Cupid in Africa

by Percival Christopher Wren

  CHAPTER XVII_More Baking_

  Bertram was awakened at dawn by the bustle and stir of Stand-to. Hearose and dressed, by the simple process of putting on his boots andhelmet, which, by reason of rain, wind, mud and publicity, were the onlygarments he had removed. Proceeding to that face of the fort which wasto be his special charge, he found that one half of its defenders werelining its water-logged trench, and the other half, its wall. It was adepressing hour and place. Depressing even to one who had not slept inhis wet clothes and arisen with throbbing head, horrible mouth, achinglimbs and with the sense of a great sinking void within.

  Around the fort was a sea of withering brushwood, felled trees, scrub andthorn, grey and ugly: inside the fort, a lake of mud. BurlySubedar-Major Luxman Atmaram seemed cheery and bright, so Bertramendeavoured to emulate him.

  The Major, accompanied by Vereker (who called himself Station StaffOfficer, Aide-de-camp to the O.C. Troops, Assistant Provost Marshal, andother sonorous names), passed on his tour of inspection. Bertramsaluted.

  “Good morning, sir,” said he.

  “Think so?” said the Major, and splashed upon his way.

  “Good morning, Vereker,” said Bertram, as that gentleman passed.

  “Nothing of the sort. Wrong again,” replied Vereker, and splashed upon_his_ way.

  Both were wearing the Stand-to face, and looked coldly upon Bertram, whowas not.

  After “Dismiss,” Bertram returned to the Mess _banda_.

  “Good morning, Greene,” said the Major, and:

  “Good morning, Greene,” echoed Vereker.

  Bertram decided that his not being properly dressed in the matter of theStand-to face, was overlooked or condoned, in view of his youth andinexperience. . . . The vast metal teapot and a tray of dog-biscuitsmade their appearance.

  “I’m going to have my bloater now,” said Berners, plucking a banana fromthe weary-looking bunch. “Will someone remind me that I have had it, ifI go to take another?”

  “I will,” volunteered Augustus. “Any time you pluck a bloater and I hityou on the head three times with the tent-peg mallet, that means ‘Nay,Pauline.’ See?” . . .

  “What’s the Programme of Sports for to-day, sir?” asked Berners of theMajor, as he cleansed his fingers of over-ripe banana upon Augustus’ssilky hair.

  “Macke takes a strong Officer’s Patrol towards Muru,” replied the Major.“Halke starts getting the trenches deepened a bit. You can wrestle withcommissariat and ammunition returns, and the others might do a bit ofparade and physical jerks or something this morning. I’m going to sneakround and catch the pickets on the hop. You’d better come with me,Greene, and see where they’re posted. Tell the Subedar-Major what youwant your men to do. Wavell’s taking his people for a march. Murie willbe in charge of the fort. . . .”

  “Murie has temperature of one hundred and five,” put in LieutenantBupendranath Chatterji. “He has fever probably.”

  “Shouldn’t be at all surprised,” observed the Major dryly. “What are yougiving him?”

  “Oah, he will be all right,” was the reply.

  “I’ve got three fresh limes I pinched from that _shamba_,” {173} saidAugustus. “If he had those with a quart of boiling water and half a tinof condensed milk, he might be able to do a good sweat and browse ahandful of quinine.”

  “No more condensed milk,” said Berners. “Greene had the last tin lastnight, and the hog didn’t bring any with him.”

  “I shall be delighted to contribute the remainder of it,” said Bertram,looking into his tin. “There’s quite three-quarters of it left.”

  “Good egg,” applauded Augustus. “If you drink your tea from the tin,you’ll get the flavour of milk for ever so long,” and Ali having beendespatched to the cook-house for a kettle of boiling water, Augustusfetched his limes and the two concocted the brew with their condensedmilk and lime-juice in an empty rum-jar.

  “What about a spot of whisky in it?” suggested Vereker.

  “Better without it when fever is violent,” opined the medical attendant,and Augustus, albeit doubtfully, accepted the _obiter dicta_, as from onewho should know.

  “Shall I shove it into him through the oil-funnel if he is woozy?” heasked, and added: “Better not, p’r’aps. Might waste half of it down hislungs and things . . .” and he departed, in search of his victim.

  As Bertram left the _boma_ in company of the Major, he found it difficultto realise that, only a few hours earlier he had not set eyes on theplace. He seemed to have been immured within its walls of mud and wattlefor days, rather than hours.

