In the woods on top of the plateau lay Thomas Jonathan Jackson and his men. Jackson was of English descent, and having been left an orphan at seven, he grew to manhood on a rough farm in Western Virginia, joined the army, fought in Mexico, and after teaching school was with Johnston at Harper’s Ferry. Jackson’s brigade was the first to get into position and check the advance of the Federals, the panic-stricken Southerners rallying upon his line. During the crisis, General Bee, rallying his men, shouted: “See; there is Jackson, standing like a stone wall. Rally on the Virginians.” Immediately afterwards General Bee was shot dead; but the nickname “Stonewall” stuck to Jackson, and became probably the most familiar nickname of the war.

To the Confederate left stood Henry House. Built on a knoll, it commanded the whole field of action, and here McDowell deemed it important to plant a battery. To this ground two batteries were sent, and Ellsworth’s Zouaves ordered to support them. In making their way to the position the officers of the Zouaves mistook an Alabama regiment for a Northern one, and did not find out their mistake until they had exposed their men to a fire that wiped the regiment out of existence. Another and another regiment was sent to the support of the battery, and the battle raged its wildest around the knoll at Henry House. Keyes, on the right, after a successful charge was driven back, Sherman in the centre charged again and again up the hill, each charge only resulting in a heavier loss, and the batteries at Henry House were taken and retaken time and time again. As the afternoon grew older, confusion gradually settled on the Northern lines. Companies beaten back from the brow of the hill got mixed with companies charging up the hill; men lost their officers and officers their companies, until after a few hours’ fighting all was confusion, and the Northern army, victorious as it seemed a little earlier in the day, degenerated into a mob of struggling men, into which the South continued to pour a merciless fire.

Just when the army had been reduced to this pitiable state of confusion, a body of close upon two thousand fresh men came hurrying across the fields to take part in the conflict. They were the last arrivals from Winchester, Johnston’s men, who hearing the roar of battle, stopped their train at the nearest point to the scene of action, and running as fast as legs could carry poured a volley into the Federals’ right. This proved to be the last straw. Raising the cry: “Here’s Johnston from the valley!” the army of the North broke and fled panic-stricken across Bull Run, along the turnpike to Centreville and on to Washington, to let the President and the people of the North know that an appalling disaster had befallen the Federal cause. General McDowell tried his utmost to stay the flight, but to no purpose. It was every man for himself, and never was rout more complete.

When the sum of battle came to be reckoned, it was found that the North had 481 men killed, 1,011 men wounded, and 1,461 taken prisoners; while the Southern loss was 387 killed and 1,582 wounded.

Public opinion held General McDowell responsible for the crushing defeat, and as a consequence he was superseded in his command by General McClellan; and although a capable and honourable officer, he played no great part in the subsequent events of the war. The first battle of Bull Run brought the seriousness of the situation vividly to the minds of the people of the North, and showed how fatally the position had been underestimated by everyone from President to peasant.

In the early days of July, 1877, the soldiers of the Tzar were jubilant. So early as April Russian army-corps after army-corps had come tramping across the Pruth into Roumania, and in May the Danubian Principalities swarmed with sturdy Russian soldiers along the left bank of the great river, from Galatz on the east to Kalafat on the west. They gazed eagerly across the brown water of the Danube to the precipitous Bulgarian bank on the further side, but had to wait impatiently until the falling of the river gave them the opportunity for which they craved so ardently. At length, however, they had effected the crossing of the Danube from Simnitza to Sistova and from Braila to Matchin, and the whole Russian army was now on Turkish soil. By the middle of the month Gourko was beyond the Balkans on that adventurous raid of his which spread panic from Hankioj to Constantinople. “Hey for Adrianople!” was the hilarious and confident shout, as army-corps after army-corps started on the enterprise which seemed so ridiculously easy. Princes and staff-officers betted with each other in hundreds of dingy paper-roubles as to the day on which they would dine in Stamboul.

The route which the main advance over the Balkans was to take was by Tirnova and the Shipka Pass, and thence on Adrianople through the rose-gardens of Kazanlik and down the beautiful valley of the Tundja. Two corps had been sent to the left to protect the advance from the Turks holding the Bulgarian quadrilateral. Old Krüdener, the chief of the 9th Corps, had been sent off to the right, with the airy order to storm the fortress of Nicopolis and then to march to the Balkans without delay, leaving as he passed detachments in Plevna and Loftcha for the protection of the right wing, and to cross the great range into Roumelia by the Trajan Pass. “Grandfather” Krüdener, grimmest and toughest of warriors, began handsomely. He so smothered with shell-fire the obsolete and crumbling fortress of Nicopolis, that after two days’ endurance of the Russian cannonade the garrison capitulated. It was quick work, and there were not wanting hints that he had backed his shell-fire by a bribe to the pasha in command. Anyhow, Krüdener scored, when on the 17th there surrendered to him 7,000 men, including the pasha—the cost of the triumph 1,300 Russians killed and wounded, and the trophies of it, among other things, six flags and 110 guns.

