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INTRODUCTION

TO THE MAN IN THE STREET

BADEN-POWELL--THE MANNER OF MAN HE IS PAGE

AN EXPEDITION AND A CAMPAIGN

THE STORY OF THE SIEGE OF MAFEKING, 1899-1900

NOTE

INTRODUCTION

TO THE MAN IN THE STREET

It may well and fittingly be complained that of late years we English folk have shown an unpardonable spirit of curiosity about things which do not concern us. We have brought into being more than one periodical publication full of gossip about the private life and affairs of folk of eminence, and there are too many of us who are never so much pleased as when we are informed that a certain great artist abhors meat, or that a famous musician is inordinately fond of pickled salmon. There was a time when, to use a homely old phrase, people minded their own business and left that of their neighbours' alone--that day in some degree seems to have been left far behind, and most of us feel that we are being defrauded of our just rights if we may not step across the threshold of my lady's drawing-room or set foot in the statesman's cabinet. The fact is that we have itching ears nowadays, and cherish a passion for gossip which were creditable to the old women of the open doorways. We want to know all--which is to say as much as chance will tell us--about the people of whom the street is talking, and the more we can hear of them, even of the things which appertain in reality to no one but themselves, the better we are pleased. But even here, in what is undoubtedly an evil, there is an element of possible good which under certain circumstances may be developed into magnificent results. Since we must talk amongst ourselves, since we must satisfy this very human craving for what is after all gossip, let us find great subjects to gossip about. If we must talk in the streets let us talk about great folk, about great deeds, about great examples, and since our subjects are great let us talk of them in a great way. There is no need to chatter idly and to no purpose--we shall be all the better if our gossip about great men and great things leads us to even a faint imitation of both.

We English folk possess at this moment a magnificent opportunity of talking and thinking about the things and the men which make for good. It may be that ever since the Empire rose as one man to sustain the honour and glory of England we have glorified our fighting man a little too much. It may be that we have raised our voices too loudly in the music-halls and been too exuberant in our conduct in the streets. But after all, what does it mean? We are vulgar, we English, in our outward expression of joy and delight--yes, but how splendidly our vulgarity is redeemed and even transformed into a fine thing by our immense feeling for race and country! What is it, after all, that we have been doing during this time of war but building up, renewing, strengthening that mysterious Something which for lack of a better word we call Empire? War, like sorrow, strengthens, chastens, and encourages. Just as the heart of a strong man is purified and made stronger by sorrow, so the spirit of a nation is lifted up and set on a higher pedestal by the trials and the awfulness of war. Heaven help the people which emerges from a great struggle broken, sullen, despondent!--Heaven be thanked that from the blood of our fellows spilt in South Africa there have already sprung the flowers of new fortitude and new strength and new belief in our God-given destiny as the saviours of the world. It is as it ever was:--

"We are a people yet! Tho' all men else their nobler dreams forget, Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers; Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set His Britons in blown seas and storming showers, We have a voice with which to pay the debt Of boundless love and reverence and regret To those great men who fought and kept it ours."

We have a voice!--yes, and is it not well that at this juncture it should be raised in honour of the men who have mounted guard for us at the gates of Empire? It is well, too, that our ears should listen to stories of them--surely there is no taint of unpardonable curiosity in that, but rather an inquisitiveness which is worthy of praise. No man can hear of great men, nor think of brave deeds, without finding himself made better and richer. It is in the contemplation of greatness that even the most poorly-equipped amongst us may find a step to a higher place of thought.

Here then is an excuse for attempting to tell plain folk the story of Baden-Powell in a plain way. It is a task which has already been attempted and achieved by more than one person: the only reason why it should be attempted again is that a good story cannot be told too often, and that in its variations there may be something of value added to it by the particular narrator. It seems to me that this story of Baden-Powell finds its great charm in its revelation of character, and as being typical of the British officer at his best. I do not find Baden-Powell so much a prodigy as a type of the flower of a class which of late has been much maligned. We have been told, over and over again since we became involved in our struggle with the Boer, that our officers are badly trained, incompetent, and careless. It is not to be denied that there is room for improvement in their military education and training, but I think we shall have hard work to improve them in one matter of some slight importance--their cheerful, brave, steady devotion to Duty. When one comes to think of it, seriously, what a great quality that is! To be ready to go anywhere, to do anything, or to attempt its doing with all the strength one possesses, to face whatever a moment may bring forth with the cheery pluck with which a schoolboy goes into a scrimmage--are these not qualities which make for greatness? It seems to me that they are found in the British officer in an extraordinary degree, and that the life of Baden-Powell as we know it is typical of the results of the possession of them. I do not mean to say that every British officer is a Baden-Powell, but I cherish a strong conviction that Baden-Powell himself has said, more than once, when overwhelmed with congratulations, "Oh, any other fellow would have done the same!" Of course, that is all wrong--we all know that not every other fellow would. But I believe every other fellow would have Tried--and to Try means a world of things. After all, the greatest thing in this world, and the surest passport to happiness in the next, is doing one's Duty, cheerfully, fearlessly, and confidently, and it is because there is so much evidence of the way in which the British officer attempts to do his, in the story of Baden-Powell's career, that I make no excuse for begging the man in the street to read it again, and again, and yet again--whoever writes, or tries to write it.

