by Lark, Sarah
That included Kevin, who was directed to leave behind the field hospital carts.
“Load two horses with whatever’s most critical,” Jowsey instructed him. “We’re assuming the other regiments nearby have doctors, bandages, and medicine. For us, speed comes first and foremost. The town needs to be liberated.”
The ride took the New Zealanders through the veld, and Silver soon acclimated to the omnipresent antelope herds. Later, they passed over demanding, rugged terrain. In the evening, the men pitched their tents on mountains and hills, some of which offered distant views of the plains. There were probably natives in the area, but they did not show themselves.
“From here on, it gets dangerous,” the major warned on the sixth day when they left the mountains behind. In front of them lay fertile plains—farmland, Boer land.
“The Orange Free State,” announced Ribbons, who had been assigned to accompany them as a guide. “Founded by the Boers after the British annexed the colony at the cape—and outlawed slavery. That didn’t suit the Boers, so they flocked inland. It must have been a terrible slog in oxcarts. They still speak today of the Great Trek. This area was by no means uninhabited either. There were Zulu here, Basotho, and Batswana, and none of them wanted to give up their land. There was bloody fighting. Other colonizers would have given up. But not the Boers. They pushed through—and, in the end, England agreed to recognize their state.”
“Until they found gold,” Kevin said.
Ribbons frowned, then winked. “The official explanation is that we could no longer tolerate how they treated foreigners and natives. And there were provocations, not to mention—”
“Diamonds,” Vincent noted drily. “Without a doubt, we’re here as liberators.”
The Boers certainly had an eye for valuable pasture and farmland. Here, there was little wild free space left for antelopes and gnus, and probably no one had laid eyes on a rhinoceros in a long time. Instead, well-tended fields stood in rows, one after another. Some were ready for harvest, and once or twice the riders even saw people working them—primarily black and occasionally white women, girls, and little boys. None of them acknowledged the garrison riding by. The black workers did not even raise their heads. At most, the whites gave the uniformed men hateful looks.
“My goodness, that little boy looks like he’s ready to start shooting at us,” Vincent remarked as they passed a wheat field in which five tall black men were being supervised by a white boy of no more than ten. The child glared at the riders with unconcealed rage.
“His mother probably took the gun from him because she was afraid of precisely that,” Ribbons replied. “And because she’d like to hold on to her little boy awhile longer. The gun too. Really, the people were supposed to surrender them. These areas have long been in English hands, and we collected their weapons. But they’re all still armed to the teeth. And as for the blacks—as I said, they’re loyal. Perhaps because they have nothing else left. Their tribes have been decimated. Their lands belong to the whites. If they don’t want to go hungry, they stay put and obey the baas, as they call the white masters here. And their children.”
Now the first farms were coming into view, and they reminded Kevin of modest country estates at home. These were simple wooden houses, the verandas larger than in New Zealand because people spent more time outside. Only the round huts a distance from the main houses were unfamiliar. That was where the black workers lived.
“The houses in East London are a lot prettier,” Vincent said.
“The ones at the cape are prettiest,” Ribbons boasted. “They’re often wineries, and the owners won’t be outdone. You also expect a bit of joie de vivre from a vintner. Here, on the other hand, the people don’t touch a drop of alcohol. Their leader, that Ohm Krüger, even asked for milk at the German kaiser’s table. They pray and work and are convinced God led them into this land like the Jews into Israel. And they cling to it tooth and nail. This war’s getting tough.”
Kevin was soon to get a taste of that. After four days of hard riding, they finally reached Wepener. The commander of the English forces gathered his army in an open field with a view of a ridge where the Boers had apparently dug in.
The relief army consisted of Scottish and Australian units as well, and their respective leaders had to overcome their differences before they were truly ready to attack. For the moment, they had their men set up camp and wait.
Kevin did not catch much of the battle preparations. He was immediately assigned to the commanding staff doctor, a Dr. Barrister. Barrister wore the rank insignia of a major but did not seem terribly concerned with hierarchy. He greeted Kevin amicably and was delighted to see the supplies he’d brought.