FIRST BATTLE OF PLEVNA, JULY 20TH.

Next day the Grand Duke Nicolas telegraphed to Krüdener to “occupy Plevna as promptly as possible.” That smart old warrior had anticipated this order by pushing out towards Plevna, which is about twenty miles south-east of Nicopolis, an infantry regiment and the brigade of Caucasian Cossacks, and on the same day moved out General Schilder-Schuldner with an infantry brigade. In all this there was no apprehension in regard to Plevna; the order and movements just mentioned were simply in the line of fulfilment of the original instructions that Krüdener should hasten to cross the Balkans by the Trajan Pass.

But no Russian troops were to enter Plevna for six long months to come. Osman Pasha, whose fame was soon to ring through Europe, was on the march down the Bulgarian bank of the Danube from Widdin, with an army of 40,000 of the best troops in Turkey. Learning that the Russians had already crossed the Danube, he had turned inland, reached Plevna on the 17th, and, recognising the strategical and defensive characteristics of the place and its immediate surroundings, settled himself there, and promptly set about throwing up a line of entrenchments along the northern ridge from the village of Bukova eastward to the site of the subsequently famous Grivitza redoubt.

In utter ignorance that Plevna was already in Osman’s occupation, Schilder-Schuldner advanced in its direction without the commonest precautions. He made no reconnaissances, for he had no cavalry with his main body; and the result of this stupid neglect was that, as he was unconcernedly crossing the Verbitza heights, he was suddenly halted by Turkish artillery fire from the Grivitza ridge. He had already sent the Kostroma regiment eastward to Zgalevitza, and the Caucasian brigade to Tutchenitza, actually south-east of Plevna. The disposal of his little force by Schilder-Schuldner for the night of the 19th July was a lively instance of an almost comic inability how to make war. His troops—6,500 men all told, with forty-six guns—were distributed over a distance of seventeen miles. Osman Pasha must have smiled as he posted his 40,000 men and ninety guns in the shelter-trenches and battery-emplacements with which his northern and eastern front was already garnished. Schilder-Schuldner scouted the suggestion that he should wait for reinforcements. No! He had his orders to attack on the morning of the 20th; he had always obeyed orders, and he meant to do so now!

Accordingly, at daybreak of that morning, he moved forward from Riben, three batteries in the centre, a regiment on either flank. After an hour’s cannonade, the troops moved forward and assailed the Grivitza heights. The western extremity of the trenches was carried after a desperate struggle, in which both sides freely used the bayonet. The Vologda regiment, with part of the Archangel regiment on its left, notwithstanding a withering fire from the Turkish shelter-trenches, was able to continue the advance; and, after repelling a succession of attacks made by Turkish battalions, the Vologdas and Archangels fought their way to the northern outskirts of Plevna, where, at seven o’clock, they were brought to a halt by a very hot fire from behind the hedges and ditches on the edge of the town. They nevertheless hung on here for some hours, fighting hard and losing heavily, until about eleven o’clock they received the order to withdraw.

The Kostroma regiment, coming from Zgalevitza, advanced from the south-east on the Grivitza position, where the subsequently famous redoubt had as yet scarcely been traced, and after a short cannonade delivered its assault in columns of companies. Over and over again the successive tiers of trenches were taken and retaken at the point of the bayonet and with cruel slaughter. A moment’s hesitation in front of the last and strongest line of defence ended in the breaking up of the regiment into small columns of attack. The lines of those columns were strewn with dead and wounded, and all the superior officers went down. There was, therefore, no one who could order a retreat, and the troops charged forward under the command of a simple lieutenant, and finally carried the last Turkish entrenchment. They then chased the Turks right up to the edge of the town, where the latter found prepared positions in the gardens and houses of the eastern suburb, whence a cross-fire of artillery caused terrible losses in the Kostroma ranks. These losses, the exhaustion of ammunition, and the lack of reserves compelled its reluctant retreat, which was followed by heavy swarms of Turkish skirmishers and by volley after volley of artillery.