J.S.F.

BADEN-POWELL OF MAFEKING

BADEN-POWELL--THE MANNER OF MAN HE IS

THE BOY AND HIS PEOPLE

If it seems something of an impertinence to write about the life of a man who is still alive and apparently determined to be so for many years of energy and activity, it appears to be almost in the nature of a sacrilege to draw aside the veil which ought to shroud the privacy of his family life. Most English folk, whether they show it or not, are deeply in love with the sentiment expressed in Browning's lines,--

"A peep through my window if some should prefer, But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine"--

but in the case of the Baden-Powell family many feet have already crossed the threshold, and many hands have drawn aside the curtain. It is not often that the lifting of the veil which usually hides English family life from the world's gaze reveals as charming and instructive a picture as is found in the contemplation of the people to whom the hero of Mafeking belongs. We all know that it is not necessary to spring from a great family in order to be a great man; we all know, too, that many a great family has produced a great fool. But when a great family does produce a great man the result is greater than could be obtained in any other way. Baden-Powell comes of a family-stock great in many ways, and were there reason or time for it, nothing could be more delightful or instructive than to endeavour to trace the connection between the main features and characteristics of his life and the hereditary influences which must needs have acted upon him. His ancestors have done so many fine things that one feels something like amazement to find their present day representative still adding lustre to the family name. According to the ordinary laws all the strength and virtue should have been exhausted in the stock ere now, but just as Baden-Powell himself is in certain ways a mysterious contradiction to things in general, laughing where other men would weep, and rising to great heights where most men would turn back to the valley in despair, so his family, after many generations of great activity, contradict the usual laws by increasing in strength and giving evidence of that growth and development which, as Dr. Newman told us in a remarkable sentence, is the only evidence of life.

Robert Stephenson Smyth Baden-Powell was born at 6, Stanhope Street, London, on the 22nd February, 1857. He was the seventh son of the late Rev. Baden-Powell, sometime Savilian Professor in the University of Oxford, and of Henrietta Grace, daughter of Admiral W.H. Smyth, K.S.F. Of his father the future defender of Mafeking can have known little; Professor Baden-Powell died when his seventh son was only three years old. He was a man of great talents, widely known as a profound student in the physical sciences and as an exponent of broad and tolerant theology, a frequent contributor of learned papers to the transactions of the Royal Society, and a whole-hearted lover of nature and of the sights and sounds of country life. One would like to know more of him, and of such intercourse as existed between him and his children. They, however, were separated from him at an early age and were left to the sole guidance and friendship of their mother. It is rarely that children have a mother so well equipped for the performance of a difficult task--Mrs. Baden-Powell is in all respects a great woman and eminently fitted to be the mother of a hero. She, like her husband, came of a stock eminent for its qualities. Her father, Admiral W.H. Smyth, was a well-known seaman of his day, and his children have all achieved eminence in one way or another. One of his sons, Warington, became Mineral Inspector to the Crown; another, Fiazzi, Astronomer Royal for Scotland; a third, General Sir Henry Smyth, after a distinguished military career, was Governor and Commander-in-Chief at Malta from 1890 to 1893. Of his two daughters, the younger, Georgina Rosetta, was married in 1858 to Sir W.H. Flower, the eminent scientist; the elder, Henrietta Grace, had previously married Professor Baden-Powell.

