by John Wilcox
‘Well, you and Merensky were right, Fonthill,’ he said eventually. ‘The whole damned place is well fortified. They’ve got the town ringed by walls and trenches - quite well done, as a matter of fact. Right, I’ve seen what I want to see from here. Now we must go back and take a closer look down at the town from where the Swazis will attack.’
Simon cleared his throat. ‘Are you sure you need to do that, sir? We’ve probably chanced our arm enough already, and after the four of us went into the town that way just a few days ago, they will almost certainly have that route pretty well guarded now.’
‘What’s the matter, Fonthill? A trifle concerned about danger, are you?’ Covington’s tone was languid and icy.
‘Now that will do, Ralph,’ said Wolseley. ‘Fonthill has made a very reasonable point.’ He turned to Simon. ‘I’m afraid I do need to take a closer look from that side, young man,’ he said. ‘I would not dream of sending troops to attack a position I have not studied for myself. We must find a way through somehow.’
With equal caution the party retreated the way they had come, thankful, despite their discomfort - for the rain had long since penetrated their capes and soaked outerwear and underwear equally - that the weather and poor visibility continued to give them cover. Wolseley noted a crossing on the northern curve of the Oliphant, which the Ndebeles told him was called Mapashlela’s Drift and which he felt would be ideal for the siting of the fort from which the main attack could be launched. In fact, despite the constant rain, the General was in high spirits when the party arrived back at the proposed site for the attack over the hills. ‘We will go up and over ourselves first thing in the morning,’ he announced.
Simon and Jenkins exchanged glances and the Ndebeles, when told that they were expected to lead the party over the mountain the next day, rolled their eyes and maintained a sullen silence while the camp was prepared.
The rain had stopped and a watery sun was struggling to penetrate the low, pewter-coloured clouds as the party set off the next day. As though in celebration of the better weather, small duiker antelopes bounced ahead of them as they made their way carefully up through the foliage and scrub of the hillside. Vervet monkeys chattered overhead and hoop-hoop birds gave their eponymous cries above and around them. The world seemed a better place after the persistent rain, but it was clear that the Ndebeles remained unhappy. They went on ahead on foot up the hillside, making their way with infinite care as they ducked under the low trees, carefully placing their bare feet so as to avoid causing a noisy cascade of loose shingle. But a glimpse of their yellow eyeballs as they constantly turned their heads to scan all around them showed that they were nervous. After half an hour it was necessary for the main party to dismount and lead the horses as the ascent became steeper and more difficult and, paradoxically, the scrub thicker.
‘Can we get eight thousand Swazis up here?’ demanded the General, his puce face reflecting the effort of the climb.
‘As I understand it,’ replied Simon, ‘they live in mountainous country themselves and I doubt if this would be much of a climb for them. But with respect, sir, we are not far from the top now and I do think we should be quiet.’
Wolseley nodded and the party continued the climb in silence until Simon gestured that they had reached the little plateau and clearing where it was possible to leave the horses tethered. They did so under the care of three troopers and continued their climb even more cautiously now, for they were nearing the summit. The top itself was exposed rock, jagged on the skyline, but the approach was scrub so thick that Simon, in the lead, nearly bumped into the two Ndebeles, who were crouched down, peering through the bush.
‘What is it?’ mouthed Simon, holding up his hand to stop the others approaching.
Ophrus turned. ‘Two Pedis, up there.’ He pointed.
‘What are they doing?’
‘They on guard, baas. They not move.’
‘Let me see.’ The Ndebeles moved aside and, cautiously, Simon crawled forward on his stomach. Parting the bushes he saw two tribesmen sitting just below the summit on a rock, holding rifles and looking completely bored. One, in fact, seemed to be asleep.
He returned. ‘Are you sure there are no more?’
‘Only two, so far.’
‘Stay here.’ Simon turned around and, on his bottom, levered himself down the hillside to where the others waited. ‘There are two bePedi warriors guarding the track over the summit just up ahead,’ he said.
