The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier

by Bertram Mitford

  VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

  THE MAIN CAMP.

  It was after sundown when "Claverton's Levy" reached the camp of themain body of the forces detailed to operate in the Gaika Location.

  The camp was pitched on an open flat, well situated for defensivepurposes, and commanding a wide open sweep of half a mile on the mostclosed-in side. In the event of attack upon it the enemy would have tobring more than his wonted _verve_ and determination to the fore, if hewould render the chance of even partial success so much as possible; forhere were gathered over eight hundred men, all handy with the rifle, anda few volleys, sweeping across that open approach, would tumble theadvancing foe over so quickly that he would turn and flee before halfthe space was covered. A likely-looking force. Border farmers,up-country transport-riders, frontiersmen all--ready for the roughestwork and the hardest of tussles, at the earliest opportunity--with manya long score of petty depredation and wholesale marauding, andinsolence, and defiance, and menace, and desertion of service to pay offupon their erewhile turbulent neighbours, and now open enemies. Dutchburghers, from the Tarka and Cradock districts--past masters in the artof skirmishing, competent to pick off an object the size of an orange atthree or four hundred yards, while exposing the smallest fraction oftheir own ungainly frames to the enemy's fire. Volunteers--mostlytownsmen--full of fight, if less reliable in their aim than their morepractised brethren, all had their separate camps pitched in closeproximity. Some of the corps were fortunate and had tents, others wereunfortunate and had none. A few waggons were there, containing thesupplies and baggage of each corps, or the ventures of private andspeculative individuals, who retailed indifferent grog and other"luxuries" at their own prices. On one side of the camp, like a darkcloud, might be seen a swarm of native warriors; this was the bivouac ofthe Fingo levies, and like a disturbed ants' nest, its area was alivewith black forms moving to and fro and making themselves comfortable forthe night, while the hum and murmur of their deep-toned voices rose uponthe air.

  Having fixed upon a camping ground for his men--to augment whose numbersan additional batch had arrived from King Williamstown--Claverton lefthis lieutenant in charge, and proceeded to report himself athead-quarters.

  "I think you've done exceedingly well, Mr Claverton," said theCommandant of Colonial Forces--a tall, quiet-looking, middle-aged man--as he listened to the narrative of the attack upon the Hottentot levy.He was a frontier farmer, and something of a politician, clever andprompt in the field, and of good administrative capacity, by virtue ofwhich qualities he had been elected to, and subsequently confirmed inhis present post. "In fact, we hardly expected you so soon. I'm veryglad to find that your fellows are made of such good fighting stuff;and, by the way, you may hardly like to leave them now. I mean," hewent on, seeing the other's look of surprise, "when I say, you may notlike to leave them, that I think we can find you something better. Thefact is, Brathwaite wants to get you into his troop--Garnier, his thirdman, was invalided on the way up, fever, result of bad water orsomething; and he wants to pitchfork you into his place. I told him Ididn't think you'd care to give up a regular command of your own to putyourself under another fellow, and, now, while I think of it, you havemanaged those Hottentot chaps so well, that I don't much like yourleaving them just as you've got them ship-shape. Still, you'd probablyrather be among your friends, and if you care about taking the post,I'll get you appointed at once."

  "It's very kind of you," replied Claverton. "If I might, I should liketo think it over. Would it do if I let you know in an hour's time?" Itwas even as the other had said; he was not quite prepared to throw up anabsolute command of his own to serve in a subordinate capacity, evenamong his old comrades.

  "Oh, yes. Let me know to-morrow morning, that will be time enough," wasthe good-natured answer. "Why, there is Brathwaite," and, gaining thedoor of the tent with a couple of strides, he called out: "Here,Brathwaite. Tumble in here for a minute, will you."

  "What's up?" cried Jim, turning. "Why, Arthur! You here? When did youturn up?"

  "He's had a scrimmage, and a good one," pat in the Commandant before hecould answer. "But look here, Brathwaite. I've been telling Clavertonabout your idea, and he'll let us know in the morning. If you can talkhim over meanwhile so much the better--for you," he added, with a smile.

  "Oh! Well, look here, Arthur. Fetch up at my tent as soon as you'vegot your camp fixed, and we'll talk things over and make an evening ofit. I can't stop now--got to see about that ammunition that's justcome. So long!" and he wae gone.

  From head-quarters Claverton betook himself to the commissariatdepartment to arrange for the rationing of his men. He was well pleasedwith his reception, and might have been more so had he heard the remarkof the chief authority to a volunteer officer who had dropped in justafter he left.