“It’s always good when people use their heads,” he declared. “We’ll need all the bandages we can get our hands on. The soldiers were all sent here so quickly that the supply wagons can hardly keep up. The field kitchen, however, is fully furnished. Our esteemed commander in chief saw to that. No matter what else you can say about him, Buller believes no one should die with an empty stomach.”
“If we don’t even have tents,” he asked, “where are we supposed to operate?”
“We have one tent,” Barrister replied. “I managed to swipe it from the kitchen crew. It’s not enough, of course. We need to get our hands on a farm. Right away.”
“What, sir? Get our hands—?” sputtered Dr. Tracy, an Australian.
Barrister laughed. “New to war, son? Fine, then, I’ll explain this once. The requisition of defeated opponents’ possessions is a common practice during hostile encounters between nations. You waltz in and take what you need. In this case, you don’t have to feel too bad. The people will probably get their farm back once things are through. So, we’ll be on our way to look for the nearest property. I take it you all know how to shoot?”
The fourth doctor, a burly Scotsman named McAllister, looked insulted.
“Do you really think we’ll need to shoot anyone, sir?” Tracy asked indignantly.
Barrister waved a hand dismissively. “In this war, you should prepare yourself for anything. Really that’s true in any war, but these Boers are something else. So, always keep your wits about you. We’ll go ahead and take the whole staff with us. The soldiers on staff should arm themselves, and as for the Indian orderlies, well, try and look armed, would you?”
The four Indian orderlies responded with friendly laughter. They’d served under Barrister for some time, it seemed.
Kevin immediately felt more comfortable. “Well, then, off we go.”
The nearest farm was just behind the second nearest hill, a well-tended and beautiful estate situated along a river. It reminded Kevin a bit of his parents’ home. However, here they raised crops, not sheep. There were barns and silos instead of shearing sheds, and just behind the vegetable garden, the fields began. So far, only a few had been harvested. Yet they were in dire need of it. At the moment, there was no one to be seen. The owners had likely barricaded themselves inside out of fear of the approaching army.
“Maybe they fled. That’d be the best thing,” observed Barrister—but energetically held back the young doctors when they attempted to ride into the yard. “Dismount. Leave the horses outside,” he ordered. “And helmets on, weapons ready, prepare for battle. Approach slowly, always under cover from your comrades.”
“You’d think we were storming a fort,” Kevin joked to the redheaded Scot as the two took cover behind a tree. “I’ll feel like an idiot if the house is unoccupied.”
The Scotsman snorted. “Your predecessor said the same thing,” he replied. “And then they fired from every window in the house. The medical company lost three men.”
For the first time since he’d arrived in South Africa, Kevin was genuinely afraid. He sprinted for cover behind a barn next. The other soldiers and doctors worked their way closer to the house like this until they were finally close enough to see two gun barrels aimed in the windows on either side of the entrance.
“Not a step closer.” The woman sounded young but determined. Her English was clear, but her accent was strong. “Anyone comes closer, we shoot.”
Barrister raised his voice. “Please be reasonable, miss. My name is Barrister, Major Barrister, commander of the Fifth Medical Unit. We are going to establish a hospital on your farm. However, we have no desire to displace you. All you need to do is open your barns to us, and perhaps a room or two in the house for the doctors.”
“You will do no such thing.” The girl emphasized her defiance with a gunshot. The bullets lashed the red sand at Barrister’s feet.
“You can’t stop us, miss. It’s our right.”
“Right?” The woman now shot even closer to her target. Barrister rushed back behind a tree. “You do not have any right here. Not to this farm, not to this land. Get out now.”
Barrister raised his hand, and the first orderlies opened fire.
Kevin shuddered at the noise. He had no desire to get into a firefight with a young woman. He stared at the house, trying to picture its layout. There was no veranda in the front, but the farm had to have one, probably in the back, overlooking the river. Which meant there’d be a back door.
“Come on,” Kevin called to the Scot. “Let’s try the rear.”