‘Damn,’ swore Wolseley. ‘Is there another way around?’
‘There may be but I don’t know where it is, and thirteen of us could make an awful lot of noise trying to find it.’
‘Then we shall just have to remove them.’ It was Covington who spoke.
‘We can’t shoot because that would rouse the whole township.’
‘I am well aware of that,’ said Covington. His voice was beautifully modulated, as though explaining an obvious truth to a difficult child. ‘You will just have to take them out quietly, then, won’t you? This is a job for scouts, skirmishers - what you’re being paid for now, eh, Fonthill?’
Jenkins sniffed. ‘Care to give us an ’and, then, Colonel?’ he enquired, his black button eyes as cold as Covington’s.
‘That will do, 352,’ said Simon. He addressed Wolseley. ‘I suggest you all stay here, sir. If you do hear a shot, then I’m afraid you will have lost your chance of a personal reconnaissance from this side of the town and you must go hell for leather for the horses. The bePedis won’t have mounts this side of the hills so you should all be able to get away across the plain. But we shall try and do the job silently. Give us twenty minutes.’
‘Very well, Fonthill. Good luck.’
Simon crawled back with Jenkins to where the two Ndebeles lay. There he stopped for a moment to catch his breath and to attempt to still the thumping of his heart. His mouth was dry and he realised that he was damned well frightened again. He cast a glance at Jenkins, who gave a reassuring beam, not even a bead of sweat on his forehead. Not for the first time, Simon deeply envied the Welshman’s ability to remain cool in the face of danger and seemingly unaffected by it. He was the complete fighting machine - even when up against lions, which he confessed had terrified him. Simon shook his head and attempted to concentrate.
He beckoned the two natives closer. ‘Look,’ he whispered. ‘I want you two to stay here and be very quiet until . . .’ He looked at Ophrus, who always played the leader of the two. ‘Can you count, Ophrus?’
The tall man nodded. ‘Yes, baas, up to twenty - fingers and toes.’
‘No, that won’t do.’ Simon looked around. The sun had now made a welcome reappearance in a blue sky to the north-east. He did a quick calculation. ‘When the sun touches that high peak,’ he said, ‘I want you to make a noise to attract the attention of the guards up there. Nothing much, for we don’t want them to shoot at you. Maybe just send some stones falling down the slope, as though an animal has disturbed them. Just enough to distract them for a moment. Do you understand?’
Ophrus’s eyes opened wide as he looked at the peak. He and Ntanga nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. When I call, I shall want you both to come up to the top and bring our rifles. But I will only call softly, in case there are other guards about, and you must come quietly. Yes?’
The two men nodded. ‘Right,’ said Simon, then, to Jenkins, ‘Come on, then.’
Jenkins’s face was a study in indignation. ‘Come on to where, for God’s sake - and with respect, bach sir. There’s nowhere to go except up and bloody down, isn’t it.’
Simon sighed. ‘We will work along this patch of scrub to the right, where it looks as though we can climb over the summit and get down to the other side, the township side. Then I’m just hoping we can crawl along to the trail, climb up it and take the guards by surprise from the back when our two lads here divert their attention.’
‘What - and then shoot ’em and ’ave the whole bloody town on our backs?’
‘No.’ Simon’s face was set. ‘We obviously can’t do that, and I am glad that we can’t because I am tired of killing men in cold blood. We shall threaten them with our revolvers and then tie them up and gag them so that they don’t make a noise.’
Jenkins rolled his eyes. ‘We’d better ask their permission first, look you.’