  "A smart fellow, that--a fine, smart fellow. Wish we had a few morelike him! A cool hand, too. I could see it in his eye." And as theofficer turned to gaze curiously after the receding form, he told himabout the action which Claverton had reported; and the listener,brimming over with such a piece of veritable "news"--gleaned, too, atfirst hand, on the very best authority--was not long in deliveringhimself of the same, first to one auditor, then another, till the story,gathering sundry additions and exaggerations as it went, soon spreadthroughout the camp.

  The daylight waned, and hundreds of red fires shone out in the gloamingas the cooking of the evening meal went merrily forward. Here and theremight be seen a rough, bearded fellow in shirt and trousers, seated on alog or an upturned biscuit tin, stirring the contents of a three-leggedpot with a long wooden spoon, while his comrades lay or sat around,smoking their pipes and chaffing the elective cook--on duty byrotation--suggesting that, as long as he watched the old pot with thathungry and particularly wolfish stare, it would never boil; or that heneedn't think to keep them all waiting long enough to send them tosleep, and enable him to polish off half the rations--and so on. Hereand there, too, through the open door of a tent, a man might be seen, bythe light of a lantern, writing on a box turned bottom upwards; orothers, needle in hand, busily stitching at some article of saddlery, orhaply of more personal accoutrement; but for the most part they weretaking it easy. And now and again a buzz of voices suddenly raised or aburst of laughter was heard, telling of discussion or argument, or jest,or successful chaff. Prompt at "spotting" a new arrival, not a few werethe glances of inquiry turned upon Claverton as he made his way back tohis quarters. "Who is he?"

  "Where's he from?" would be the half-whispered inquiries as each group,sinking its occupation for the moment, turned to gaze after thestranger. "Looks fit, anyhow!"

  "One of Brathwaite's chaps?"

  "Not a `swell,' is he?" was the varying comment as he passed.

  True to his promise, Claverton, as soon as he had seen to therequirements of his men and posted his sentries, made his way to JimBrathwaite's tent. That jovial leader wae busily occupied in settingout a variety of stores comestible upon a couple of upturnedpacking-cases; preserved-meat tins, biscuit, pepper and salt, cheese,knives and forks, and plates of debatable crockery warranted not tobreak, while upon the ground stood several bottles of Bass, and two orthree of something stronger.

  "Now, Klaas," he was saying to his sable acolyte, "I don't want you hereany more, so collar that bucket and go and `skep' out some water fromthe clean part of the river--up above; you understand. And look outthat the sentries don't shoot you, or your own countrymen either.Hallo, Arthur! here we are. Got a dinner-party on to-night."

  "Looks like it--"

  "Rather! No one admitted if not in evening-dress," cried Armitage,bursting into the tent, followed by Naylor and another man belonging tothe troop.

  "Where's the post-horn, Jack?" was Claverton's first inquiry.

  "Left it at home," replied Armitage, looking rather sheepish.

  "Now bring yourselves to an anchor," cried Jim. "You must sit where youcan, and balance your plates somehow.
They forgot to send a supply oftables. Here, Klaas, drag in that stew. We won't wait for the otherfellows."

  "Won't ye? Indade and that's illigant of ye! Company manners, I shouldcall it!" And the speaker--a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, with acurly, reddish beard--entered the tent, a whimsical expression lurkingin his blue Milesian eyes. His companion--a volunteer officer, by nameBarlow--not looking where he was going, stumbled over the tent-rope andwould have fallen had not the Irishman caught him in his athletic grasp.

  "Hould up, me boy! Sure it's too soon by six morthal hours for ye to bethrying to stand on one leg!"

  The other laughed, and there was a fresh move in order to make way forthe late arrivals, during which a newly-opened tin of salmon emptied itscontents into Armitage's hat, while simultaneously some one managed toupset and extinguish the lantern.

  "Hold on! Don't move!" cried Jim, striking a match. "There?" Andlighting the lantern again, they surveyed the damage.

  "See what comes of unpunctuality, McShane," said Armitage, gravely,holding up his hat.

  "Bedad, and ye oughtn't to complain, for ye've got your own rations andall of ours, too," retorted the Irishman.

  "Never mind; shy it outside, Jack, or give it to Klaas. He'll soonpolish it off," said Jim. "Here," he went on, handing round the Bassbottles. "Just one apiece; make the most of it because it's the last."

  "Last of the Mohicans," inevitably and simultaneously quoted every one.

  Corks popped and jollification reigned paramount; and sitting there inthat rough tent, whose sole furniture consisted of a camp-stool or so,and a few old packing-cases turned upside down, Claverton began to findhimself in a very comfortable frame of mind. The not very brilliantlight of the tin lantern shone upon faces full of mirth and goodfellowship, and many a hearty laugh rang out as they discussed the cheerbefore them--rough in all conscience, but plentiful and indeed luxuriouscompared with what awaited them. His mind was made up. He would acceptthe post offered to him.

