The First Authentic Account of Some of the Remarkable Exploits of Major
F. R. Burnham, the Famous Scout, who, it will be remembered, was called post
haste to South Africa by Lord Roberts In the Early Stages of the Boer War.
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IT is safe to say that the experiences of Major Frederick Russell Burnham, the American scout, would make one of the. most fascinating books that could be wished for by those who love tales of adventure. Good old-fashioned hair-breadth escapes have been scattered by Fate with a lavish hand all through the exciting story of his life -a story not yet half told, let us hope. He was born into his career, one might say, for while he was yet a baby he could look from his father 's door on the wild frontier of Minnesota and see the flames rising from the burning town of New Ulm, a terrible funeral pyre for the murdered women and children lying there in their dismantled houses, the victims of Chief Red Cloud's braves.
Burnham played at hunting Indians before he could read, and the game became reality with him at a time when most boys are in school. He could manage a rifle effectively when he was eight, and was a first rate shot by the time he was twelve. When he was only thirteen he was shifting for himself, and came within an ace of capturing Vasquez, the most famous bandit in Southern California, who had killed a hundred white men in his day.
In the next few years he was in the thick of some of the fiercest and bloodiest of the cattle-wars that stained red the history of the American South-west in the early eighties. He followed the trail of the red men in many Western States, tracked white outlaws in Arizona , and fought bandits in Mexico until the West became too quiet for him. The quick blood of imperialism was in his veins. and he sought out a country that was still reaching for new and unconquered territory. The prospect of trouble between the Chartered Company's handful of troops in Matabeleland and Lobengula's 10.000 warriors in 1893 attracted him and carried him off to South Africa, which has been the scene of most of his exploits ever since.
Many stories have been told of one or another of these adventures in the newspapers from time to time, but they were usually more or less apocryphal, or else they partook of the stiff and official character of the Government reports from which many of them came. They lacked, too, the cumulative interest that they might have had if strung together in one narrative. Time and again attempts have been made to persuade Major Burnham to set down a record of these incidents in his own words and with the details that should clothe, as with flesh and blood, the bare skeletons of facts already known. But such efforts were unavailing despite all inducements. He would say ‘that writing was not in his line,’ or give some other excuse. His thoughts never seemed to concern themselves in the least with spectacular effects or with popular applause. He had courage enough and to spare for all the perils of war, but when it came to facing what looked like autobiography his heart always failed him. The difficulty of getting from such a man, little by little, the details of some of the more exciting events in his career has been considerable, but the result has proved well worth the effort.
Major Burnham's most talked-of achievement was his mission to the sacred cave of the M’limo. That dare-devil trip had far reaching results, and went a long way toward putting an end to the Matabele rebellion of 1896. The story of it was told far and wide at the time, but the current accounts left out many details that could ill be spared, and beyond his official report Burnham was loath to talk about it. One reason for his reticence was that he always insisted he got more than his share of credit for the adventure, and that the real engineer of the affair was Armstrong, who is now Commissioner of the very district in which the M'limo's mischief came to a sudden end.
After the downfall of Lobengula the country had settled down to a quiet growth. The Kaffirs lived on good terms with the settlers, nobody carried arms, and all seemed contented. But in the breast of the savage there is always hidden what no white man can read, even though the white man is born and raised among them. The Kaffirs of Africa are largely governed by their secret priesthood, each district having its local head acting on instructions from the chief M'limo, who is supposed to be the mouth-piece of God and to talk directly to Him in certain sacred caves.