CHAPTER X_M’paga_
Halting his column, closing it up, and calling it to attention, Bertrammarched past the guard of King’s African Rifles and entered the Camp.This consisted of a huge square, enclosed by low earthen walls andshallow trenches, in which were the “lines” of the Indian and Africaninfantry, composing the inadequate little force which was invading GermanEast Africa, rather with the idea of protecting British East thanachieving conquest. The “lines” of the Sepoys and _askaris_ consisted ofrows of tiny low tents, while along the High Street of the Camp stoodhospital tents, officers’ messes, the General’s tent, and that of hisBrigade Major, and various other tents connected with the mysteries ofthe field telegraph and telephone, the Army Service Corps’ supply andtransport, and various offices of Brigade and Regimental Headquarters.As he passed the General’s tent (indicated by a flagstaff and UnionJack), a tall lean officer, with a white-moustached, keen-eyed face,emerged and held up his hand. Seeing the crossed swords of a General onhis shoulder-straps, Bertram endeavoured to rise to the occasion, roared:“_Eyes right_,” “_Eyes front_,” and then “_Halt_,” saluted and steppedforward.
The General shook hands with him, and said: “Glad to see you. Hopeyou’re ready for plenty of hard work, for there’s plenty for you. . .Glad to see your men looking so businesslike and marching so smartly. . . .All right—carry on. . . .”
Bertram would gladly have died for that General on the spot, and it waspositively with a lump (of gratitude, so to speak) in his throat that hegave the order “_Quick march_,” and proceeded, watched by hundreds ofnative soldiers, who crawled out of their low tents or rose up from wherethey lay or squatted to clean accoutrements, gossip, eat, or contemplateInfinity.
Arrived at the opposite entrance of the Camp, Bertram felt foolish, butconcealed the fact by pretending that he had chosen this as a suitablehalting place, bawled: “_Halt_,” “_Into line_—_left turn_,” “_Stand atease_,” “_Stand easy_,” and determined to wait events. He had carriedout his orders and brought the troops to the Camp as per instructions.Somebody else could come and take them if they wanted them. . . .
As he stood, trying to look unconcerned, a small knot of British officersstrolled up, headed by a tall and important-looking person arrayed inhelmet, open shirt, shorts, grey stockings and khaki canvas shoes.
“Greene?” said he.
“Yes, sir,” said Bertram, saluting.
“Brigade Major,” continued the officer, apparently introducing himself.“March the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth on and report to Colonel Rock. TheHundred and Ninety-Eighth are outside the perimeter,” and he pointed towhere, a quarter of a mile away, were some grass huts and rows of tinytents. “The remainder will be taken over by their units here, and yourresponsibility for them ceases.”
Bertram, very thankful to be rid of them, marched on with the Hundred,and halted them in front of the low tents, from which, with whoops ofjoy, poured forth the warriors of the Hundred and Ninety-Eighth in searchof any _bhai_, pal, townee, bucky, or aunt’s cousin’s husband’s sister’sson—(who, as such, would have a strong claim upon his good offices)—inthe ranks of this thrice-welcome reinforcement.
Leaving the Hundred in charge of Jemadar Hassan Ali to await orders,Bertram strode to a large grass _banda_, or hut, consisting of threewalls and a roof, through the open end of which he could see a group ofBritish officers sitting on boxes and stools, about a long and mostuneven, undulating table of box-sides nailed on sticks and supported byfour upright logs.
At the head of this table, on which were maps and papers, sat a smallthick-set man, who looked the personification of vigour, force andrestless activity. Seeing that this officer wore a crown and star on hisshoulder-strap, Bertram went up to him, saluted, and said:
“Second-Lieutenant Greene, I.A.R., sir. I have brought a hundred menfrom the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth, and nine cooking-pots—which ColonelFrost wishes to have returned at once. . . .”
“The men or the cooking-pots, or both?” enquired Colonel Rock, whosehabit of sarcastic and savage banter made him feared by all who came incontact with him, and served to conceal a very kindly and sympatheticnature.
“The cooking-pots, sir,” replied Bertram, blushing as the other officerseyed him critically and with half-smiles at the Colonel’s humour.Bertram felt, a little cynically, that such wit from an officer of theirown rank would not have seemed so pleasingly humorous to some of thesegentlemen, and that, moreover, he had again discovered a Military Maximon his own account. _The value and humorousness of any witty remark madeby any person in military uniform is in inverse ratio to the rank andseniority of the individual to whom it is made_. In other words, aColonel must smile at a General’s joke, a Major must grin broadly, aCaptain laugh appreciatively, a Subaltern giggle right heartily, aWarrant Officer or N.C.O. explode into roars of laughter, and a privatesoldier roll helpless upon the ground in spasms and convulsions ofhelpless mirth.
