The Diamond Frontier (Simon Fonthill Series)

by John Wilcox

Simon did so, and after a moment Alice pulled out a pad and pencil and began making notes. She looked up. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Having been left to rot out there by Wolseley and Covington I don’t care a fig about them, Alice. You write what you like.’

  ‘No, Simon,’ explained Alice. ‘I will not write about your adventures - although I am most anxious to know what happened to you - but it would help me if you can tell me about the General’s plan of attack. Covington won’t give anything away, of course.’

  ‘Ah,’ smiled Simon. ‘Good. Do write about it, because if there is a row afterwards, I am quite happy for Covington to get the blame. Now, where was I?’

  When Simon related the story of the pistol shot alerting the bePedis, Alice laid down her pencil and listened with a frown. At the end, she knelt before him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him again, before returning to her seat on her camp chair.

  ‘Look, my love,’ she said. ‘I do not believe for a moment that Ralph Covington would do such a thing deliberately. Whatever you think of him - and I must tell you that I remain fond of him, although I do love you, my dear - he is not dishonourable. It must have been an accident.’ She regarded Simon intently, her eyes wide.

  Simon ran his hands over his face. ‘Alice,’ he said, ‘I am damned tired and perhaps I can’t think straight any more. I must say that I didn’t imagine Covington could do such a dastardly thing, but now I just don’t know what to think.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘Have you told him yet about us?’

  Alice held his gaze. ‘No. I have not. As I said to you, I decided to leave doing so until after the battle for the reasons I explained, and . . . and . . . to be frank . . . to tell him that I loved you while you were missing would, I thought - I know this is stupid - but I thought it would tempt the fates and that you would not return.’ She smiled. ‘But now you are back I shall tell him immediately that our engagement is ended. There is no further cause for delay. As a scout you have more than played your part, and will play no role in the attack.’ She paused for a moment. ‘That is . . . I have presumed that. Surely your scouting work is done and they will not need you further?’ She leaned forward with anxiety in her face.

  Simon shook his head. ‘It’s not quite like that,’ he said. ‘Jenkins and I have work to do in Sekukuni, apart from which, I believe that the General wants me to help guide them in.’ He looked away to hide his embarrassment at the falsehood.

  Alice’s eyes widened. ‘What work? Oh, Simon, I don’t like the sound of any of this. I don’t want to lose you now that I have found you again.’ She leaned forward and took his right hand in both of hers before continuing, speaking earnestly and quickly. ‘Look, my love, I do not know what you have to do in that damned valley, but I do know that this attack will not be easy. Everyone says that even Wolseley is not so cocksure about it now that he has been able to make a proper reconnaissance of the place. Many of his horses have gone down with the sickness and a lot of his native drivers have deserted. He will have a hard time of it.’ She paused and then continued, speaking now almost in a whisper. ‘Simon, I have an awful premonition about all of this. I know you well enough to realise that I cannot stop you going if you feel you must. But please, please promise me that you will take great care - and don’t move an inch without 352.’

  At this they both laughed. ‘Wouldn’t think of it,’ said Simon. ‘After all, someone has to look after the scoundrel.’ They laughed again and then kissed once more, hungrily.

  ‘Well,’ said Alice eventually, whispering from under his right ear, ‘that settles it. I shall certainly not tell Ralph before the battle. I just don’t want to tempt the gods. But I promise that I will break off the engagement when you all return safely.’ She stood. ‘Now, my darling, you must go, for I have a dispatch to write and you look as though you could do with crawling into bed.’ She giggled. ‘Although I’m sorry I can’t be with you.’

  ‘So am I. But tell me. You are not being allowed to advance with the troops, are you?’

  ‘Of course. We scribes will have a front-row seat, as far as I understand.’

  ‘But you - not a woman, surely . . . ?’

  ‘Good God! Of course. Some time ago Wolseley huffed and puffed about me not going up, but no one has said a word since. I am a fully accredited correspondent, and even if they banned me specially - which they would not dare to - I should ignore them and make my own way. You know that, Simon.’

