At 6 A.M. on the 4th of August we were once more prepared for the road, but before we were marched out of the village, the “manneno,” or speech, was delivered by the orator of the Wanyamwezi: 

“Words! words! words!  Listen, sons of Mkasiwa, children of Unyamwezi! the journey is before you, the thieves of the forest are waiting; yes, they are thieves, they cut up your caravans, they steal your ivory, they murder your women.  Behold, the Arabs are with you, El Wali of the Arab sultan, and the white man are with you.  Go, the son of Mkasiwa is with you; fight; kill, take slaves, take cloth, take cattle, kill, eat, and fill yourselves!  Go!”

“A loud, wild shout followed this bold harangue, the gates of the village were thrown open, and blue, red, and white-robed soldiers were bounding upward like so many gymnasts; firing their guns incessantly, in order to encourage themselves with noise, or to strike terror into the hearts of those who awaited us within the strong enclosure of Zimbizo, Sultan Kolongo’s place.

As Zimbizo was distant only five hours from Umanda, at 11 A.M. we came in view of it.  We halted on the verge of the cultivated area around it and its neighbours within the shadow of the forest.  Strict orders had been given by the several chiefs to their respective commands not to fire, until they were within shooting distance of the boma.

Khamis bin Abdullah crept through the forest to the west of the village.  The Wanyamwezi took their position before the main gateway, aided by the forces of Soud the son of Sayd on the right, and the son of Habib on the left, Abdullah, Mussoud, myself, and others made ready to attack the eastern gates, which arrangement effectually shut them in, with the exception of the northern side.

Suddenly, a volley opened on us as we emerged from the forest along the Unyanyembe road, in the direction they had been anticipating the sight of an enemy, and immediately the attacking forces began their firing in most splendid style.  There were some ludicrous scenes of men pretending to fire, then jumping off to one side, then forward, then backward, with the agility of hopping frogs, but the battle was none the less in earnest.  The breech-loaders of my men swallowed my metallic cartridges much faster than I liked to see; but happily there was a lull in the firing, and we were rushing into the village from the west, the south, the north, through the gates and over the tall palings that surrounded the village, like so many Merry Andrews; and the poor villagers were flying from the enclosure towards the mountains, through the northern gate, pursued by the fleetest runners of our force, and pelted in the back by bullets from breech-loaders and shot-guns.

The village was strongly defended, and not more than twenty dead bodies were found in it, the strong thick wooden paling having afforded excellent protection against our bullets.

From Zimbizo, after having left a sufficient force within, we sallied out, and in an hour had cleared the neighbourhood of the enemy, having captured two other villages, which we committed to the flames, after gutting them of all valuables.  A few tusks of ivory, and about fifty slaves, besides an abundance of grain, composed the “loot,” which fell to the lot of the Arabs.