  The tinned meats disappeared, and so did the rather tough camp rationsin their turn; and the Bass having long since vanished, the grog-bottleswere beginning to show symptoms of decay.

  "Tell you what it is, Claverton, old boy," began Armitage, benignlycontemplating him through a cloud of tobacco smoke. "You'd better cutin with us; just look how well we live here."

  "Jack, an' it's blarneyin' ye are," remarked the Irishman. "Ye needn'tthink to find such a spread ivery night, me boy. It's glad ye'll be toget your eye-teeth into the hind quarters of the toughest old trek-ox inthe span before you're a week oulder--'dade and it'll be Hobson's choicefor ye then. Tell ye what, Misther Claverton; that fellow JackArmitage's the damnedest old humbug in this camp. Now, what d'ye thinkhe did, when we first came up here?"

  "What?" Claverton was bottling up his mirth. He saw at a glance thatthis droll Irishman and Jack were sworn foes--rival wags, in fact--andwas prepared for some fun.

  "Why, he had a dirty, batthered ould tin trumpet, that his father usedto toot on when he drove the Dublin coach, and it's no wonder that sameshandradan came to mortal smash twice a week wid such a dhriver. Well,this fellow Jack, the first time--and it won't be the last, I'mthinking--he got his skin too full of Cape smoke, what's he do but gooutside his tent in the middle of the night and blow off a blast on hisold post-horn. I give ye me word it was enough to wake the dead;anyhow, it woke the whole camp. Ye needn't laff, Jack, ye unfalin'divil, when it's five innocent men ye blew to death with that trumpet--five--I give ye me word."

  "How was that?" asked Claverton.

  "Well, in this way," went on the other, delighted to find a new listenerwhom he could regale with Armitage's delinquencies. "Ye see the fellowkicked up such a shilloo that every one tumbled out like mad, thinkin'the camp was attacked, and the Fingo levies there, began lettin' offtheir guns as hard as they could bang. They knocked over five of theirown men and winged a lot besides, and the bullets were flying about allover the place. As soon as they could be prevailed on to cease fire,and the cause of the scare was known, no end of fellows came cruising upthis way, wanting to find the chap who'd sounded the alarm, but Jack,the villain, he stowed away the old trumpet and joined in the searchlouder than any of them, and it hasn't been seen or heard of since.Anyhow, he killed five innocent men wid his infernal old bray, and aboutthirteen of 'em--well, I was hard at work for hours next morningdhiggin' out the bullets their chums had plugged 'em wid, and natelythey'd done it, too. One chap had his--"

  "Oh, don't go lugging your old butcher's shop in here, Dennis,"interrupted Armitage. "Even at your own trade you're the clumsiest oldsawbones that ever hoodwinked the examiners and slipped through."

  "Clumsy, am I? The divil!" cried McShane, who was accompanying thecolonial forces in the capacity of surgeon. "Wait till I get me probesinto ye, Master Jack Armitage--some of these days when ye get a coupleof pot-legs through ye--and we'll see if it's clumsy I am."

  "Oh, hang it, Jim, only listen to the fellow. Do put an extinguisher onhim. If we must have a butcher, at any rate he might leave the shopoutside."

  There was a laugh.

  "Wait a bit, Jack, me boy. It's meself who'll live to hear ye changeyour tone, as sure as me name's Dennis McShane!" cried the other.

  "Well, this is lively sort of talk," put in Barlow, who was of amelancholy disposition, except when "elevated," and then he wasuproarious to a degree. "Haven't you two fellows ever heard of theproverb, `Many a true word spoken in jest'?"

  "If Jack gets hit now at any time, he ought to sue the doctor for bigdamages," said Naylor, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

  "Or make him put him right for nothing," said Jim.

  "An' that's what I'll do, faith," said the Irishman, "an' it's mightysmall he'll sing when the time comes."

  "You! I wouldn't have you digging for bullets in me, if I had to carrythem for the rest of my natural life," cried Armitage in witheringscorn. "If it came to that I'd send across for old Pollock. Ablacksmith's better than a butcher under those circumstances, and beinga Cornishman he might understand lead mining."

  "An' if it was in your head he had to look for the lead, it's abull's-eye lanthern he'd want, for he'd find it mighty foggy in there,I'm thinkin'," retorted McShane.

  "By Jove, Dennis," cried Armitage, suddenly, "It's deuced queer that Inever noticed it before; but as you sit there you're the very image ofpoor Walker--Obadiah Walker."

  "I am, am I? An' who the divil is Obadiah Walker?"

  "The man who wouldn't help himself and wouldn't pass the bottle, thoughI must say that it's only in the last particular the likeness holdsgood."