‘Don’t be bloody stupid. Come on.’ With a nod to the Ndebeles, Simon began crawling with infinite care along the scrub line to the right, keeping an anxious eye on the position of the sun. Eventually they came to a break which he had noticed in the jagged line of the summit. It was not a trail, but a protruding buttress of rock hid them from the guards and they were able to crawl up the rock face to the top, ascertain that it was unguarded and then wriggle down the other side to where the bush line began, some ten feet down. As they did so, they could see that the township below presented a far more active sight than the last time they had viewed it from on high. People were swarming like ants between the huts and thronging the stone walls that linked the houses and ringed the town. It was a citadel preparing to defend itself, and even from that height, it looked a formidable fortress.
The two men, now on hands and knees, turned to their left and soon struck the trail that led down to Sekukuni below. It seemed to be unguarded; presumably the bePedis were banking on the two sentries on the crest being sufficient to give warning of an attack from over the mountain and the unlikely quarter of the Oliphant River.
Drawing their revolvers, Simon and Jenkins now began crawling carefully up the track towards the summit. Simon had lost all idea of whether the sun was touching the distant peak, and he could only hope that he still had a minute or two in hand before Ophrus created his diversion. They were now on the edge of the scrub line, and Simon began inching up the bare rock until he froze, his face pressed close to the rock face. He could just see the ends of the bePedis’ headdresses waving gently in the soft breeze. This was the moment of truth, and he held his breath. If and when the two guards stood quickly, he should be able to see their heads looking away from him. If they looked down at him, he and Jenkins were lost and they would have to shoot. He levelled his revolver at the tip of the crest and waited, his heart in his mouth.
He had no idea how long they lay there. Perspiration was rolling down Simon’s face as he concentrated his gaze along the length of his revolver on to those feather tips, dancing lightly above the brow of the summit, and he could feel Jenkins tense, lying by his left foot. Then, suddenly, the headdresses appeared full length, as also did the back of the heads of both of the sentinels as they stood, obviously alarmed at some happening on their side of the mountain. Simon immediately began crawling upwards, as fast as he could without making a noise. He could sense Jenkins now almost at his side and he waited, just below the crest, until the two of them were level. Both of the bePedis were now in view, staring down at the reverse side of the mountain, their backs innocently presented to the climbers but their rifles at the alert. Then, as Simon and Jenkins watched, the rifles drooped as no obvious sign of intruders presented itself to the guards. At that point, Simon gestured with his Colt for Jenkins to take the bePedi on the left, and springing to his feet he leapt over the ridge and rammed the nose of his revolver into the cheekbone of the guard on the right. Jenkins was a fraction late in following but the surprise was complete, for neither of the natives, turning with a start at the new noise behind them, had time to level their rifles.
Immediately they were disarmed, and Simon, his thumb on the cocked hammer of the Colt and his left forefinger to his lips in the universal command for silence, gestured to both men to lie face down on the rock.
‘Now what?’ asked Jenkins.
‘Go and get Ophrus and Ntanga - but quietly, there may be other guards about.’
Within seconds, Jenkins had brought back the two Ndebeles and, using a combination of wristbands and ankle thongs, the two guards were bound and handkerchiefs thrust into their mouths and secured as gags. Simon then sat down and realised that he was shaking and that perspiration was soaking his shirt.
‘You all right, bach sir?’ As usual, Jenkins was unperturbed by the recent tension but was now solicitous.
Simon nodded and swallowed hard. ‘I’m fine, 352. Well done. Very well done. Not a drop of spilt blood anywhere. That’s shown the bloody army how to do it. Now, will you please go and get the others, but warn them to be quiet.’
Within five minutes the party was assembled, just below the ridge of the mountain. Covington regarded the pinioned bePedis with consternation but Wolseley hardly paid them a glance. ‘First class, Fonthill,’ he murmured. ‘Now, is the bePedi township straight down the other side?’
‘More or less, sir.’
‘Capital. Now,’ he turned to the sergeant, ‘you stay here and keep guard on these prisoners with one man. Once over the top we will split into three parties. You, Ralph, take two men and one of the Ndebeles as guide and go as far as you can straight down to the town - but not too near, mark you - and plan your route for attacking it with your natives. I will go to the left with three men and note the approaches to the town from the south-west through the valley. That is probably where I will mount my headquarters. Now, Fonthill.’