Hearing a distinct snigger from the end of the table, Bertram glanced inthat direction, said to himself, “You’re a second-lieutenant, by yourappreciative giggle,” and encountered the sneering stare of avacant-faced youth whom he heartily disliked on sight.
“Wants the cooking-pots back, but not the men, eh?” observed the Colonel,and, turning to the officer who sat at his left hand, a tall, handsomeman with a well-bred, pleasant, dark face, who was Adjutant of theHundred and Ninety-Ninth, added:
“Better go and see if there’s good reason for his not wanting them back,Hall. . . . Colonel Frost’s a good man at selling a horse—perhaps he’ssold us a pup. . . .”
More giggles from the vacant faced youth as Captain Hall arose and wentout of the shed of grass and sticks, thatched on a framework of posts,which was the Officers’ Mess of the Hundred and Ninety-Eighth Regiment.
Feeling shy and nervous, albeit most thankful to be among senior officerswho would henceforth relieve him of the lonely responsibility he hadfound so trying and burdensome, Bertram seized the opportunity of theAdjutant’s departure to escape, and followed that officer to where theHundred awaited the order to dismiss.
“Brought a tent?” asked Captain Hall, as they went along.
“No,” replied Bertram. “Ought I to have done so?”
“If you value your comfort on these picnics,” was the answer. “You’llfind it a bit damp o’ nights when it rains, in one of these grass huts. . . .You can pig in with me to-night, and we’ll set a party of Kavirondoto build you a _banda_ to-morrow if you’re staying on here.”
“Thanks awfully,” acknowledged Bertram. “Am I likely to go on somewhereelse, though?”
“I did hear something about your taking a provision convoy up to Butindithe day after to-morrow,” was the reply. “One of our Majors is up therewith a mixed force of Ours and the Arab Company, with some odds and endsof King’s African Rifles and things. . . . Pity you haven’t a tent.”
After looking over the Hundred and committing them to the charge of theSubedar-Major of the Hundred and Ninety-Eighth, Captain Hall invitedBertram “to make himself at home” in his hut, and led the way to where arow of green tents and grass huts stood near the Officers’ Mess. On aRoorkee chair, at the door of one of these, sat none other than theLieutenant Stanner whom Bertram had last seen on the deck of _Elymas_.With him was another subaltern, one of the Hundred and Ninety-Eighth.
“Hullo, Greene-bird!” cried Stanner. “Welcome home. Allow me to presentyou to my friend Best. . . . He is Very Best to-day, because he has gota bottle of whisky in his bed. He’ll only be Second Best to-morrow,because he won’t have any by then. . . . Not if he’s a gentleman, thatis,” he added, eyeing Best anxiously.
That officer grinned, arose, and entering the hut, produced the whisky, abox of “sparklets,” a kind of siphon, and a jug of dirty water.
“You already know Hall?” continued Stanner, the loquacious. “I was atschool with his father. He’s a good lad. Address him as Baronial Hallwhen you want something,
Music Hall when you’re feeling girlish, TownHall when he’s coming the pompous Adjutant over you, and Mission Hallwhen you’re tired of him.”
“Don’t associate with him, Greene. Come away,” said Captain Hall.“He’ll teach you to play shove-ha’penny, to smoke, and to use badlanguage,” but as Best handed him a whisky-and-dirty-water, feeblyaerated by a sparklet, he tipped Stanner from his chair, seated himselfin it, murmured, “When sinners entice thee, consent thou some,” anddrank.
“Why are you dressed like that? Is it your birthday, or aren’t you verywell?” enquired Stanner suddenly, eyeing Bertram’s lethal weapons andSepoy’s turban. Bertram blushed, pleaded that he had nowhere to“undress,” and had only just arrived. Whereupon the Adjutant, remarkingthat he must be weary, arose and took him to his hut.
“Get out of everything but your shirt and shorts, my son,” said he, “andchuck that silly _puggri_ away before you get sunstroke. All very wellif you’re going into a scrap, but it’s as safe as Piccadilly round here.”Bertram, as he sank into the Adjutant’s chair, suddenly realised that hewas more tired than ever he had been in his life before.
“Where _Bwana_ sleeping to-night, sah, thank you, please?” boomed afamiliar voice, and before the tent stood the faithful Ali, bowing andsaluting—behind him three tall Kavirondo carrying Bertram’s kit. Ali hadcommandeered these men from Bridges’ party, and had hurried them off farin advance of the porters who were bringing in the general kit, rations,and ammunition. By means best known to himself he had galvanised the“low niggers” into agility and activity that surprised none more thanthemselves.