The Russian troops had been engaged to the last man for hours, and were worn out with their exertions. A general retreat was, therefore, wisely ordered at about noon; but in effecting it heavy losses were sustained by the sallies made by the Turks, who, however, did not pursue beyond their trenches. The Russians left on the field all their dead and most of their wounded, as well as two guns, twenty ammunition waggons, and all the baggage of the Kostroma regiment. Their losses were close on 3,000 men; nearly two-thirds of the officers and over one-third of the men were hors de combat. There are no data from which to estimate the Turkish loss. The Russians reckoned it about 4,000; the Swiss writer Le Compte calls it “about 200”—a wide discrepancy indeed. The Russian army was furious against Schilder-Schuldner, and there was a great clamour for a court-martial; but he was not even called upon to resign, and he blundered cheerfully along to the very end of the campaign. There is no need to point out his faults and errors. Without having learned anything about the strength or position of the enemy, and with no reserves, he sent his troops blindly to the assault in two lines which had no communication with each other, and against an enemy more than four times their own strength. He had the doubtful and dangerous virtue of acting on his orders to their very letter. True, that is one way of avoiding responsibility.

THE SECOND BATTLE OF PLEVNA, JULY 30TH.

The Grand Duke Nicolas, commander-in-chief of the Russian armies in Bulgaria, was an obstinate and narrow-minded man. He would not believe that the Turks were in force in Plevna, notwithstanding the crushing defeat which Schilder-Schuldner had received on July 20th. He would not take the trouble to come down from Tirnova to the Plevna front, contenting himself with ordering Krüdener to make a renewed attack on Plevna with his own corps (the 9th), strengthened by the addition of an infantry and a cavalry brigade from the 11th corps, under the command of Lieutenant-General Prince Schahofskoy, and of the 30th division (4th corps), which had just crossed the Danube. Krüdener had reconnoitred the Plevna position with great care; and on account of its natural strength and the force of the enemy, which he estimated at not less than 50,000 men, he did not at all fancy the task laid upon him. He had even ventured to remonstrate against the risk of failure which he apprehended; but he received a peremptory and even angry order from the Grand Duke to obey orders without delay, and not bother the headquarters with any more querulous croaking. Krüdener now became furious; he had the full belief that with 30,000 men in the open field against 50,000 in a strong fortified position, he was bound to be beaten disastrously, a belief which the event justified—but he was resolved to put in his last man, and as regarded himself he would rather prefer that he did not come out of the business alive. Throughout the Russian camp there was little of that excitement of anticipation which had been manifest on the evening before the crossing of the Danube. The Russian officer, subject of a despot though he is, has a habit of speaking his mind; and on the eve of this battle the ears of the Grand Duke Nicolas would have tingled had he heard the comments made upon him. Meanwhile the Turks were working with the utmost diligence upon their fortifications, confident that they would be again attacked in the course of a few days. By the 30th, the day of the battle, the Grivitza redoubt and four redoubts of the “middle group” east of Plevna were in condition for defence.

Krüdener was in chief command of the assailing forces. His orders for the 30th were that the troops of his own corps, forming the right wing, should advance to the attack of the Grivitza redoubt and the adjacent positions on the northern heights, the 31st division to lead, the 5th to follow in support; and that the left wing under Schahofskoy, consisting of two infantry brigades, should occupy the Radischevo ridge to the south-east of Plevna, and assail the redoubts of the “middle group” on the lower swell, due east of the town. Krüdener’s whole army was a little over 30,000 men, consisting of 36 battalions, 30 squadrons, and 176 guns; of which 24 battalions, 110 guns, and 10 squadrons belonged to his own (the right) wing, 11 battalions, 54 guns, and 8 squadrons constituted Schahofskoy’s (the left) wing, and 1 battalion, 12 guns, and 12 squadrons was Skobeleff’s detached command on the extreme left. The main fault of the dispositions was that Krüdener and Schahofskoy were practically independent of each other, so that the two attacks were far apart and with no connecting link; but the gravest evil was the weakness of the assailing force. The key of the Turkish position was the Grivitza redoubt.

Schahofskoy’s advance from Poradim began at 6 a.m. As the infantry went swinging past their general, they cheered vigorously, and seemed ready for anything. After a two-hours’ march the head of the column reached the upland in front of Pelischat, whence the whole Plevna region lay before it. The headquarter stood temporarily halted near the apex of a great horse-shoe, closed in at the heel by a wooded valley running north and south, in the centre of which lay the town of Plevna, its white minarets, on which the sun was shining, visible above the encircling trees. On the long ridge forming the northern section of the horse-shoe were discernible the tents of the Turkish camps, and on its nearer shoulder lay the Grivitza redoubt, of which later the world was to hear so much. Now it did not seem very formidable—merely a rough parallelogram—all of defence visible being a bank of earth with a ditch at its outer foot, a few guns here and there, and a good many Turks inside the work. To his left front, as Schahofskoy looked toward Plevna, he saw the long ridge of Radischevo, forming the southern edge of the horse-shoe, and the valley behind it into which his advance troops were already moving.

Some of the gay young officers of Schahofskoy’s staff would have it that slow old Krüdener had not yet got out of bed. But the old warrior was wide awake and well to the front. About 9 a.m. the Turkish guns opened fire on him from the Grivitza redoubt. Answering smoke rose to the eastward, and the cannon thunder came booming down on the wind.