‘Sir?’
‘You were at Sandhurst, were you not?’
‘Yes, Sir Garnet.’
‘Did they teach you topography and sketching there?’
‘Yes, they did.’
‘Good. Go to the right, with your man and the other Ndebele, and take a good look at the Fighting Kopje from as near as possible from this side. Sketch it as best you can and observe what would seem to be the best way to climb it. Here is some paper and a pencil. I have already done the same from the other side, but I like to be as well prepared as possible before I commit any man in an attack.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Simon marvelled at the attention to detail paid by this General. He had even thought of bringing a spare notebook and pencil! But Wolseley was continuing.
‘It is clear that we have very little time here, and we cannot presume that there are no more warriors guarding the tops of these mountains. So we will each have no more than forty minutes. Within that time we must be back here and ready to return. And, gentlemen, no shooting unless you are in extreme danger. Obviously, if a shot is heard, everyone must double back to the horses. But if we are hotly pursued and the last party has not returned, we cannot afford to leave their horses as a gift to our pursuers. We must take them with us. Is that understood?’
Everyone nodded before scurrying over the rim of the mountain and going their different ways. Progress was not easy for Simon, Jenkins and Ophrus because it was difficult to keep their footing in the shale under the scrub, and there was no path. But Ophrus maintained a reasonable pace as they descended and they eventually found a little clearing from which they could look down on the north-eastern end of the town and on the kopje, the top of which was now roughly level with their position.
Simon observed it closely. From this point, he could clearly make out the terraced walls and trench systems, winding round the kopje from halfway up. The summit itself was formed of a large plateau on its northern side with the spiked pinnacle on the southern, nearer side. Dark openings, presumably caves, could be discerned in the sides of the hill, and also black boxes, which Simon guessed were beehives. Blocks of dark brown granite were tumbled everywhere on the steep slopes, as though a giant had scattered pebbles. It would be damned difficult to climb and extremely dangerous under fire. Frowning, he began sketching.
Suddenly, the sound of a single gunshot came from the middle section, on their side of the mountain, above the town and roughly where Covington and his group would be. It echoed and rebounded, magnified from the other side of the valley as though it had been fired by a cannon and not some small arm.
‘I knew it,’ hissed Jenkins. ‘That bastard of a colonel has let us in for it. We’ve got the furthest to go. We’ll never get back. Look!’ He pointed do
wn and to the left. As though the shot was an expected and awaited signal, streams of warriors could be seen running between the stone walls and up the mountainside, the leaders already disappearing into the low trees.
Simon stuffed the notebook into his shirt and scrambled to his feet. ‘Is there a quicker way back, Ophrus?’
The black man rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t know, baas.’
‘Right. Then back the way we came, quick as we can. It will be a race against time to see who gets to the horses. We shan’t be able to fight the whole damned nation.’
Stumbling and slipping through the shale and shingle, they hurried upwards and to their right, back to the main trail. Despite the fact that he had no footwear, Ophrus was easily the most sure-footed and he had made about one hundred yards on the others when Simon saw him suddenly stiffen and drop to the ground, waving downwards with his hand behind him as he did so. Immediately, the other two did the same, hugging the protection of a group of moshwana thorn bushes. They could not see what Ophrus could see, but they heard voices and grunts of exertion. It was obvious that they were too late. They were cut off.
Ophrus wriggled back. His eyes protruded as he spoke. ‘Many bePedi, baas,’ he said. ‘Going up hill by our trail. We too late.’
‘Oh shit,’ said Jenkins. ‘Now what do we do?’
‘We go back,’ said Simon. ‘Come on.’
‘Back? Where to?’
‘Back down the mountain, towards the town. Just where they won’t expect us to be.’