“How do you know that no one’s waiting there with a gun?” asked McAllister, but he followed his colleague.
“I don’t. But as long as Barrister is talking to the girl in front, no one will expect us in back—I hope.”
The two doctors slipped around the back of the barn and then took cover behind a hedge. Behind the house lay a garden enclosed with thorny bushes—and a large veranda with a wide, double-winged door leading into the house.
“Well then!” Kevin gathered his courage. “Come on, we’ll split up and slink in on the left and right. We’ll open both doors at once for the element of surprise, and then take cover in case anyone inside starts shooting.”
“But we’ll be coming from bright light into dark,” McAllister warned. “By the time our eyes have adjusted, they could have us. Let’s look through the windows first.”
Kevin nodded appreciatively, and the two made their way over.
“A kitchen,” McAllister whispered from his side of the veranda. “And no one inside.”
“And a sort of dining room on this side,” Kevin responded from his. “Also empty. Shall we take our positions?”
The Scotsman nodded. “All right, on three: one, two—”
The men swung the doors open carefully, letting bright sunlight into the room. It was furnished with a large roughhewn table and nine simple chairs. The dining room bordered on an equally large kitchen. In a glass cabinet stood blue-patterned ceramic dishes.
“Very good. Now, stick to cover, and we’ll make our way to the front,” McAllister said. “If we run into anyone, don’t let them scream. It’ll blow our cover.”
Kevin swallowed the question of how he was supposed to stop them.
The doctors held their weapons out in front of them as they pressed through the door that led out of the dining room.
“No shoot!” A strained-sounding woman’s voice, but not determined like the woman in the front, and completely terrified. “Please, no shoot, baas.”
Kevin squinted down the dark corridor—and nearly did pull the trigger when he saw a hunting rifle pointed at him. In her panic, she seemed to have forgotten about it. This was no flinty Boer, but a frightened black woman with curly hair and giant round eyes.
“No make Nandi dead. Please, no. Please.”
Kevin lowered his gun. “We’re not going to harm you,” he said very quietly. “But you need to lower your gun. Like this, see?” He pointed his in the direction of the ground.
The young woman immediately did the same.
“Heavens, girl,” Kevin said, the fear still in his limbs. “I nearly shot you. You—”
“You have to tell us who else is in the house.” McAllister seized the young woman roughly by the arm, pulled her back into the dining room, and pushed her into a chair. “Who told you to watch the back?”
“Mejuffrouw Doortje, the baas, but I—”
“That’s the bitch shooting at our men?” McAllister demanded.
“Uh?” The woman’s English seemed overtaxed.
“Doortje. She is the woman with the gun?” Kevin asked more gently.
“His three woman,” Nandi replied. “De baas Doortje and Bentje and Johanna. And de little baas Thies and Mees.”
“Thies and Mees are little boys?” Kevin clarified.
Nandi nodded.
“How many guns?” asked McAllister, pointing to his. “How many of these?”
The girl held up two fingers. “And—” She pointed to her own gun.
Kevin nodded. So, they would only have to overpower two women with guns—or perhaps a woman and a child. But he did not want to think about that.
“Listen,” he said to the girl, who was visibly shaking. “We won’t hurt you, but you must keep quiet. Stay here and don’t move an inch.”
“And if you attack us from behind, you’re dead,” McAllister hissed, shouldering the girl’s gun.
“Sorry, Drury,” he whispered when the men again slipped into the corridor. “I know she seems harmless. But I’ve seen children turn into hyenas. The girl won’t die of a few threats. If it comes to a shoot-out, though—”
They could hear Barrister’s voice again, interrupted repeatedly by shots from the house. This meant Kevin and McAllister only needed to follow the shots to know where the women were barricaded. They made their way up to a door that probably led to the entryway. They heard Barrister’s voice, though they could not make out the words, and Mejuffrouw Doortje’s answer, another shot. She did not seem to suffer from a lack of ammunition.