Krüdener’s guns were in action, playing fiercely on the Grivitza redoubt. The artillery duel between the Turks and Krüdener lasted until after two p.m. Then the Russian, infantry were sent forward to the attack. The brave Penza regiment led the way. Its first battalion carried the first line of trenches, a thousand yards north-east of the redoubt; the second line was carried by the second battalion, and the two battalions drove the Turks at the bayonet point across the intervening ravine, when three companies made a rush for the redoubt and actually reached the parapet, where, however, all perished. In a few minutes, so fierce was the Turkish fire, the three Penza battalions lost thirty officers and 1,006 men—half their officers and more than one-third of the men. Officers of the two regiments in reserve, looking through their telescopes, swore that they saw the blood of the Penzas flowing in streams down the outer face of the parapet of the Turkish redoubt. The Kosloff regiment followed the Penzas up to the second line, and a few men of it did reach the redoubt, but only to meet their death. Then the supports, consisting of the 17th and 18th regiments, made their effort, only to fail; the bitter and steadfast rifle from the redoubt struck them down by ranks. The left column, the Tamboff and Galitz regiments, tried to storm the southern face of the redoubt, but only filled with their dead bodies the outlying trenches. At sundown the stubborn Krüdener gave orders for a final general assault. It was made with such desperation that a general officer was killed within a few paces of the redoubt; but the attack utterly failed with terrible slaughter. Then Krüdener gave the order to retire; but so maddened were the troops that the fighting lasted all night, and the withdrawal was not completed till after daybreak of the 31st. In fine, the attack of the right wing had been an utter and bloody failure.

On the left wing, about ten a.m., Schahofskoy sent twenty-eight guns up on to the crest of the Radischevo ridge, which promptly opened fire on the Turkish positions of the “middle group,” whence a fire was as promptly returned. The infantry moved forward into the valley in rear and into the glades about the village of Radischevo, about which were falling many Turkish shells which had flown over the ridge crowned by the Russian artillery. It was strange to witness the peasant villagers standing in scared groups in front of their cottages, shuddering as the shells crashed into the place, while the children were playing about the dust heaps without any sense of their danger. A couple of correspondents, leaving their horses in the village, went up to the storm-swept crest where the Russian batteries were in action, and lay down between two guns to watch the scene. From their point of vantage they looked right down into the Turkish positions. Several guns in an earthwork (Redoubt No. 1) about a hamlet or farmhouse, which seemed the most advanced of the Turkish works on the central elevation, were vigorously replying to the Russian fire. On its right were three more redoubts reaching backward to the edge of the valley in which the roofs and spires of Plevna sparkled in the sunshine from out the cincture of verdure. The place seemed so near that a short ride might bring one there to a sorely needed breakfast; but thousands of men were to die and many months were to elapse before Plevna should be accessible to others than Turks. As the watchers lay by the guns men were falling fast around them; for the elevated position was greatly exposed and the Turkish practice was most uncomfortably true.

Two o’clock came. Schahofskoy rode up the slope from the village to see for himself from the crest how things were going. As he reached the sky line the Turks marked the mounted group, and a volley of shell-fire was directed upon it. Schahofskoy promptly rolled out of the saddle and crept forward to where the two correspondents were squatting. His eyes were blazing and his face was flushed, as he swore most vigorously in the colloquial Russian of the common soldier. He looked at his watch; it was a few minutes past two. Krüdener seemed, after all these long hours, to be making no headway. Schahofskoy in his impatience threw his orders to the wind and determined to act independently. He turned to his Chief of Staff and shouted, “Bring up the 125th and 126th regiments at once! Quick!” These were his own two regiments which had accompanied him from the foot of the Balkans. General Tchekoff, the brigade commander, came up the slope at a canter and told the Prince the two regiments were following close. They came up with swift swinging stride and deployed just before reaching the crest, breaking to pass through the intervals between the guns. The General had risen, and was standing against a tree saluting his soldiers as they streamed past him. His guns recommenced firing as soon as the infantrymen were descending the further slope, and continued their fire while the regiments were crossing the intervening hollow to the assault of the Turkish positions. The Turkish shells crashed through the ranks as the regiments pressed forward; men were already down in numbers, but the long, undulating line pushed through the undergrowth of the descent and then tramped steadily over the stubble-fields below. No skirmishing line was thrown out in advance. The fighting line retained its formation for a time till, what with eagerness and what with men falling, it broke into a ragged spray of humanity and surged on swiftly, but with no close cohesion. It was a rush of vehement fighting-men on which the spectators looked down with eyes intent—a helter-skelter of men impelled by a burning ardour to get forward and come to close quarters with the enemy calmly firing upon them from behind the shelter of his earthworks. The Turkish position was neared; and now men held their breath. The crackle of the musketry fire rose in a sharp continuous peal. The clamour of the cheering of the fighting-men came back on the wind, making the blood tingle with excitement. The wounded were beginning to withdraw, limping and groaning; the dead and the more severely wounded lay where they fell among the stubbles and amidst the maize. The living wave of fighting-men was pouring over them ever on and on. Suddenly the disconnected men were drawing together, the officers signalling for the concentration by the waving of their swords. Then there followed a headlong rush, led by a brave colonel. The Turks in the shelter trench held their ground, firing steadily and with terrible effect into the advancing assailants. The colonel staggered a few paces and then fell—he was a dead man.