It is often said that a boy is what his mother makes him, and no one will deny that there is a certain amount of truth in the saying. A boy naturally turns rather to his mother than to his father when he first feels the need of sympathy, and it is well for him if his mother has not merely sympathy but perception and understanding to give him. Mrs. Baden-Powell appears to have been singularly fitted to help her children with her love, sympathy, and tact during the earlier years of their youth. Herself a brilliantly clever woman, she recognized intuitively the workings of dawning talent and ability in her own children, and she encouraged and helped them as only a woman of great gifts could. As a linguist, an artist, a musician, a mathematician, and a lover of science and of nature, Mrs. Baden-Powell has many attainments, and it must be evident to the most obtuse that her children received a liberal education in merely knowing her. When Professor Baden-Powell died his widow was left with a responsibility from which the bravest woman might well have shrunk. She had been married fifteen years, and there were ten children of the marriage, and the eldest was not fourteen years of age. That Mrs. Baden-Powell had no shrinking, that she devoted herself to her task with courage, determination, and skill is proved by the results with which the world, for its good, has been familiarized. The training of her children, as far as one may speak of it with reserve and respect, seems to have been marked by the greatest good sense. She took an interest in everything that interested them; she inculcated a strict regard for honour in their minds; she taught them to bear pain as strong men should; above everything she strove to bring all the influence of nature into their lives. Such an education as this could scarcely fail to produce men well fitted to do something, and Mrs. Baden-Powell's sons have done much. Her eldest son attained considerable distinction as the author of an important work on the Land Systems of British India, and occupied a high judicial post in that country ere his death. Her second son, Mr. Warington Baden-Powell, after serving some years in the navy, turned from the sea to the atmosphere of the Law Courts, and is now a Queen's Counsel of eminence. Her third son, the late Sir George Baden-Powell, who died in 1898, was, until recent events brought his younger brother's name more prominently before the public, the best-known member of the family. His record was a particularly brilliant and useful one. He took the Chancellor's Prize at Oxford in 1876. He was private secretary to the Governor of Victoria, 1877-78; Joint Special Commissioner in the West India Colonies, 1882-84; Assistant to Sir Charles Warren in Bechuanaland, 1884-85; Joint Special Commissioner in Malta, 1887-88; British Commissioner in the Behring Sea Question, 1891; and British Member of the Washington Joint Committee in 1892. He was a Fellow of the Royal Society and an LL.D., and represented the Kirkdale Division of Liverpool in Parliament from 1885 until his death. He wrote several important works and papers on scientific, economic, and political subjects, and was created a baronet in 1888. Other sons of this fortunate and gifted mother are Mr Frank Baden-Powell, who, after a distinguished career at Oxford, became a barrister and is well known as an artist of great merit, and Major B.F.S. Baden-Powell, of the Scots Guards, whose invention of war-kites was of great value during the operations at Modder River. Of the seventh son it is the province of this book to speak more fully and particularly than of his brothers, but this brief reference to Mrs. Baden-Powell's family would be incomplete if it did not include some notice of the sister of all these clever boys, who, clever and brilliant herself, must needs have watched the development of their lives with true pride and affection. I ventured to ask Miss Baden-Powell the other day two questions which seemed to me peculiarly pertinent to the matter I had just taken in hand. The first arose out of a passage in General Baden-Powell's work on the Ashanti Expedition of 1896, wherein he declares that "a smile and a stick will carry you through the world." I asked Miss Baden-Powell if this saying formed a sort of keynote to her brother's character as she knew it. She replied that she found it impossible to conceive of his using a stick in any case. So, in my estimate of him, whatever it may be worth, the stick disappears from Baden-Powell, but the smile remains and has gained much in potency. My second question had perhaps a much deeper significance. I asked if in his sister's view--and it has been my experience, founded on much cynical observation of things, that if one wants honest criticism of one's self one can get it, in all truth, from one's sister--the future warrior was in his boyhood at all phenomenal, if he gave, as some embryonic geniuses unfortunately do give, any notable evidence of the greatness that was coming. And I rejoiced to hear that he did not, that he was a human boy, neither precocious nor a prig--just a healthy, fun-loving English boy, full of kindliness and of delight in the joys of life's morning.

That is exactly what one likes to feel about Baden-Powell's boyhood. From what one can gather from many sources about his early days they appear to have been marked chiefly by the sunniness of his own disposition. His education was conducted under a tutor at home until he was eleven years old, and he spent much of his time in outdoor pursuits. He learned to ride at a very early age, and was fond of exploring unknown regions in company with his brothers. Much of the future scout's boyhood was spent at a country house near Tunbridge Wells, and in the neighbouring woods he lived many hours of glorious life. But he appears to have had almost as many pursuits in boyhood as he has shown himself fond of in manhood. He began to draw and paint at a very early age. Before he was three years old he executed a pen-and-ink drawing of camels and camel drivers, the execution of which was wonderful for so young a child. It was quickly perceived in the family circle that he used his left hand, which he has always used throughout his life with equal facility to his use of the right, and his mother consulted Ruskin as to the advisability of checking this propensity. Ruskin advised her to let the boy use his left hand as freely as his mind wished, with the result that he has always been able to work at his sketches and drawings with both hands at the same time, drawing with the left and shading with the right--a performance which is surely rarely equalled. Another of his boyish amusements was to play with dolls, and to make their clothes; another, succeeding, one supposes, the doll era, was to take part with his brothers in the performance of plays. He has always been passionately devoted to dramatic art, and showed his love for theatrical matters at a very early age. It is only what one would expect from his extraordinary versatility to hear that he used to write the plays himself, invariably fitting himself with a "fat" low-comedy part.