“Get ready,” whispered McAllister while the sound of the shot still reverberated. “As soon as I open the door, you take shooter one; I’ll take shooter two. And don’t threaten. Attack and disarm. They’re far more prepared than you to take a bullet.”
Kevin was stunned but readied himself as best he could. As the door swung open, Kevin took in the people in the room. Staring out the window was the young woman with the gun: slender, dressed in a dark housedress with bright lace, her hair covered by a bonnet. The other gun lay in the hands of a ten-year-old boy likewise aiming at the attackers. Behind them, in a corner of the room, an older woman held three children.
“Nobody move,” roared the Scotsman, the order immediately drowned out by the children’s screams.
Both shooters turned around—but Kevin had already reached the young woman and knocked the weapon out of her hand. Unimpressed by the gun barrel pointing directly at her chest, the young woman hammered at Kevin with her fists, and he reflexively let go of his gun to defend himself with both hands. One of the other children—a girl, perhaps thirteen years old—immediately tried to pick it up, but Kevin deterred her with a kick. He succeeded in wrenching one arm of one woman behind her back, thus taking her out of action. The boy McAllister had disarmed cried in rage. Meanwhile, the Scot held the others in check with his gun.
“All clear, Major Barrister,” he called. “You can come in.”
At once, the room filled with staff doctors and soldiers. The young woman whom Kevin held fast howled with anger and began to kick at him and bite.
“Well done. McAllister and Drury, was it? Very well done. But perhaps someone should take this little fury off your hands.”
Kevin smiled. The little fury was remarkably strong, and somehow intriguing in spite of her violence. Kevin had imagined slave owners differently. He was curious to see her face, but for now saw only the back of her white bonnet. The young woman smelled entrancing. Not of perfume like Juliet and the other girls in Dunedin and not earthy and fresh like Maori girls. Mejuffrouw Doortje smelled like fresh-baked bread—underneath the sweat and gun smoke.
“Perhaps she’s ready to behave a little more civilly,” said Kevin. “Then I coul
d let her go. Come on, Miss Doortje. Give me your word. We won’t harm you.”
“How do you know my name?”
The young woman broke free the moment Kevin eased his grip, turned around, and glared at him. Her face was broad but not coarse. Her light complexion burned red with rage and exertion, and her eyes were deep blue. Kevin recalled the Dutch porcelain in his parents’ dining room.
Before he could answer, a figure cautiously slipped through the open door.
“Baas?” Nandi asked.
The Boer woman leaped forward and roared at the girl, then shrieked something that sounded like a wild curse. Nandi hung her head and chewed fearfully on her lips.
“What did she say?” Kevin asked his comrades.
“Something like ‘filthy traitor,’” Tracy translated. “I’ll spare you the rest. The young lady’s language is quite, uh, unladylike.”
“You speak Afrikaans?” Barrister asked, taken aback.
He was pleasantly surprised by the reinforcements. First, Kevin’s initiative with McAllister, and now unexpected linguistic abilities from this rather priggish-seeming Australian.
“Dutch, sir. I studied for a year in Leiden.”
Mejuffrouw Doortje now flung a few curses in his direction.
Barrister sighed. “Hold your tongue a moment, miss. We won’t get anywhere this way. Now, about the house—is this your mother?”
He looked at the older woman still holding the children in her arms, and wondered whether she was protecting the three or holding them back. The girl looked just as fierce as her sister. The woman, in contrast, had very pale eyes that stared into nothing.
“My mother does not speak English,” Doortje said. “And she is blind. If you touch her—”
But Tracy had already addressed the lady of the house in Dutch. She answered reluctantly.
“This is Mevrouw Bentje van Stout,” he announced. “Along with her daughters, Doortje”—he pointed to Kevin’s prisoner—“and Johanna.” Tracy, ever the gentleman, bowed slightly to the younger girl. “And her sons, Thies and Mees. She would not say where her husband is. He’s likely in the veld. There are two black families that belong to the estate, but with the exception of this young lady”—Nandi looked startled when he bowed to her as well—“they all apparently hid themselves when the army approached. Perhaps they’ll return. We could use the help.”