His men, bayonets at the charge, rushed to avenge their gallant dead leader. They were over the shelter trench and over the parapet, and then down in among the Turks like an avalanche. The first redoubt was thus taken; but the Turks had got away ten guns; leaving only two in Russian hands. The captured redoubt was No. 1, which had fallen to the 126th regiment, the right regiment of Schahofskoy’s first line. His left regiment, the 125th, was advancing simultaneously on Redoubt No. 8, about midway between No. 1 and Plevna, but No. 8 was much the stronger, an isolated mamelon with batteries on the rearward slope. Schahofskoy sent forward to No. 1 two batteries and two battalions, and a third battalion to strengthen his left flank, and then he ordered both his front line regiments to converge on redoubt No. 8 and to carry it, no matter at what cost. One could see through the glass Turkish officers on horseback standing behind its parapet and watching the oncoming Russian forces. Presently two rode away at a gallop and immediately returned with a swarm of men on foot, who clapped tackle on the guns in the redoubt and withdrew them all before the Russians took it. The capture at the last was curiously sudden. All of a moment along the lip of the Turkish parapet there was a final spurt of white smoke, through which were visible dimly swarms of dark-coated men scrambling over the ditch and up the outer slope of the work. On the crest of the parapet itself there was a short but sharp struggle. Then through the telescope was seen a crowd of men in lighter blue in apparent full flight across the great stretch of vineyard behind the redoubt.

The Russians, then, at about half-past five of this bloody afternoon, had possessed themselves of two of the Turkish redoubts, but their tenure was very precarious. The Turks had not fled far from the second redoubt, about the northern and western faces of which they hung obstinately, while their cannon from further rearward dropped shell after shell into it with extraordinary precision. Schahofskoy sent forward eight guns to an intermediate knoll, to cover the troops in the redoubt and cope with the Turkish artillery fire which was punishing them so severely; but about six o’clock the Turks pressed forward a strong body of infantry to its recapture. The defence was stubborn, but the Moslems were not to be denied; and in spite of the stubborn Russian resistance, they reoccupied the redoubt half an hour later. In the course of the original advance on it, part of the troops of Schahofskoy’s left had penetrated by a ravine up to near the south-eastern verge of Plevna. From the first, this body was very hard pressed by fresh Turkish reserves issuing from the town. The Russians, bent on entering the place, charged again and again till they could charge no more for sheer fatigue; and then the stubborn, gallant fellows stood leaderless—for nearly all the officers were down—sternly waiting death there for want of leaders to march them back. To their help Schahofskoy sent in succession the two battalions which were his last reserve; but all that these could do was to maintain a front with cruel losses, until the darkness would permit of a retirement to the Radischevo ridge. The ammunition had failed, for the carts had been left far in the rear; and all hope died out of the most sanguine as the sun sank in lurid glory behind the blood-stained and smoke-mantled field.

Then the Turks struck without stint. They had the upper hand now, and were clearly determined to show that they knew how to make the most of it. Through the dusk they advanced in swarms into their original first positions, and recaptured their two guns which the Russians had taken in their first assault, but which they had found no opportunity to withdraw. Turkish shells now again began to whistle and yell over the Radischevo ridge, and to crash into the village behind, by this time crammed with wounded men. The streams of wounded were incessant. The badly-wounded lay where they fell, and were butchered ruthlessly by the Turkish irregulars, who swarmed over the battle-field and slaughtered indiscriminately. The moon rose on their bloodthirsty devilry; and in the hot, still night-air one could hear—and shuddered in the hearing—the shrieks of pain, the futile entreaties for mercy, and the yells of cruel, fanatical triumph.