  About the large clearing that lay on that side of the fort, Sepoys,servants, porters and _askaris_ came and went upon their occasions; thestretcher-bearers, gun-teams, and a company of Gurkhas were at drill; andin the trenches, the long, weedy bodies of the Kavirondo rose and fell asthey dug in the mud and clay. Near the gate a doleful company of sickand sorry porters squatted and watched a dresser of the IndianSubordinate Medical Department, as he sprinkled iodoform from a pepperboxon to the hideous sores and wounds of a separate squad requiring suchtreatment. The sight of an intensely black back, with a huge wound of aglowing red, upon which fell a rain of brilliant yellow iodoform, heldBertram’s spell-bound gaze, while it made him feel exceedingly sick.Those patients suffering from ghastly sores and horrible festering woundsseemed gay and lighthearted and utterly indifferent, while the remainder,suffering from _tumbo_, {174} fever, cold in the head, orworld-weariness, appeared to consider themselves at the last gasp, andeach, like the Dying Gladiator, did lean his head upon his hand while hismanly brow consented to Death, but conquered agony.

  “The reason why the African will regard a gaping wound, or greatfestering sore, with no more than mild interest, while he will wilt awayand proceed to perish if he has a stomach-ache is an interestin’exemplification of _omne ignotum pro magnifico_,” remarked the Major.

  Bertram stared at his superior officer in amazement. The tone andlanguage were utterly different from those hitherto connected, inBertram’s experience, with that gentleman. Was this a subtle mockery ofBertram as a civilian Intellectual? Or was it that the Major liked to be“all things to all men” and considered this the style of conversationlikely to be suitable to the occasion?

  “Yes, sir?” said Bertram, a trifle shortly.

  “Yes,” continued Major Mallery. “He believes that all internalcomplaints are due to Devils. A stomach-ache is, to him, painful andirrefragible proof that he hath a Devil. One has entered into him andabideth. It’s no good telling him anything to the contrary—because hecan _feel_ It there, and surely he’s the best judge of what he can feel?So any internal complaint terrifies him to such an extent that he dies offright—whereas he’ll think nothing of a wound that would kill you or me.. . .”

  Here, apparently, the Major’s mocking fancy tired, or else his effort totalk “high-brow” to an Intellectual could be no further sustained, for hefell to lower levels with the remark:

  “Rum blokes. . . Dam’ funny. . .” and fell silent.

  A well-trodden mud path led down to the river, on the far side of whichwas the water-picket commanding the approach, not to a ford, but to theonly spot where impenetrable jungle did not prevent access to the river.. . .

  “Blighters nearly copped us badly down here before we built the fort,”said the Major. “Look in here . . .” and he parted some bushes besidethe path and disappeared. Following him, Bertram found himself in along, narrow clearing cut out of the solid jungle and parallel with thepath.

  “They had a hundred men at least, in here,” said Major Mallery, “and youmight have come along the path a hundred times without spotting them.There was a machine-gun up that tree, to deal with the force behind thepoint of ambush, and a big staked pit farther down the path to catchthose in front who ran straight on. . . . Lovely trap. . . . They usedto occupy it from dawn to sunset every day, poor fellers. . . .”

  “What happened?” asked B
ertram.

  “Our Intelligence Department learnt all about it from the local_shenzis_, and we forestalled them one merry morn. They were ambushed intheir own ambush. . . . The _shenzi_ doesn’t love his Uncle Fritz a bit.No appreciation of _Kultur_-by-_kiboko_. He calls the Germans ‘_theTwenty-Five Lashes People_,’ because the first thing the German does whenhe goes to a village is to give everybody twenty-five of the best, by wayof introducing himself and starting with a proper understanding. Putsthings on a proper footing from the beginning. . . .”

  “Their _askaris_ are staunch enough, aren’t they?” asked Bertram.

  “Absolutely. They are well paid and well fed, and they are allowed to doabsolutely as they like in the way of loot, rape, arson and murder, oncethe fighting is over. . . . They flog them most unmercifully fordisciplinary offences—and the nigger understands that. Also they leavethe defeated foe—his village, crops, property, women, children andwounded—to their mercy—and the nigger understands _that_ too. . . . Our_askaris_ are not nearly so contented with our milder punishments,cumbrous judicial system, and absolute prohibition of loot, rape, arsonand the murder of the wounded. Yes—the German _askari_ will stick to theGerman so long as he gets the conqueror’s rights whenever he conquers—asis the immemorial law and custom of Africa. . . . ‘What’s the good offighting a cove if you’re going to cosset and coddle him directly you’vewon, and give him something out of the poor-box—instead of dismemberinghim?’ says he. . . . You might say the _askari_-class is to the Nativewhat the Junker-class is to the peasant, in Germany.”