  "The bottle!" cried McShane, amid the roar that followed, for it was notoften that even such an old hand as Jack managed to get a rise out ofthe astute Milesian. "Is it this one ye mane?" holding it up to thelight. "Because, if so, she's come to an end--as the gossoon said whenhe slid down the cow's tail and she kicked him into the praist'sstrawberry bed."

  There was other sign of the bottle having come to an end, and it needednot the misadventure of the too-enterprising youth just quoted, tosupport the announcement, for Barlow having passed out of theconfidential stage, during which he had endeavoured to impart toClaverton, who was sitting next to him, his whole family history andcircumstances, was beginning to wax extremely talkative, his utteranceincreasing in levity in proportion to its thickness. Armitage, who hadhis eye upon the unconscious sinner, was meditating what practical joke,that would bear the additional charm of originality, he could play offupon him as soon as it should be time to convey him to his own tent,when a tremendous row was heard outside--voices in remonstrance, and,loud above them, one screaming out torrents of imprecation uponeverything and everybody. Quickly they all turned out, and there, nothalf-a-dozen yards off, stood a man of tall, powerful build, brandishinga revolver, while following on his footsteps, but keeping theirrespectful distance, were at least a dozen others. The fellow was maddrunk, and, as he stood there in the uncertain li
ght, raving and dancingas he flourished his weapon, and bellowing out the most awfulblasphemies, he looked quite formidable enough to afford a verysufficient excuse to the onlookers for their scrupulous and praiseworthyresolve to refrain from interfering in what was not their business. Aninfuriated drunkard brandishing a loaded six-shooter, is not anattractive person to interfere with.

  Quickly McShane stepped up to the raving giant.

  "See here, Flint," he said, in his persuasive Irish way. "What's allthis about, now?"

  The madman glared at him and started back a pace, gnashing his teeth andfoaming at the mouth.

  "I want my officer," he yelled. "Where the hell's my blanked officer?I want to blow his blanked brains out."

  "But see; your pistol isn't loaded," said McShane, in the quietest way.

  The fellow stared, struck all of a heap by the idea, and, holding up theweapon to his eyes, began examining it in the dim flickering light. Ina moment it was snatched from his hand by the intrepid Irishman whorepelled his immediate onslaught with a blow in the chest, which senthim staggering back half-a-dozen paces, and before he had recovered hisbalance he was seized by the bystanders and firmly held.

  "And why the divil didn't some of ye do that before?" asked McShane,wrathfully. "Why, he might have blown up the whole camp while a dozenof ye were standin' thur open-mouthed. Is it afraid of him ye were?"

  The men looked sheepish, and muttered something about "were just goingto" as they secured the arms of their fallen comrade, who lay on theground still raving and cursing.

  "Just going to, were ye!" cried the irascible doctor. "It'd serve yeright if he'd blown half your heads off. Now take him away. Don'tknock the poor divil about, Saunders," he added, noticing a dispositionto use the prisoner roughly.

  They marched off the erring Flint, who had subsided suddenly, and becamequite rational again; but it would not do to let him get abroad thatnight, so he was kept under arrest.

  "Who's that fellow?" said Jim. "If he belonged to my corps I'd bundlehim out, sharp."

  "Yis; it's bad enough havin' such a chap in it as Jack Armitage. He's ahandful in himself, bedad."

  "Well, I'm going to turn in," said Naylor. "Any one going my way?"

  "Yis; hould on," replied the doctor--and there was a general move made.Now and then a burst of laughter came from one of the tents, which, likethis one, had been holding festival; but for the rest the camp was inslumbrous quiet, only disturbed by the occasional challenge of sentry,or the footfall of such loiterers as these our friends.

  "Jim," said Claverton, the last thing as he bade him good-night, "I'vemade up my mind about that offer of yours."

  "You'll take it?"

  "Yes."

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  In the morning, who should turn up but Hicks and some twenty others,whose restless spirits would not allow them to remain quiet at home; andlater in the day two more troops of burghers from the Western districts.And the available forces being thus strengthened, it was resolved thata forward move should take place at once.

  Claverton's swarthy followers growled considerably at losing theirchief, whom, in the short time he had been with them, they had alreadybegan to look up to and respect. Lumley, especially, put his discontentinto words.

  "Always the way," he grumbled. "Directly you get a fellow you pull wellwith--off he goes."

  "But, Lumley; you'll be in command yourself now, don't you see?"

  Lumley evidently didn't see, for this side of the question now burstupon him with a new light.

  "Don't know. They're sure to keep me out of it," he growled, but as ifhe thought the contingency not an unmixed evil. And the fact was, hislate chief thought the same.

  So Claverton, with the faithful Sam as body-servant, entered upon hisnew rank of Field-Captain in "Brathwaite's Horse," _vice_ Philip Garnierresigned.