The Russian defeat was complete. The remains of the army came sullenly back, companies that had gone down hundreds strong returning by tens and twenties. For three hours there had been a steady current of wounded men up from out of the battle to the reverse slope of the Radischevo ridge, to which Schahofskoy still held on grimly. All round, the air was heavy with the moaning of the wounded who had cast themselves down by the fountain at the foot of the slope, craving with a pitiful longing for a few drops of the scanty water. In this awful hour Schahofskoy’s attitude was admirable: now that the day was lost beyond remedy, he was cool and collected. To protect his wounded, and rally what remained of his force, he was determined to hold the ridge to the last extremity. He ordered his bugle to sound the “Assembly.” They gathered to the sound, singly and by twos and threes, many bleeding from flesh-wounds, yet willing still to fight on. But it appeared scarcely a company that came together; it seemed as if the rest of the army was quite dispersed. Schahofrkoy was loth to fall back, for he still hoped that belated troops would come back out of the valley of the shadow of death down below him; but he was disappointed. Meanwhile, as the ambulance work was going on apace, and the wounded withdrawn into the comparative safety of the village in the valley behind, the Turks continued to pour on the ridge a heavy fire of shells and bullets. At length, near midnight, Schahofskoy and his staff quitted the front, now protected, after a fashion, by a cordon of cavalry. As the forlorn cortège rode slowly away in the moonlight, an aide-de-camp remarked in an undertone to his neighbour: “We are following a general who has lost his army going in search of an army which has lost its general, who now, to make the day’s loss complete, has lost his way.” It was a miserable business.

But it was in a measure retrieved by the conduct of Skobeleff. His orders were to prevent any reinforcement from Loftcha from entering Plevna, and in general to cover the extreme left flank of Schahofskoy. For this wide range of duty he had at his disposal one infantry battalion, twelve squadrons of Caucasian Cossacks, and twelve 4-pounder horse-guns. His first undertaking was to make a reconnaissance on Plevna from the south-west, till he looked down on the place from a height within three hundred yards of it. When Schahofskoy began his cannonade on the redoubts, Skobeleff opened fire on the town, and drew upon himself a large body of Osman’s forces. When attacked in strength he, of course, had to withdraw to his main force at Krishin; but he discovered that, from a hill two miles south of Plevna the Turks could enfilade Schahofskoy’s line, and take his advance in reverse. To hinder the enemy from occupying this point he resolved to attack energetically; and he was able, by dint of skill and dexterity, to keep up an active fight throughout the day and on until after nightfall, and also to remove all his wounded. After dark, he made good his retreat to Krishin, and re-assembled there what remained of his little command. He had not spared it, for fifty per cent. was hors de combat. But he had gained his object in keeping the Turks away from the Green Hill, from which, had they occupied it, they would have cut Schahofskoy’s force to pieces.

The Russian losses were 169 officers and 7,136 men, out of a total of 30,000 engaged. Of this number, 2,400 were killed and left on the field. One of Schahofskoy’s regiments (the 126th) had 725 killed and over 1,200 wounded—a total loss of about 75 per cent. of its strength. Over their respective responsibility, Krüdener and Schahofskoy quarrelled bitterly. Schahofskoy complained that Krüdener had not supported him. Krüdener retorted that Schahofskoy had disobeyed his orders in assaulting without permission. But the real responsibility for the defeat rested on the shoulders of the Grand Duke Nicolas, who had given peremptory orders from a distance to attack a position of which he knew nothing, and in the teeth of a remonstrance on the part of a commanding-officer who had carefully studied the subject.

“They were men of men, and their fathers were men before them,” were the words of old Umjan, the chief induna of the Imbezu Impi—Lobengula’s Royal Regiment—as he described the gallant stand of that handful of men under Major Allan Wilson which was cut to pieces by the Matabele, hard by the Shangani river, on December 4th, 1893. Umjan, a full-blooded Zulu warrior, who, as a stripling, had taken part in the conquest of Matabeleland with Moselekatse’s raiding horde, led the force that slaughtered Major Wilson’s party, and the terms of keen admiration which he employed when speaking of those brave men but represented the feeling of his whole people. That day’s fight produced a deep impression throughout the country. Till then the Matabele were inclined to despise the white men, and considered them weak and timorous. True, the Matabele had been vanquished; but they argued that they had not been routed in fair fight, but by the aid of witchcraft—by the deadly fire of those invincible Maxims, which spirits had manufactured for the white men; they boasted that without Maxims the white men would never have had the heart to face the valorous amajakas of Lobengula. But they were undeceived by the brave doings of December 4th, which cannot rightly be called a day of disaster—valuable though were the lives we lost—when it is remembered how glorious was that gallant stand, how far-reaching were its results. That engagement brought the war to a sudden conclusion, and obviated further bloodshed. It inspired the Matabele with a profound respect and regard for their conquerors, which our previous victories alone would not have given them. Without that sacrifice it would have been long before we had brought about a true peace. Our vanquished foes would have regarded any clemency on our part as a sign of cowardice; the young amajakas would have bragged at their periodic beer-drinkings, and organised risings against the white men. But having suffered so severely from that stubborn resistance to the death of a handful of white men unprovided with Maxims, they realised the hopelessness of again trying conclusions with the Chartered Company’s forces; they were terrified at their own victory, and, as I myself experienced, it was possible, immediately after the Shangani fight, for a white man to travel alone and unarmed with safety throughout the greater portion of Matabeleland. The death of Wilson and his men brought a complete peace to the land, so they did not fall in vain. The story of the Shangani will be told in many a kraal; and the prestige these Britons won for their countrymen will go far to check the ardour of turbulent tribes and to preserve the peace of Africa.