  And conversing thus, the two officers visited the pickets and thesentries, who sat on _machans_ in the tops of high trees and, in theoryat any rate, scoured the adjacent country with tireless all-seeing eye.

  Returning to the fort, Bertram saw the materials for his own privatefreehold residence being carried to the eligible site selected for itserection by the united wisdom of the Station Staff Officer and theQuartermaster. It was built and furnished in less than an hour by aparty of Kavirondo, who used no other tools than their _pangas_, and itconsisted of a framework of stout saplings firmly planted in the ground,wattle, and thatched leaves, twigs and grass. It had a window-frame anda doorway, and it kept out the sun and the first few drops of a shower ofrain. If a _banda_ does little else, it provides one’s own peculiarplace apart, where one can be private and alone. . . . On the table andshelf—of sticks bound together with strips of bark—Ali set forth hismaster’s impedimenta, and took a pride in the Home. . . .

  Finding that the spine-pad of quilted red flannel—which Murray hadadvised him to get and to wear buttoned on to the inner side of hisshirt, as a protection against the sun’s actinic rays—was soaked withperspiration, Bertram gave it to Ali that it might be dried. What he didnot foresee was that his faithful retainer would tie a long strip of barkfrom the new _banda_ to the opposite one across the “street,” and pin thered flannel article to flap in the breeze and the face of the passer-by.. . .

  “Oh, I say, you fellers, look here!” sang out the voice of GussieAugustus Gus, as Bertram was finishing his shave, a few minutes later.“Here’s that careless fellow, Greene, been and left his chest-protectoroff! . . . It’s on the line to air, and I _don’t_ know what he’s doingwithout it.” The voice broke with anguish and trouble as it continued:“Perhaps running about with nothing on at all. . . . On his chest, Imean. . . .”

  There was a laugh from neighbouring _bandas_ and tents where Vereker,Berners, Halke and “Leesey” Lindsay were washing by their cottage doors,preparatory to breakfast.

  Bertram blushed hotly in the privacy of his hut. _Chest-protector_!Confound the fellow’s impudence—and those giggling’ idiots. He had halfa mind to put his head out and remark; “The laughter of fools is as thecrackling of thorns beneath a pot,” and in the same moment wiser counselsprevailed.

  Thrusting a soapy face out of the window, he said, in a tone expressivemore of sorrow than of anger:

  “I am surprised at _you_, Clarence! . . . To laugh at the infirmities ofyour elders! . . . Is it _my_ fault I have housemaid’s knee?”

  To which Augustus, with tears in his eyes and voice, replied:

  “Forgive me, Pappa. I have known trouble too. _I_ had an Aunt with acorn. . . . _She_ wore one. . . . Pink, like yours. . . . Poignant. . . .Searching. . . .”

  This cheerful and indefatigable young gentleman had, in his rôle of MessPresident, found time, after parade and kit-inspection that morning, toprepare a breakfast _menu_. Consulting it, Bertram discovered promise of

  1. _Good Works_. Taken out of some animal, or animals, unknown. Perhaps Liver. Perhaps not. Looks rather poignant.

  2. _Shepherd’s Bush_ (or is it Plaid or Pie?) or Toed-in-the-Hole. Same as above, bedded down in manioc. Looks very poignant.

  3. There were _Sausages on Toast_, but they are in bad odour, uppish, and peevish to the eye, and there is no bread.

  4. _Curried Bully-beef_. God help us. And Dog-biscuit.

  5. _Arm of monkey_. No ’arm in that? _But_—One rupee reward is offered for a missing Kavirondo baby. Answers to the name of Horatio, and cries if bitten in the stomach. . . . Searching.

  “Great news,” quoth the author of this document, seating himself on thebed-frame beside Bertram and eyeing a plate of Good Works withoutenthusiasm. “There’s to be a General Court-Martial after breakfast. Youand I and Berners. Leesey Lindsay is prosecuting a bloke for spying andacting as guide to German raiding parties—him bein’ a British subjick an’all. . . Splendid! . . . Shall we hang him or shoot him? . . .”

  “_I_ am Provost-Marshal,” put in Vereker, “and _I_ shall hang him. Iknow exactly how to hang, and am a recognised good hanger. Anyhow, noone has complained. . . . Wish we had some butter. . . .”

  “Whaffor?” asked Augustus.