"BATHING-TOWEL"

After being under the care of a tutor until he was eleven years old, Baden-Powell was sent to a preparatory school at Tunbridge Wells, and remained there for two years, leaving it at the end of that time with the sincere regret of his master, who had found him an admirable example to his fellows. In 1870 he was admitted, on the Duke of Marlborough's nomination, to the Foundation of Charterhouse, then in its ancient quarters near Smithfield. Two years later he went with the Foundation to its new home near Godalming, and there remained, an inmate of Mr. Girdlestone's house, until 1876. Of these six years of Baden-Powell's life it is necessary to say something, if one wishes to form an accurate idea of their importance in moulding and strengthening his character. School-life exercises a vast influence upon a boy's future career; it may make or mar it; it is certain, indeed, that he cannot go through it without receiving influences of the most paramount importance. All the world knows now what manner of man Baden-Powell is; all the world has no doubt wondered what sort of boy he was in his days of school-life.

"The child is father of the man,"

Dr. Haig-Brown goes on to say that though it is not always easy to found on observation of early life a prophecy of the future career, it is not so difficult when characteristics have found a field for display, to trace in the memories of youth the qualities that have formed a great man, and that the boyish life of Baden-Powell furnishes an illustration in point. Then he proceeds to speak of Baden-Powell's joyousness of spirit, of his indomitable energy, his versatility of talent, his wit, kindliness, and activity of body and mind, and of his judgment and fidelity in positions of trust and responsibility. And there is one passage in Dr. Haig-Brown's article which, to my mind, is of supreme importance to anyone endeavouring to form an estimate of Baden-Powell's character as illustrated by his school-days. "In his attitude to the younger boys," says Dr. Haig-Brown, "he was generous, kind and encouraging, and in those early days gave no slight indication of the qualities which have since gained for him the confidence, respect, and love of all the soldiers who have been under his command." Here, indeed, the promise of the boy has been amply fulfilled in the performance of the man.

But all this, of course, only deals with one side of "Bathing-Towel's" school-days--the side which after all has more to do with the pleasant things of life than with the serious things. Now that everybody knows what manner of man he is who held Mafeking against the Boers through seven long months of privation, no one will be surprised to hear that "Bathing-Towel" was just as earnest in his work at school as he was joyous in his play. Dr. Haig-Brown says of him that he never showed want of respect for his masters or lack of consideration for his schoolfellows. He speaks with some stress of his liberality of feeling and of his natural gift as a leader. He worked hard and seriously, and though he was very reserved he was never shy, and approached his masters on any subject on which he desired advice and enlightenment with a total absence of timidity or embarrassment. Naturally, then, he was a great favourite in the school. He entered Charterhouse by a low form, for there had very wisely been no attempt to force his education, but so well did he work there that by 1875--five years after his admission--he had reached the sixth form, and on the recommendation of Mr. Girdlestone, his house-master, was made a monitor. Dr. Haig-Brown says that he discharged the duties of this responsible position with judgment and fidelity, bringing his intelligence to bear on the interpretation of the school's traditions, and being especially considerate and thoughtful in his attitude to the younger boys.

LEARNING THE TRADE

It seems somewhat strange to learn that when Baden-Powell left school it was with no definite notion of entering the army. One would have thought, considering all his subsequent brilliant achievements, that his mind had been set on being a soldier from some very early age. This, however, was not the case. When he said good-bye to the Charterhouse he had no definite idea as to the character of his future career, beyond a strong impulse to engage in some pursuit which would show him the wild places of the world. There was some talk of his going into the Indian Civil Service, especially as he wanted to study life and nature in that country, but it was pointed out to him that military life in India would give him equal if not superior facilities to that of the civilian. His first intention, however, was to proceed to Oxford, and by the advice of his godfather, the late Professor Jowett, he was entered at Christ Church, where he meant to spend two years. Then came one of those curious events, which, looked at in the light of after happenings, seem to work as special interpositions of Providence. Hearing that an army examination was about to be held, Baden-Powell, apparently more out of whimsicality than anything else, decided to go in for it. The examination over, he set out for a yachting cruise in company with his brother, quite careless, so far as one may be permitted to judge, of the immediate results of this testing of his abilities. The immediate results were, to say the least of them, surprising and even startling. The examination took place in the summer of 1876; ere summer was over he received an official communication from the Duke of Cambridge, as Commander-in-Chief, informing him that out of 718 candidates he had passed fifth , and that in consequence of his success he had been gazetted to a second lieutenancy in the 13th Hussars, his commission being ante-dated by two years as a reward for the uniform good work shown in his papers. This was the beginning of Baden-Powell's military career. Within a few days of his receipt of the official communication he was on his way to join his regiment, which at that time was stationed in India.

