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Burnham: King of Scouts

by Peter van Wyk

568 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-1270; ISBN 1-4120-0901-4; US$40.00, C$46.00, EUR33.00, £23.50

A world-traveled writer recounts the amazing adventures of an American who mentored Robert Baden-Powell and inspired the Boy Scouts. Burnham is bigger than the Chief Scout.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Frederick Russell Burnham (1861-1947), an American from California, taught scouting to Robert Baden-Powell, inspiring B-P to eventually found the Boy Scouts. Burnham went to Africa in 1893 to scout for Cecil Rhodes on the Cape-to-Cairo Railway. He was a scout in the Matabele War when that engine of death - the Maxim gun - was introduced. Burnham gained fame when he survived the British equivalent of Custer's Last Stand. During a rebellion three years later, he shot the oracle believed to be the instigator. That act expanded his fame. During this conflict, Burnham took a British Army officer, Colonel Baden-Powell, into the African hills and taught him scouting. Baden-Powell's very life was changed, and forever after that he promoted scouting at every opportunity. Burnham found gold in the Klondike, but he was called back to Africa to serve as chief of scouts for Field Marshal Lord Roberts in the Boer War. In Johannesburg, he was reunited with Baden-Powell, who had become famous for his defense of Mafeking. Burnham and Baden-Powell began forty years of spirited correspondence in which Burnham provided the ideas and Baden-Powell - in his own words - "sucked" Burnham's brains. Evacuated to London for a war injury, Burnham was acclaimed as King of Scouts. Queen Victoria invited he and his wife to dine with her at her beloved Osborn House. Burnham went on to explore what is now Ghana and to introduce agriculture to Kenya. Later he joined John Hays Hammond to develop agriculture in the Yaqui River Delta of Sonora. When the Wright Brothers' invention became a viable tool of war, Burnham abandoned horse scouting. He became an oil scout and his zeal led him to discover oil at Dominguez Mesa south of Los Angeles. Long an associate of Teddy Roosevelt, Burnham took up the environmental cause with great zeal. The closing chapters describe his activities on behalf of the Save the Redwoods League, the California State Parks Commission, and a campaign to set aside two million acres for the protection of the Bighorn Sheep of Arizona. This true story is told as a biographical novel. For more information about the book visit the author's website at www.BurnhamKingofScouts.com.

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About the Author The author is a fitting choice to write about Fred Burnham, the American who inspired the Boy Scouts. In 1965, he met Burnham's son, Roderick, who had accompanied his father to Africa in 1893. Rod spent a decade providing the author with recollections, books, diaries, journals and newspaper and magazine articles. But the great prize, forty years of private correspondence between Burnham and Baden-Powell, was not unsealed from the archives at Yale University until AD 2000. The author has been a foreign correspondent in the Far East and has written for Readers Digest and other magazines. While on assignment for U.S. News & World Report in Africa, he retraced Major Burnham's exciting adventures with Colonel Robert Baden-Powell.

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LETTERS AND COMMENTARIES

The story [of Burnham: King of Scouts] is vigorous; the dialog is natural; the arrangement of the scenes is enticing, not interrupting the flow of the story but fostering it.

I especially liked the many vigorous figures of speech, such as "more guts than you can hang on a fence," "wearing the assured look of a gentleman sportsman," and "the sky was still the dull purple of a healing bruise." There were countless others.

The layout of the book is attractive, as is the cover. I liked the large initial letters at the beginning of each chapter, the good-size pages, the legible type, clean printing job, maps and photographs.

Though I have been reading history for most of my life, the events and persons in your book are mostly new to me ‹ fresh and interesting. Merely sampling your book, it arrived just today, I have learned much about the Arizona frontier, the Matabele Rebellion and I expect to enjoy Cecil Rhodes, the Jameson Raid, the Boer War, the Klondike and more ‹ to say nothing of Burnham himself.