  “Grease the rope,” was the reply. “They like it. Butter is awfullygood.”

  “Put the knot under the left ear, don’t you?” asked Augustus.

  “_I_ do,” answered Vereker. “Some put it under the right. . . . I haveseen it at the back. Looks bad, though. Depressin’. Bloke hangs hishead. Mournful sight. . . .”

  “Got any rope?” enquired Augustus.

  “No! . . . How thoughtless of me! . . . Never mind—make up somethingwith strips of bark. . . . Might let the bloke make his own—only himselfto blame, then, if it broke and he met with an accident.”

  “I _have_ heard of suicides—and—people hanging themselves with theirbraces,” observed Augustus.

  “Wadego _shenzis_ don’t have braces,” replied Vereker.

  “No, but Greene does. I’m perfectly sure he’d be delighted to lend youhis. He’s kindness itself. Or would you rather he were shot, Greene?We must remember there’s no blood about a hanging, whereas there’s lotsthe other way—’specially if it’s done by _askaris_ with Martinis. . . .On the other hand, hanging lasts longer. I dunno _what_ to advise forthe best. . . .”

  “Suppose we try him first,” suggested Bertram.

  “Of course!” was the somewhat indignant reply. “I’m surprised at _you_,Greene. You wouldn’t put him to the edge of the sword without a trial,would you?”

  “No, Greene,” added Vereker. “Not goin’ to waste a good _shenzi_ likethat. We’re goin’ to have a jolly good Court-Martial out of him beforewe do him in. . . . And I shall hang him, Clarence—rope or no rope.”

  “May I swing on his feet, Vereker?” begged Augustus. “_Do_ let me! . . .Be a sport. . . .”

  “Everything will be done properly and nicely,” was the reply, “and in thebest style. There will be no swinging on the prisoner’s legs while _I_’mM.C. . . . Not unless the prisoner himself suggests it,” he added.

  “How’ll we tell him of his many blessin’s, and so on?” enquired Berners.

  “There’s an Arab blighter of Lindsay’s who professes to know a tonguespoken by a porter who knows Wad
ego. The bloke talks to the porter inWadego, the porter talks to the Arab in the Tongue, the Arab talks toWavell in Arabic, and Wavell talks to us in any language we like—French,German, Swahili, Hindustani, Latin, Greek, American, Turkish, Portuguese,Taal or even English. He knows all those. . . .”

  “Let’s ask him to talk them all at once, while we smoke and quaff beakersof rum,” suggested Augustus. “And I _say_—couldn’t we torture theprisoner? I know lots of ripping tortures.”

  “Well, I’m not going to have him ripped,” vetoed Vereker. “You gotterhand him over to the Provost-Marshal in good condition. . . Fair wearand tear of trial and incarceration allowed for, of course. . . . Boundto be _some_ depreciation, I know.”

  “What’s ‘to incarcerate’ mean, exactly?” enquired Augustus.

  “Same as ‘incinerate.’”

  “Can we do it to him by law?” asked Augustus.

  “You read the Orders, my lad,” replied Vereker. “On the notice-board inthe Orderly Room. That post’s the Orderly Room. Written and signed bythe Station Staff Officer. And look up Field and General Court-Martialsin the King’s Regulations and you’ll know what your Powers are.”

  “I say, Berners. Let me find you the least contrary of those turnedsausages, and have it nicely fried for you,” begged Augustus. “You’dhardly taste anything awkward about it if you had some lemon-peel donewith it. Plenty of lemon-peel and some coco-nut. I’ll find the peel Ithrew away this morning. . . . _Do_.”

  “This is very kind and thoughtful of you, Gussie. What’s the idea?”replied Berners.

  “I want to propitiate you, Berners. You’ll be President of theCourt-Martial.”

  “And?”

  “I want you to promise you won’t have the prisoner found Guilty unlessVereker promises to let me swing on his feet. . . . I’ve _never_ oncehad the chance. . . . And now my chance has come. . . . And Verekerfeels thwartful. . . . It’s due to his having a boil—and no cushion withhim. . . . Be a good soul, Berners. . . ”

  “Let’s see the sausages,” said the President-elect.

  “That’s done it,” admitted Augustus, and dropped the subject with a heavysigh.

  Bertram noticed that, in spite of his flow of cheery nonsense, Augustusate nothing at all and looked very ill indeed. He remembered a sentencehe had read in a book on board the _Elymas_:

  “Comedy lies lightly upon all things, like foam upon the dark waters.Beneath are tragedy and the tears of time.”