as relaxation from the cramping work of office, he was at the same time picking up valuable information concerning the enemy.  During this grind at the office B.-P. used to long for the lunch hour; “it sounds greedy,” he says, “but it is for the glimpse of sunlight that I look forward, not the lunch.”  On one occasion his work as Chief of the Staff was so severe that he was unable to leave the office for four days.  He was feeling “over-boiled,” and got rid of this stuffiness of mind in his own characteristic way.  After dinner on the fourth day he saddled up and rode off to the Matopos, spent the night there, and was back in the office by 10.30 on the following day, “all the better for a night out.”

All this time the office work increased, and the anxiety of the General and his staff was doubled by reports of rebellion in Mashonaland.  The fire of lawlessness was spreading its evil flames in all directions, till reports of murder and outrage covered an area of one hundred thousand square miles, and about 2000 whites found arrayed against them an army of some 20,000 maddened savages.

Fortunately for B.-P. he had in Sir Frederick Carrington a chief who never wastes a man.  Excellent as Baden-Powell was in the office (and Tim Linkinwater would not have feared, I believe, to hand the precious Cherryble ledgers over to his keeping) he could render much more valuable service in the field.  In the middle of July the reward came for all his independent scouting; he was chosen by Sir Frederick Carrington, as a man who knew the Matopos country and the whereabouts of the enemy, to act as guide to Colonel Plumer—­the officer chosen for the immediate direction of operations in the Matopos.  With joy B.-P. flung down the pen and took up the sword.

His first move was towards Babyan’s stronghold, Babyan being one of the great Matabele chiefs—­a chief great in the glorious days of Lobengula—­and who now occupied the central and important impi in the Matopos.  This work was well done, the enemy’s exact whereabouts were ascertained, and the scouting ended in a glorious gallop back to camp after emptying a few guns into a party of savages attempting to cut off Baden-Powell’s party.  After this came battle.

In the moonlight of the 19th July the little force, nearly a thousand strong, moved out into the Matopos, Baden-Powell going on alone as guide.  He went alone because he feared to have his attention distracted by a companion, thereby losing his bearings.  There was something of a weird and delightful feeling, he says, in mouching along alone, with a dark, silent square of men and horses looming behind one.  So they marched forward, the one incident, and that a sad one, being the killing with an assegai of a dog who had followed the force, and had endangered the success of its movement by barking at a startled buck.  The only noise in the column marching behind the lithe, wiry guide was the occasional muffled cough