Soon after this the enemy made a backward move, and the lieutenant on the hilltop (with the Field-Marshal's baton already in his hand) incontinently began to harry him effectively from the rear.
The end of it was that Wedza's warriors were completely bluffed by the resourceful B.-P.; they were driven out of their stronghold, and the stronghold itself blown into smithereens.

During this attack Baden-Powell narrowly escaped death, a small party he was with being fired upon at close range by a number of the enemy hidden behind a ridge of rocks.

"My hat," says B.-P., "was violently struck from my head as if with a stick." This reminds me of the service rendered by Baden-Powell as a doctor.
"Three times in this campaign have I taken out to the field with me a few bandages and dressings in my holster, and on each occasion I have found full use for them." Once he doctored some Matabele women and children who had been hit by stray bullets while lying in the long grass.

On this occasion he invented what he calls a perfect form of field syringe: "Take an ordinary native girl, tell her to go and get some lukewarm water, and don't give her anything to get it in.

She will go to the stream, kneel, and fill her mouth, and so bring the water; by the time she is back the water is lukewarm.