-Eugene R. Miller, Shelton, Connecticut
former copy editor, New York Times
former managing editor, Pacific Stars & Stripes, Tokyo

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Sample Excerpts

If you are too old for Harry Potter, you are holding the right book

"We go into the night as fighters go; we are hard as cats to kill, our hearts are reckless still, for we've danced with death a dozen times." -H.O. Egbert, Chuckawalla Prospector

"To my friendly enemy, the greatest scout in the world. Once craved the honour of killing you, but failing that I extend my heartiest admiration." -Fritz Duquesne, Africa Scout

"While he talks, there is not a thing that misses his quick-roving eye, whether it is on the horizon or at his feet." -Robert Baden-Powell, Chief Scout

"We who knew his loveable and gentle nature would hardly judge him as a man capable of almost unbelievable bravery." -Frederick W. Hodge, director, Southwest Museum

"He has trained himself to endure appalling fatigues, hunger, thirst and wounds, has learned to force every nerve in his body to absolute obedience." -Richard Harding Davis, Real Soldiers of Fortune

"If you know Burnham, you know he is one of the greatest soldiers of fortune the world has ever produced." -Earl A. Brininstool, California author

"Like Allan Quatermain, he is an extremely polished and thoughtful person. In real life, Burnham is more interesting than any of my heroes of romance." -Sir Rider Haggard, King Solomon's Mines

Chapter 21 Burnham Meets Rhodes

The men of Captain Heaney's relief column gave up their horses to the survivors. Everyone trekked south on the Old Hunters Trail, coming in four hours' time to a camp of many wagons and large fires. Cecil Rhodes and Doctor Jameson presided over a feast of roast mutton, baked potatoes, biscuits and vegetables. As the men ate, there was acrimonious conjecture on the fate of Major Allan Wilson and his thirty-three men.

Major Forbes insisted some had survived, suggesting they were on the Old Hunters Trail en route to Salisbury. Not a man in camp believed him. Many spoke ominously of Wilson's Last Stand.

At 2 o'clock, they inspanned and trekked until sunset brought them to Inyati, where another banquet awaited. Fresh clothing was issued and the men rested for two days while messengers galloped ahead with the news of the patrol's survival. By easy stages they rode to Bulawayo where Digby Willoughby presided over the taking of photos of the survivors. An official campaign ribbon was authorized.

In Bulawayo, Colonel Hamilton Goold-Adams, the senior Imperial officer, held a court of enquiry. It lasted five days, during which the survivors of the Shangani Patrol were questioned about the fate of Major Allan Wilson and the conduct of Major Patrick Forbes. The hearing was concluded on Christmas Day.

The findings were classified and forwarded to Sir Henry Loch, the British high commissioner in Cape Town. The Combined Column was disbanded - eighty-one days after signing on at Forts Victoria and Salisbury. Colonel Goold-Adams and his Imperial Column remained in Bulawayo to occupy the town.

Captain Bill Napier, the second in command to Major Wilson, inherited the duty of mustering out the officers and men of the Victoria Column. He gave each of the men certificates entitling each to six thousand acres of land, twenty mineral claims and a share of King Lobengula's cattle. Similar documents were forwarded to the survivors of deceased campaigners. The certificates were instantly accepted as mediums of exchange - as good as gold. There was a brisk trade in farm rights and minerals claims. Burnham exchanged his double share of farm stands for hundreds of mineral claims. That night Captain Lendy invited Fred Burnham to dine with him in his tent on roast beef and vegetables.

"I wanted to thank you personally for those ears you gave me back on the veld," Lendy said.

"If it wasn't for your Maxim guns," Burnham said, "neither of us would be here tonight."

"I told you they were the Devil's own paint brush."

"True, at the Battle of the Shanganii, I was impressed with the Maxims," Fred said. "But later at the Battle of the Bembesi, it was those Hotchkiss guns that saved us. For awhile, I became skeptical of the Maxims."

"What made you change your mind?"

"Those Hotchkiss cannons were too heavy to lug along on the Shangani Patrol," Fred said. "But we were able to strip down the Maxims and use them in tough fighting. It was the Maxims that saved our lives. I now join with you in believing the Maxim machine gun will change the essence of warfare."

"That's the message I intend to carry to London."

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ON WEDNESDAY, December 27, every able-bodied man from Salisbury and Fort Victoria rode out of Bulawayo. Most went to get their women, children and possessions and bring them back to Bulawayo to stake out farms and mineral claims in Matabele Land. Johann Colenbrander, who had been placed in charge of prisoners during the Shangani Retreat, became Chief Native Commissioner. His new position held more police power and judicial authority than any American Indian Agent. The CNC and his staff of Native Commissioners would serve as policeman, judge, jury and executioner for the blacks. Johann began disarming the Matabele warriors, who turned in their rifles and assegais - at least some of them. Colenbrander immediately won the sobriquet Collar and Brand 'em.

By separate routes, Fred Selous and Patrick Forbes left for London. Selous planned to write a book about Africa. Though he had spent two decades in the Dark Continent and earned renown as a white hunter, he had accumulated little more than his wagons, hunting rifles and a few tusks of ivory, which he had to sell to pay his passage back to England. Forbes was escorting his brother, Eustace, who was being sent to London to receive medical treatment for a war wound.