The light-heartedness which characterized Baden-Powell's early days appears to have increased rather than deteriorated when he entered upon the serious business of life. There is a curious story told of one of his first doings on joining his regiment in India which serves to show what high spirits and whimsical notions were his in those days. Assembling all the European children he could find or hear of, he produced from his kit an ocarina--an instrument from which most people would surely despair of extracting much music!--and forming his youthful following into procession, marched at their head through the streets playing "The Girl I Left Behind Me." One learns a good deal about Baden-Powell from that little incident, and it is not surprising that it should have done a good deal to make him popular with the folk amongst whom he had suddenly appeared. But his popularity with his brother officers seems to have been assured from the first. Just as he had been the life and soul of Charterhouse in all things appertaining to gaiety and amusements, so he speedily became a moving spirit in regimental jinks and jollities. It was not long ere his fellows discovered that they had got a veritable prodigy amongst them where theatrical matters were concerned, and that behind the new-comer's somewhat reserved manner there lay such funds of light and original humour as are too seldom met with in this world. At this time, no doubt, Baden-Powell's wonderful versatility was widening and deepening, and his extraordinary facility in doing anything that had to be done must have been nothing short of astonishing to those who witnessed it. Always ready and always willing to take anything in hand, it is little wonder that those who remember him in those early days in India speak of him with an affection which is not the less real because there is always a vein of merriment in it.

But while Baden-Powell was continuing his old pranks and cultivating his old spirit of laughter, he lost no opportunity of learning his trade as a soldier. It is characteristic of the man that though until he entered the army he had cherished no very definite notion of a military career, he had no sooner taken the final step than he began to devote himself to his profession with all his might. He speedily became a perfect horseman, made himself fully acquainted with regimental duties and details, and began to read systematically. He took a first class and special certificate for topography in the Garrison Class Examination of 1878. Coming back to England soon afterwards for musketry instruction at Hythe, he soon took a first class extra certificate, and on his return to India was appointed Musketry Instructor at Quetta. His advancement in his profession, indeed, if not extraordinarily rapid, was sure and certain. It is not pertinent to the character of such a necessarily brief sketch of his life as this to lay too much stress on all that he did ere he came into special prominence some few years ago. But when one considers the brief facts of his military career one easily sees how thoroughly Baden-Powell--to use a well-understood phrase--learnt his trade. He served with his regiment in India, Afghanistan, and South Africa; he was on the Staff as Assistant Military Secretary in South Africa in 1887-89; he was in the operations in Zululand in 1888, and was mentioned in despatches; he acted as Assistant Military Secretary at Malta from 1890 to 1893; he went on special service to Ashanti in 1895, and was Chief Staff Officer in the Matabele Campaign of 1896, and was promoted from his old regiment to the command of the 5th Dragoon Guards in 1897. It required little knowledge of military life and matters to realize how thoroughly the future hero of Mafeking had made himself acquainted with the duties of the perfectly-equipped soldier during the twenty-one years dealt with in this brief outline of his doings. Such an outline is indeed less than brief, for it records scarcely anything but the main facts of his military advancement. When one comes to remember that in addition to all the active service here mentioned he contrived to find time to write books, some of them about Tactics, some about Sport, some describing his participation in or conduct of important military operations, one is amazed to find that a single brain can compass so many things. But the amazement deepens when it is remembered that in addition to all this Baden-Powell also found time to do many other things--to act, sing, paint, etch, make innumerable sketches, hunt, shoot, yacht, get up theatrical entertainments and stage-manage them, attend foreign military evolutions, and travel extensively. To an ordinary mortal the question must needs occur,--How does he manage to do it all? To that the only possible answer can be that Baden-Powell, in addition to possessing many qualities denied to other men, is blessed with yet another of which most men are not so keen to take advantage--that of always being occupied, and of being thoroughly absorbed in the thing that occupies him. He has never shown this quality more thoroughly, perhaps, than during those portions of his career when duty called him to play--or rather, work--the part of regimental officer. Most of us know how such a part may be played--how the officer in barracks may spend his time in doing a minimum of duty and a maximum of pleasure, how he may ignore the men under him, and generally behave as if the service were a bore and all its surroundings unpalatable. Some officers do order their lives after such a fashion; others again affect a languid indifference to things in general, which is scarcely less hurtful to the best interests of the service. Baden-Powell, as regimental officer, was neither bored nor indifferent. He was always doing something for his men, interesting himself in games and amusements, lecturing to them, acting, reciting, and making fun for them, and there was not a man in his troop who did not feel that he had a friend in his energetic captain. It is not difficult to realise what all this means. The man who can command the respect and affection of those serving under him to such an extent that they would go anywhere and do anything at his lightest word must needs possess a personal magnetism which proves him worthy of leading not merely a troop but an army.

