If he had been at home he would have had a warm reception, but the young
coward had fled with all his women before the action had commenced,
together with the magic bamba or throne, and the sacred drum.
In a few minutes the conflagration was terrific, as the great court of
Kabba Rega blazed in flames seventy or eighty feet high, which the wind
drove in vivid forks into the thatch of the adjacent houses.
We now followed the enemy throughout the town, and the sniders told with
sensible effect wherever they made a stand. The blue lights continued
the work; the roar of flames and the dense volumes of smoke, mingled
with the continued rattle of musketry, and the savage yells of the
natives, swept forward with the breeze, and the capital of Unyoro was a
fair sample of the infernal regions.
The natives were driven out of the town, but the high grass was swarming
with many thousands, who, in the neighbourhood of the station, still
advanced to attack the soldiers.
I now ordered "The Forty" to clear the grass, and a steady fire of
snider rifles soon purged the covert upon which the enemy had relied.
In about an hour and a quarter the battle of Masindi was won. Not a
house remained of the lately extensive town. A vast open space of smoke
and black ashes, with flames flickering in some places where the
buildings had been consumed, and at others forked sheets of fire where
the fuel was still undestroyed, were the only remains of the capital of
Unyoro.
The enemy had fled. Their drums and horns, lately so noisy, were now
silent.
I ordered the bugle to sound "cease firing." We marched through the
scorching streets to our station, where I found my wife in deep
distress.
The bugle sounded the assembly, and the men mustered, and fell in for
the roll-call. Four men were missing.
Lying on the turf, close to the fort wall, were four bodies arranged in
a row and covered with cloths.
The soldiers gathered round them as I approached. The cloths were
raised.
My eyes rested on the pale features of my ever faithful and devoted
officer, Monsoor! There was a sad expression of pain on his face. I
could not help feeling his pulse; but there was no hope; this was still.
I laid his arm gently by his side, and pressed his hand for the last
time, for I loved Monsoor as a true friend.
His body was pierced with thirty-two lance wounds; thus he had fought
gallantly to the last, and he had died like a good soldier; but he was
treacherously murdered instead of dying on a fair battle-field.
Poor Ferritch Baggara was lying next to him, with two lance wounds
through the chest.