“Oh—it’s my servant,” said Bertram to the Adjutant. “May he put my bedin here, then?”
“That’s the idea,” replied Captain Hall, and, in a few minutes, Bertram’scamp-bed was erected and furnished with bedding and mosquito net, hiswashhand-stand was set up, and his canvas bucket filled with water. Notuntil everything possible had been done for his master’s comfort did Alidisappear to that mysterious spot whereunto native servants repair beyondthe ken of the master-folk, when in need of food, leisure and relaxation.
Having washed, eaten and slept, Bertram declared himself “a better andwiser man,” and asked Hall if he might explore the Camp, its wonders toadmire. “Oh, yes,” said Hall, “but don’t go into the gambling dens,boozing-kens, dancing-saloons and faro tents, to squander your money,time and health.”
“_Are_ there any?” asked Bertram, in wide-eyed astonishment.
“No,” replied Hall.
Bertram wished people would not be so fond of exercising their humour athis expense. He wondered why it was that he was always something of abutt. It could not be that he was an absolute fool, or he would not havebeen a Scholar of Balliol. He sighed. _Could_ one be a Scholar ofBalliol and a fool? . . .
“You might look in on the General, though,” continued Hall, “and bechatty. . . . It’s a very lonely life, y’know, a General’s. I’m alwayssorry for the poor old beggars. Yes—he’d be awfully glad to see you. . . .Ask you to call him Willie before you’d been there a couple of hours,I expect.”
“D’you mean I ought to call on the General formally?” asked Bertram, whoknew that Hall was “ragging” again, as soon as he introduced the “Willie”touch.
“Oh, don’t be too formal,” was the reply. “Be matey and cosy with him. . . .I don’t suppose he’s had a really heart-to-heart chat with asubaltern about the things that _really_ matter—the Empire (the LeicesterSquare one, I mean); Ciro’s; the girls; George Robey, George Graves, Mr.Bottomley, Mrs. Pankhurst and the other great comedians—since Idunno-when. He’d _love_ to buck about what’s doing in town, with _you_,y’know. . . .”
Bertram sighed again. It was no good. _Everybody_ pulled his leg andseemed to sum him up in two minutes as the sort of green ass who’dbelieve anything he was told, and do anything that was suggested.
“I say, Hall,” he said suddenly, “I’m a civilian, y’know, and a bit of afool, too, no doubt. I am absolutely ignorant of all military matters,particularly those of etiquette. I am going to ask you things, since youare Adjutant of the corps I’m with. If you score off me, I think it’llbe rather a cheap triumph and an inglorious victory, don’t you? . . .I’m not a bumptious and conceited ass, mind—only an ignorant one, whofully admits it, and asks for help. . . .”
As the poet says, it is a long lane that has no public-house, and a longworm that has no turning.
Hall stared.
“Well said, Greene,” quoth he, and never jested at Bertram’s expenseagain.
“Seriously—should I leave a card on the General?” continued Bertram.
“You should not,” was the reply. “Avoid Generals as you would yourcreditors. They’re dangerous animals in peace-time. On manœuvresthey’re ferocious. On active service they’re rapid. . . .”
“Any harm in my strolling round the Camp?” pursued Bertram. “I’m awfullyinterested, and might get some ideas of the useful kind.”
“None whatever,” said Hall. “No reason why you shouldn’t prowl aroundlike the hosts of Midian till dinner-time. There’s nothing doing in theHundred and Ninety-Eighth till four a.m. to-morrow, and you’re not inthat, either.”
“What is it?” asked Bertram.
“Oh, a double-company of Ours is going out to mop up a little post theGermans have established across the river. We’re going to learn ’em notto do such,” said Hall.
“D’you think I might go?” asked Bertram, wondering, even as he spoke,whether it was his voice that was suggesting so foolish a thing as thatBertram Greene should arise at three-thirty in the morning to go,wantonly and without reason, where bullets were flying, bayonets werestabbing, and death and disablement were abroad.
“Dunno,” yawned Hall. “Better ask the Colonel. What’s the matter withbed at four ack emma? That’s where I’d be if I weren’t in orders forthis silly show.”
As Bertram left the tent on his tour of exploration he decided that hewould ask the Colonel if he might go with the expedition, and then hedecided that he would do nothing so utterly foolish. . . . No, of coursehe wouldn’t. . . .
Yes, he would. . . .
Cupid in Africa Page 13