Toward evening that Wednesday, Commandant Piet Raaff collapsed with a sharp pain in his stomach. He was taken to the dispensary and placed under the care of Doctor Leander Starr Jameson, the administrator. Doctor Jim diagnosed Raaff's condition as inflammation of the bowels. Sometime during the night, Commandant Pieter Raaff, the Boer kaffir fighter with the big reputation and little girl feet, drew his last breath and died.

Three weeks later, Captain Charles Lendy arrived at Tati by the Shashi River and checked into Edwards Tati Hotel. That night, after scoffing down three pints of grog and grand-grousing a memorable repast, Maxim Lendy collapsed. He was carried to his hotel room where during the night he died. The medical examiner's diagnosis was bowel inflammation, which touched off rumors that both Raaff and Lendy had died at the hand of Doctor Jameson.

Major Patrick Forbes arrived in London in a state of complete disgrace. While crossing the Umzingwane River where it joined with the Limpopo, Pat Forbes allowed his wounded brother, Eustace, to drown in the rapids. His loss of reputation and prestige was total. The deaths of Allan Wilson, Pieter Raaff and Charley Lendy and the contempt accorded Patrick Forbes meant that the horrifying capabilities of the Maxim machine gun would remain unrecognized until the Battle of Omdurman in the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. No foreign observer was in Matabele Land to witness the Devil's Paintbrush in action.

CAPE TOWN-DECEMBER 1893

HIGH COMMISSIONER Sir Henry Loch classified as Secret all documents relating to his peace offering to King Lobengula, including the part about Lo Ben's envoys being murdered at Tati. Then, caught up in the spirit of the victory, Sir Henry announced that six hundred white men had defeated ten thousand hostile savages at the Battle of the Shangani. He let out all stops in describing the Battle of the Bembesi as Britain's greatest struggle in native warfare since Rorke's Drift. Fred came to understand that recalling Rorke's Drift in the British Empire was akin to crying "Remember the Alamo"in the United States. Rorke's Drift was when a hundred thirty British soldiers held out in Natal against four thousand Zulus.

BULAWAYO-DECEMBER 1893

BEFORE LEAVING Bulawayo, Cecil Rhodes summoned Burnham to his presence for a private audience. It was Fred's first meeting with his hero and he privately warned himself to mind his Ps and Qs. The great man had come to Africa for his health, but from what Fred could see Britain's most powerful man acted like he was the king of the land.
"I'm pleased to meet a man of your rare courage and exceptional qualities,"
Rhodes said as they shook hands. A male servant served tea. Fred wished it was Arbuckles. Despite a ghastly falsetto voice, Rhodes was accustomed to having his commands instantly obeyed.
"This meeting is my honor," Burnham replied.
"I came half way around the world to serve you."
"Really now?"
"I came from California to serve your cause,"Fred said.
"Is that a fact?" Rhodes seemed to be all the more impressed because the guy talking to him was such a little fart. Yet his cobalt-blue eyes instantly took in every detail of the room.
"Doctor Jameson tells me if there were ten of you, the war would have been won in half the time."
"Like the devil at a baptizing," Burnham said, "we did a lot of rushing around. At other times, we were stuck in mud up to the buggy hubs."

Rhodes flinched. His life was so filled with intense action that he had little time for ordinary jocularity. Fred decided that give or take a pterodactyl or two, Rhodes was the first child of Adam's breed.

"Did you ever come across any Mormons while you were knocking about in America?" Rhodes asked. "I hear they are first-rank desert farmers."

Fred told of his experiences with Sirrine, the engineer who'd reclaimed the gradients of the Ho-Ho-Kams east of Phoenix. He repeated what Sirrine had described to him of the municipal layout of Salt Lake City.

Rhodes, his interest piqued, invited Fred into an inner sanctum where they talked for several hours. Rhodes' voice broke into a falsetto whenever he became excited.

Fred drew sketches to show how the Mormons built their cities on a pattern of rectangular city blocks with streets so wide a span of eighteen oxen could make a U-turn. At length, Rhodes said, "You've given me valuable ideas."
Fred rose to take his leave.

"May I ask you a personal question, Mr. Burnham?"

"Certainly." Fred replied.

"You're a many-sided fellow, a jolly mixture of the physical and the intellectual. Why is it that you choose to live out here on the borders of savagery?"
It was widely known that Rhodes spent his time in the splendor of his grand mansion, Groot Shure, on swelldoodle hill - the slope of Table Mountain in Cape Town.