Not one man of Wilson’s party survived to tell the tale of that hopeless but fierce stand of the thirty-four against thousands; but various native rumours reached us. I was at Inyati when Dawson, some three months after the fight, returned from his mission to the Shangani: he gave me the full details he had gathered from Matabele who had taken part in the fight; and later on old Umjan himself came in, and told us all that had taken place, extolling the bravery of the white men with a simple but most impressive eloquence. It is his narrative I purpose to repeat here.

It will be well first to recall the events that led up to the despatch of Wilson’s patrol. Lobengula’s impis had been broken in two decisive battles; Buluwayo had been occupied by the Company’s troops; a considerable proportion of the disheartened Matabele, having been offered by Dr. Jameson easy terms of peace, and, realising that they would be treated with generosity, were quite ready to “come in,” but dared not so long as the King was still holding out with a large force of his followers. It was therefore essential that the King should be captured or be induced to submit, in order to effect the pacification of the country and avoid further bloodshed. Lobengula, in reply to Dr. Jameson’s messages inviting him to surrender and guaranteeing his safety, had at first promised to “come in,” but had subsequently either altered his intention, or had been constrained by his warlike following. Spies brought in information that he was retreating to the north with a considerable force consisting of the remnants of his broken impis, with the object either of organising a stand further on, or of crossing the Zambesi to establish another military despotism beyond the great river.

Dr. Jameson accordingly sent a force, under Major P. W. Forbes, in pursuit of the King; but this column failed to come up with the fugitive, for, having exhausted its supplies, it was compelled to retire on Inyati, a mission station forty miles to the north-east of Buluwayo. It was afterwards ascertained that Lobengula was only three miles away when his pursuers turned back.

Reinforcements with food and ammunition were then sent to Shiloh, another mission station between Buluwayo and Inyati, and from this place Major Forbes set out afresh with 300 men, on November 25th, to overtake the King. There had been very heavy rains, and the roadless wilderness through which they had to go was little better than a morass, almost impassable for waggons. They had made but little progress by November 29th, and Major Forbes, finding that his horses and oxen were becoming exhausted and realising that the King would never be caught unless the column travelled faster, sent all his waggons and a considerable portion of his force back to Inyati, only retaining 160 men, mounted on the best of the horses, of whom sixty were troopers of the Bechuanaland Border Police, the remainder volunteers of the Salisbury, Victoria, and Tuli columns. He took with him two Maxims, and horses carrying ten days’ rations for each man. This little force then pushed on rapidly, despite the heavy rains and the fever that prevails at that season in the lowlands. They were on a hot scent, and knew that the King could not be far ahead of them. Each day they came to his recently abandoned camps, and found frequent signs of his retreat. They thrust their way through the thick bush and across the swamps, following the spoor of the King’s three waggons, occasionally capturing stragglers from his force or some, of his cattle. The Matabele hovered round, watching them all the while; but no attack was made upon them, though the scouts had narrow escapes.

At last, on the 3rd of December, they came to a valley near the banks of the Shangani and found a scherm (enclosure of bushes), which had evidently been vacated but a very short time before, for the fires were still burning within it. A chiefs son, who was captured at this place, confessed that the King had slept there on the previous night, and was not far off. This was good news, and all hoped that they would be rewarded for the privations they had undergone by the speedy capture of Lobengula. But it was now five o’clock in the evening, and darkness would soon make it impossible for the column to proceed; so Major Forbes, having selected a strong position in which to laagar for the night, decided to send Major Allan Wilson with a party of about twenty men, to reconnoitre. Among those who volunteered to go on this patrol were several officers and some of the leading settlers in Mashonaland: it consisted, indeed, of the very pick of frontier manhood. Major Wilson’s instructions were to follow the King’s spoor and ascertain his whereabouts, and to return to the laagar before dark. It was Major Forbes’s intention to remain where he was until dawn, and then to make a final dash for the King. Supplies were now running short, and unless Lobengula was captured on the morrow the chase would have to be abandoned, and the column would have to return to Inyati. Shortly after the patrol had set out, a native prisoner gave Major Forbes reliable information to the effect that an impi of about 3,000 Matabele was then hemming in his force, so extra precautions were taken to guard the laagar against surprise during the night, which was an exceedingly dark one.