SCOUT AND SPORTSMAN

Of the many wonderful things done by Baden-Powell nothing seems to me so wonderful as the way in which the man who has had so many and such varied occupations has perfected himself in scouting. He seems to be all eyes and ears, to never lose cognizance of anything that happens, and to give an attention to little points of detail which less extraordinary men would feel tempted to ignore. "It should be a point of honour with a scout," he remarks, "that nobody sees any object that he has not already seen for himself. For this your eyes must be never resting, continually glancing round in every direction, and trained to see objects in the far distance. A scout must have eyes in the back of his head. Riding with a really trained scout, such as Buffalo Bill or Burnham, you will notice that while he talks with you his eyes scarcely look you in the face for a moment, they keep glancing from point to point of the country round from sheer force of habit." Then he quotes a slight incident from his own experience to show how a little reflection and common-sense will suggest the most likely point for which to look for the presence of an enemy. He and a Shikari in Kashmir were having a match as to which of them could see furthest. The Shikari, pointing out a hillside rising at some distance, inquired if his opponent could say how many cattle were grazing along its slopes. Baden-Powell could only see the cattle with great difficulty, but he presently astonished the Shikari by asking him if he could see the man who was herding the cattle. He could not see the man himself, but he had argued the thing out and knew where the man was. First of all, where there were cattle there would be a herd in charge of them. Secondly, it was most likely that he would be up-hill, above them. Thirdly, up-hill above them stood a solitary tree. Fourthly, the day was very hot, and the tree was the only means of affording shade. Because of these reasons the man must be under the tree--and when Baden-Powell and the Shikari brought their glasses into operation there the man was.

An instance of Baden-Powell's careful attention to small details is given in the same chapter of "Aids to Scouting." "I was once acting as scout for a party in a desert country," he says, "where we were getting done up for want of water. I had gone out two or three miles ahead to where I thought the ground seemed to slope slightly downwards, but except a very shallow, dry water-course, there was no sign of water. As I was making my way slowly back again, I noticed a scratching in the sand, evidently recently made by a buck, and the sand thrown up was of a darker colour, therefore damper, than that on the surface. I dismounted and scooped up more with my hands, and found the under-soil quite moist, so water was evidently near, and could probably be got by digging. But at that moment two pigeons sprang up and flew away from under a rock near by; full of hope, I went to the spot and found there a small pool of water, which yielded sufficient for the immediate requirements of the party. Had I not noticed the buck-scratching, or the pigeons flying up, we should have had a painful toil of many miles before we struck on the river, which we eventually did come to."

EXAMPLE OF DEDUCTION FROM SIGNS.

On the stump, and also sticking to the stone, were some bits of bruised walnut-rind, green, but dried up. Bits of shell of about four walnuts were lying about the ground near a leaning rock about 30 yards away south of the stump. The only walnut-tree in sight was about 150 yards north of the stump.

At the foot of the stump, just where a man would stand to use the stone on it, was a cake of hardened mud that had evidently fallen from the sole of a grass sandal.

DEDUCTION.

It goes without saying that Baden-Powell has had plenty of adventures and excitement out of his love of scouting. How often his life has been in such danger that it was apparently not worth a moment's purchase, it is probable he himself does not know. But if there is anybody who knows what an extraordinarily watchful life it is that has thus risked itself a thousand times, it is the Matabele against whom Baden-Powell brought his keen senses to bear during the campaign of 1896, and who conferred upon him a sobriquet which is likely to stick to him as long as his old nickname of "Bathing-Towel," or the modern "B.-P." of admiring crowds. Writing of his work during July, 1896 , he says: "Many of the strongholds to which I had at first learned the way with patrols, I have now visited again by myself at nights, in order to further locate the positions of their occupants. In this way I have actually got to know the country and the way through it better by night than by day, that is to say, by certain landmarks and leading stars whose respectively changed appearance or absence in daylight is apt to be misleading. The enemy, of course, often see me, but are luckily very suspicious, and look upon me as a bait to some trap, and are therefore slow to come at me. They often shout to me; and yesterday my boy, who was with my horse, told me they were shouting to each other that 'Impeesa' was there--i.e., 'The Wolf,' or, as he translated it, the beast, that does not sleep, but sneaks about at night." Since then a good many folk have learnt much of the Wolf that does not sleep. But if this same sleepless Wolf were asked if there had not been many compensations for his sneaking about at night, he would probably be able to say that for every moment of anxiety he had spent a thousand of satisfaction. To how many men leading hum-drum stay-at-home lives is it ever granted to see one such picture as that Baden-Powell records in his journal under date July 29th, 1896?

