulembu,” which signifieth “web.” Strips of white calico constituted the ceiling, and thus both thatch and plastered walls being completely hidden, the interior, hung around with framed photographs and prints, wore a comfortable and homelike aspect. Two small glass windows let in light and air when the door was closed, which it seldom was. Four other huts similarly constructed stood within the compound, doing duty for office, bedroom, kitchen, and store-house respectively, and the whole were enclosed by a palisade of woven grass, standing about breast high.

The life was a lonely one, and there were times when John Ames would feel very tired of it. The place being more than a long day’s journey from anywhere, visitors were few and far between, and beyond Inglefield, the police sub-inspector, he rarely saw a social equal. Inglefield was a married man, but his wife, a soured and disappointed person, had made herself so disagreeable to John Ames on the few occasions they had met, that the latter had dropped all intercourse which involved associating with Inglefield at that worthy’s own home. If Inglefield wanted to see him for social purposes, why, he knew his way up; and truth to tell, it was a way Inglefield not seldom found, for if there is one state more lonely than the man who lives alone in an out of the way locality, it is the man who lives in it with an entirely uncongenial partner. But even with Inglefield the position was occasionally strained, by reason of their official relations Inglefield thought the force under his command could do no wrong; Ames knew that it could, and not infrequently did.

The latter sat down to his solitary meal, which on the whole was a good one; for the game laws were not at that time rigidly enforced, nor had a combination of rinderpest and prospector decimated the larger kinds; and steaks of the roan antelope, hot and frizzling, are by no means despicable. Add to this brown bread and tinned butter, the whole washed down with a couple of glasses of whisky and aerated water from a selzogene, and it will be seen that our lonely official did not fare so badly. The era of “bully” beef and other canned abominations had not yet set in.

His dinner over, John Ames lit a pipe and adjourned to a cane chair before his office door to await the appearance of Inglefield. The day was hot and drowsy, and he wore the light attire customary in Rhodesia – shirt and trousers to wit, and leather belt – and on his head a wide-brimmed hat of the “cowboy” order; but the heat notwithstanding, a shiver ran through his frame, bringing with it a not unwarranted misgiving.

“This infernal fever again,” he said to himself half aloud. “How the mischief am I going to get through the rainy season? No. I really must apply for three months’ leave, and get to some cool place at the seaside. If they won’t give it me I’ll resign. I’m not going to turn into a premature wreck to please anybody.”