Early in the night, two of Major Wilson’s party rode in with a message for the commanding officer. They reported that the patrol had crossed the Shangani, and that Major Wilson, having ascertained that the King, accompanied by but few of his followers, was only a short distance ahead of him, had thought it best not to return that night, but would bivouac where he was, close on the King’s heels.

Before midnight three more men came in from Major Wilson. They corroborated the report that the King had sent his impi to surround the column and prevent its crossing the river. They said that the patrol had found a native to guide them, had followed the King’s spoor for some distance, and passed several scherms full of women, children, and cattle. Then they fell in with some of the King’s men, who offered no resistance, possibly imagining that this was the advance guard of the whole column, and that the dreaded Maxims were close behind. An officer, who was acting as interpreter, shouted to the natives that the white men would not injure them, but wanted to talk to the King. Just as it was getting dark, they approached some scherms, in one of which, the guide told them, was the King himself. A number of armed Matabele came out with threatening action ready to protect the waggons, and were surrounding the patrol. A heavy rain-storm now rendered the obscurity intense, so Major Wilson was compelled to retire, and took up his position for the night in the bush half a mile away.

Major Forbes, hemmed in as he was by the enemy’s impi, would have been guilty of extreme rashness had he ventured to take his whole force and his Maxims across a difficult river and through dense bush on a dark night, when the Matabele could have easily rushed the column with their assegais and annihilated it; but he at once despatched Captain Borrow to Major Wilson with a reinforcement of twenty men, while he explained in a letter that he would cross the river at daylight with the column to join him.

At dawn, the column under Major Forbes prepared to advance, and, while doing so, heavy firing was heard across the river, showing that Wilson’s party was already in action with the enemy. Major Forbes followed the King’s spoor towards the Shangani drift, and no sooner had the column reached the high river bank than a heavy fire was opened on it by the enemy concealed in the surrounding bush. The troopers were quickly formed up, the Maxims were got into action, and a smart skirmish ensued, in the course of which the white force lost sixteen horses, and had five men wounded. At last the enemy’s fire was silenced, and Major Forbes was able to retire along the river bank and take up a better position where bush afforded cover.

In every way luck seemed to be against the white men on this fatal day; for it was now observed that the Shangani, which had been easily fordable on the previous day, had, as is the way of African rivers, suddenly swollen by the morning to a broad, deep, and rushing flood, across which it would be impossible to take a body of armed men, to say nothing of the Maxims. Heavy storms had been raging on the distant hills, and all the rivers were up, so that the main column and the patrol were cut off from one another.

But while the action I have described was taking place, three men had succeeded with some difficulty in swimming the Shangani. These were three troopers from Wilson’s party. They rode up to the column with haggard faces that plainly told of disaster, and one of them—Burnham, the American scout—came up to Major Forbes, and said with breathless emotion: “I think I may say that we are the sole survivors of that fight.”

Then he told his story. Captain Borrow and the reinforcement had reached Major Wilson’s camp on the previous night, without falling in with the enemy.

At dawn, Major Wilson decided to make a rush on the King’s waggons. The whole force galloped up to within a few yards of the scherm, and then halted, while the interpreter shouted out to the King to come out and speak with the white men. The reply was a heavy fire from the King’s scherm and from the bush on either side. The fire was returned by our men; but, finding that the enemy were surrounding him, Major Wilson retreated for about half a mile, and took up a position on one of the gigantic ant-heaps which are frequent in this part of Africa. Here the action was carried on for some time, the Matabele fire being very wild and-producing little effect; but as the enemy were again surrounding him, under cover of the dense bush, Major Wilson ordered his men to remount, and the party commenced their retreat towards the river, retracing their way along the spoor of the King’s waggons.

Major Wilson then asked Burnham to make an attempt to reach the column and inform Major Forbes of the position of affairs. Burnham took with him two of the best-mounted troopers, and the three galloped off. They had not ridden far before they came upon a large body of Matabele, which was evidently marching to cut off Major Wilson’s retreat. The three troopers rode for their lives through the storm of bullets that was directed upon them, and contrived to escape uninjured to the river-bank. As they rode, they heard a heavy firing behind them, which told them that the body of the enemy they had just passed had attacked Wilson’s party. Burnham said that the patrol must have been completely surrounded by several thousands of Matabele warriors, and that it was impossible that a single trooper could escape; for the patrol, as he explained, could only retreat slowly, if at all—it could not cut its way through the Matebele: several of the horses had been killed, so that some horses had to carry two men; most of the horses were worn out, and there would be wounded men also to carry off. True, the best-mounted men might have galloped through and saved their lives; but a sauve qui peut is an expedient not resorted to in African warfare by white men, and still less so by men of the stamp of Wilson and his companions: they would certainly have stood by each other to the end.