"To-day, when out scouting by myself, being at some distance from my boy and the horses, I lay for a short rest and a quiet look-out among some rocks and grass overlooking a little stream; and I saw a charming picture. Presently there was a slight rattle of trinkets, and a swish of the tall yellow grass, followed by the sudden apparition of a naked Matabele warrior standing glistening among the rocks of the streamlet, within thirty yards of me. His white war ornaments--the ball of clipped feathers on his brow, and the long white cow's-tail plumes which depended from his arms and knees--contrasted strongly with his rich brown skin. His kilt of wild cat-skins and monkeys' tails swayed round his loins. His left hand bore his assegais and knobkerrie beneath the great dapple ox-hide shield; and, in his right, a yellow walking-staff.

"He stood for almost a minute perfectly motionless, like a statue cast in bronze, his head turned from me, listening for any suspicious sound. Then, with a swift and easy movement, he laid his arms and shield noiselessly upon the rocks, and, dropping on all fours beside a pool, he dipped his muzzle down and drank just like an animal. I could hear the thirsty sucking of his lips from where I lay. He drank and drank as though he never meant to stop, and when at last his frame could hold no more, he rose with evident reluctance. He picked his weapons up, and then stood again to listen. Hearing nothing, he turned and sharply moved away. In three swift strides he disappeared within the grass as silently as he had come. I had been so taken with the spectacle that I felt no desire to shoot at him--especially as he was carrying no gun himself."

"Is it the cooing of doves that wakes me from dreamland to the stern reality of a scrubby blanket and the cold night air of the upland veldt? A plaintive, continuous moan, moan, reminds me that I am at one of our outpost forts beyond Buluwayo, where my bedroom is under the lee of the sail which forms the wall of the hospital. And through the flimsy screen there wells the moan of a man who is dying. At last the weary wailing slowly sobs itself away, and the suffering of another mortal is ended. He is at peace. It is only another poor trooper gone. Three years ago he was costing his father so much a year at Eton; he was in the eleven, too--and all for this.

"I roll myself tighter in my dew-chilled rug, and turn to dream afresh of what a curious world I'm in. My rest is short, and time arrives for turning out, as now the moon is rising. A curious scene it is, as here in shadow, there in light, close-packed within the narrow circuit of the fort, the men are lying, muffled, deeply sleeping at their posts. It's etiquette to move and talk as softly as we are able, and even harsh-voiced sentries drop their challenge to a whisper when there is no doubt of one's identity. We give our horses a few handfuls of mealies, while we dip our pannikins into the great black 'billy,' where there's always cocoa on the simmer for the guard. And presently we saddle up, the six of us, and lead our horses out; and close behind us follow, in a huddled, shivering file, the four native scouts, guarding among them two Matabele prisoners, handcuffed wrist to wrist, who are to be our guides.

"Down into the deep, dark kloof below the fort, where the air strikes with an icy chill, we cross the shallow spruit, then rise and turn along its farther bank, following a twisting, stony track that leads down the valley. Our horses, though they purposely are left unshod, make a prodigious clatter as they stumble adown the rough uneven way. From force of habit rather than from fear of listening enemies, we drop our voices to a whisper, and this gives a feeling of alertness and expectancy such as would find us well prepared on an emergency. But we are many miles as yet from their extremest outposts, and, luckily for us, these natives are the soundest of sleepers, so that one might almost in safety pass with clattering horses within a quarter of a mile of them.