"I thrive in the outdoors, Mr. Rhodes. Take London. The sidewalks are narrow. To walk is to battle your way to your destination. London is miles and miles of narrow, foggy streets and unadorned, plain, back-to-back houses. No desert is so dreary."
Rhodes quivered and his jowls shook like jelly.

"I shall never forget that description, Mr. Burnham," he said, once again scrutinizing Fred carefully. Then at length, he added.

"By the way, is there some way the British South Africa Company can repay you for the valuable services you've rendered to the Chartered Company?"

For fifteen seconds, Burnham seemed lost in thought.

"I appreciate the honor of your offer, but I fought to defend the lives of people, not to promote the interests of a commercial enterprise. I cannot accept any reward from the Chartered Company. If permitted, I might say that Matabele Land is as fine a place as it ever has been England's privilege to steal."
Rhodes' jowls shook and his face flushed. He arose, pursed his lips - his version of laughter - and reached across the desk to shake Fred's hand.

"I admire honesty," Rhodes said. "I'll disregard that remark."

Fred, still standing, tipped his hat and walked out.

For several minutes, Rhodes sat at his desk in silence. Then he turned to the open doorway.

"Doctor Jameson, please come in here. That Burnham chap, he's quite a remarkable fellow. To see him once is to know him always."

"That's I've been trying to tell you, Mr. Rhodes."

"But he's so American, so ruddy cowboy."

"Give us a year and we'll have him speaking the Queen's English."

Rhodes pulled a badly wrinkled envelope from his jacket pocket. He scribbled on the back of it and handed it to Jameson. "Maybe he won't accept a reward from the Chartered Company," Rhodes said enigmatically, "but from me? Well, see that this order is carried out."

Jameson studied the note and an expression of pure delight spread over his face. "Yes, Mr. Rhodes. It will be my greatest pleasure."

The next day, Cecil Rhodes left Bulawayo for Cape Town and London. He was accustomed to being the richest man in the world, the man who controlled ninety percent of the world's diamond market. Now he owned a country that was bigger than England or Germany, almost as big as France. Already people were calling it Rhodesia. For Cecil Rhodes, this was his finest hour.

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How others felt about Fred Burnham

"There is no other man so worthy of the mantle of Kit Carson."
Los Angeles Times

"...King of Scouts..."
Pearsons Magazine, London

"I know Burnham. He is a scout and hunter of courage and ability, a man totally without fear, a sure shot and a fighter. He is the ideal scout."
Teddy Roosevelt, Oyster Bay

"...World's greatest scout..."
Scarborough Post

"Bullets, assegais passed your body within a fraction of an inch. Teeth, claws, horns of dangerous animals were powerless to harm you."
Willie Posselt, Africa scout

"He was a wonderful little guy, tougher than a boot."
Cy Rubel, chairman, Union Oil of California

"It may not be too much to claim for him a considerable if indirect share in the Boy Scout movement."
London Times

"He is the Sherlock Holmes of all out of doors."
Richard Harding Davis, Real Soldiers of Fortune

"Sir Robert Baden Powell felt like a tenderfoot before this American scout."
James E. West, chief scout executive

"He is quiet, courteous, extremely modest."
Richard Harding Davis

"You watch Burnham. He has forgotten more (about scouting) than I shall ever know."
Johann Colenbrander, Africa scout

"Lt. Gen. Baden-Powell, in his famous book on Scouting, gratefully acknowledges that not a little of his information came from Burnham."
Pearson's Magazine, London

"It would be nothing short of a crime to leave your life story unwritten."
Samuel F.B. Morse, Pebble Beach

"Those eyes apparently never leave yours, but in reality they see everything behind you and about you, above you and below you."
Richard Harding Davis

"His eyes are of an amazing blue, and they fasten upon you when you come into his presence and never leave you, nor miss a shadow of your expression. They make you feel terribly naked."
Colliers magazine

"Those blue eyes of his would knock a man down"
Rolfe McCollom, chief geologist, Union Oil Co.

"The eyes of the man were what most impressed beholders. They were the all seeing eyes of the hunter, the eyes that let not the quiver of a twig escape. They were clear and bright, trained to gather swift impressions for the reasoning brain behind them."
Fritz Duquesne, Africa scout

"There is one who is of the same stamp as you, who has the same pluck, the same courage, who faced all the hardships and danger, who traveled with you in the wilds of Africa. That is your wife, Blanche Burnham. Of her, I can say a marvelous, wonderful lady."
Willie Posselt, Africa scout

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Catalogue Information

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