" ... Dawn is at hand. The hills along our left loom darker now against the paling sky. Before us, too, we see the hazy blank of the greater valley into which our present valley runs. Suddenly there's a pause, and all our party halts. Look back! there, high up on a hill, beneath whose shadow we have passed, there sparkles what looks like a ruddy star, which glimmers, bobs, goes out, and then flares anew. It is a watchfire, and our foes are waking up to warm themselves and to keep their watch. Yonder on another hill sparks up a second fire, and on beyond, another. They are waking up, but all too late; we've passed them by, and now are in their ground. Forward! We press on, and ere the day has dawned we have emerged from out the defile into the open land beyond. This is a wide and undulating plain, some five miles across to where it runs up into mountain peaks, the true Matopos. We turn aside and clamber up among some hills just as the sun is rising, until we reach the ashes of a kraal that has been lately burned. The kraal is situated in a cup among the hills, and from the koppies round our native scouts can keep a good look-out in all directions. Here we call a halt for breakfast, and after slackening girths, we go into the cattle kraal to look for corn to give our horses. Many of the grain-pits have already been opened, but still are left half-filled, and some have not been touched--and then in one--well, we cover up the mouth with a flat stone and logs of wood. The body of a girl lies doubled up within. A few days back a party of some friendlies, men and women, had revisited this kraal, their home, to get some food to take back to their temporary refuge near our fort. The Matabele saw them, and just when they were busy drawing grain, pounced in upon them, assegaing three--all women--and driving off the rest as fast as they could go. This was but an everyday incident of outpost life."

It may be that Baden-Powell would never have been so great an exponent of the art and science of scouting if he had not always been a thoroughly good sportsman. To sport his devotion has invariably been marked since the days when he first felt the charm of wild life. He hunts and shoots, and in Mrs. Baden-Powell's house in St. George's Place there are innumerable trophies of his skill, including lions and tigers. Perhaps his favourite sport is pig-sticking, of which he became a devotee soon after he joined the 13th Hussars in India. In 1883 he won the Kadir Cup--the highest distinction open to followers of this very fascinating sport--and in 1885 he published his work on "Pig-sticking," from which the following characteristically written account of a fight which he once witnessed between a tiger and a boar is extracted:--

An extract from the journal which he kept during the Matabele Campaign shows Baden-Powell in the character of lion-hunter:--

"I could scarcely believe that we had actually got a lion at last, but resolved to make sure of it; so, telling Jackson not to fire unless it was necessary , I got down closer to the beast, and fired a shot at the back of his neck as he turned his head away from me. This went through his spine, and came out through the lower jaw, killing him dead. We were pretty delighted at our success, but our nigger was mad with happiness, for a dead lion--provided he is not a man-eater--has many invaluable gifts for a Kaffir, in the shape of love-philtres, charms against disease or injury, and medicines that produce bravery. It was quite delightful to shake hands with the mighty paws of the dead lion, and to pull at his magnificent tawny mane, and to look into his great deep yellow eyes. And then we set to work to skin him; two skinning, while the other kept watch in case of the enemy sneaking up to catch us while we were thus occupied. In skinning him, we found that he was very fat, and also that he had been much wounded by porcupines, portions of whose quills had pierced the skin and lodged in his flesh in several places. Our nigger cut out the eyes, gall-bladder, and various bits of the lion's anatomy, as fetish medicine. I filled my carbine bucket with some of the fat, as I knew my two boys, Diamond and M'tini, would very greatly value it. Then, after hiding the head in a neighbouring bush, we packed the skin on to one of the ponies, and returned to camp mightily pleased with ourselves.

"On arrival there, the excitement among the boys was very great, for, as we rode into camp, we pretended we had merely shot a buck; but when Diamond turned out to take my horse from me, he suddenly recognized the skin, and his eyes almost started from his head as he put his hand over his mouth and ejaculated, 'Ow! Ingonyama!' Then, grinning with excitement, he asked leave to go and get some more of it. In vain I told him that it was eight miles away, and close under the enemy's stronghold. He seized up an assegai and started off at a steady trot along our back-spoor. And very soon one nigger after another was doubling out of camp after him, to get a share of the booty. In the evening they came back quite happy with various tit-bits, and also the head. The heart was boiled and made into soup, which was greedily partaken of by every boy in camp, with a view to gaining courage. Diamond assured me that the bits of fat, &c., of which he was now the proud possessor, would buy him several cattle when he got back to Natal."

In addition to his fame as a sticker of pigs, a hunter of hogs, a slayer of lions and tigers, Baden-Powell has also greatly distinguished himself as a hunter of big game and an expert polo-player. But there is scarcely anything in the shape of sport and the pursuit of outdoor life which he does not care for. Nature in her wildest and loneliest moods he loves with a whole-hearted devotion, and it is easy to perceive when reading his books and journals that he knows her in all her phases and attitudes, and loves her in them all. It would be strange if it were not so in the case of a man who has so often laid down in the loneliness of the African veldt and slept as trustfully as if he were in his own bed--always taking care, though, with his usual caution, to be sure that his revolver is under his knees, and its lanyard round his neck. To such as him the open air is as the breath of heaven to the saint, and communion with the wild places and wild life of the earth as meat to the hungry.

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