  Simon sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But stay out of trouble, I beseech you. Do not go within rifleshot, please, Alice.’

  ‘Have no fear for me, my love, I shall not be crossing swords personally with the fierce bePedi.’ She smiled at him with moist eyes. ‘Oh well, I suppose we will just have to worry about each other. Now, please, do go.’ They kissed again and then he left.

  Jenkins and Simon rose well before dawn the next morning, refreshed after some ten hours of sleep. They oiled their rifles and revolvers, saddled their horses, packed the little they needed in their saddle bags and reported to General Wolseley’s headquarters. His tent was already being struck as they arrived and the first column of infantry was marching out of the camp. Wolseley nodded to them curtly, but there was no sign of Covington. Presumably he had gone ahead with his column. The dawn was hard to distinguish, for the sky remained a swollen black, and as soon as the General’s party began to walk their horses forward a vast and blinding sheet of lightning sent the animals prancing and dancing, their eyes wide with fright. Then the rain began, hurtling down like a curtain of steel rods, forcing them all to don their capes. The advance on King Sekukuni’s stronghold had begun.

  Chapter 14

  The similarity of the weather was the only element in common with Simon and Jenkins’s ride to Sekukuni eleven days before. This time the pace was frustratingly slow, for Wolseley was moving forward some 1,400 British infantry, including contingents of the 21st, 94th and 80th Regiments of Foot, together with pipers; 400 colonial horse; four guns of the Transvaal artillery; a small detachment of Royal Engineers; and the commissariat. But the main portion of his army, of course, was the native levies, mostly 8,000 Swazis, intimidating and picturesque, even in the rain, in their headdresses of cranes’ feathers, with leopardskins worn over their shoulders. They had been raised in Swaziland by Captain Norman Macleod of Macleod, the British agent there, and it was whispered that they had been promised most of the bePedi’s cattle as reward for taking part in the campaign.

  Simon found himself riding, head down against the driving rain, next to the chatty captain who had been present when he had first reported to Wolseley and who was a member of the General’s staff. He learned from this source that Sir Garnet had been a whirlwind of activity since his return from the scouting trip. He had immediately forwarded strong parties to create two forts from which the assaults would be launched. The first, on the eastern side of the Lulu Mountains, would be the base for Covington’s column and had been christened Fort Burgers. The second, from which the main attack would stem, was called Fort Albert Edward and had been established on the Oliphant, north of Sekukuni, at Mapashlela’s Drift. The main army was now marching towards Fort Burgers, where the Swazis, plus four companies of British regulars, would be left, while the remainder, the mainly white contingent, would march on northwards and concentrate at Fort Albert Edward.

  ‘The General’s had the deuce of a job with the logistics,’ confided the captain, raindrops dripping off the end of his moustache. ‘Given the attitude of the blasted Boers, it’s bin like campaigning in hostile territory. Our nearest proper base, of course, is Durban, five hundred miles away, and we’ve not bin able to get supplies up here from within about a hundred miles - in fact, doncher know, the nearest farmhouse to this God-forsaken Sekukuni place is fifty miles away. All grain fields and tropical groves have bin abandoned for miles around.’

  Simon tried to be sympathetic. ‘So everything’s had to be brought up from Durban and around Pretoria?’

>   ‘Yes. The supply line has stretched for miles - and it’s had to be guarded all the way.’

  ‘Good lord! Did the General really believe that the Boers would make an attack while the army was concentrated on the war with Sekukuni?’

  ‘It was a possibility.’ The captain grinned. ‘In a way, I think that the old man rather hoped they would. It would mean that he could settle this damned Transvaal business once and for all. But it hasn’t materialised and I doubt if it will. After all, these Dutchmen want Sekukuni dealt with almost as much as they want their own independence, yer know.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Yes, I see that.’ He pulled down his hat brim. ‘But nothing’s going to happen in this damned weather, anyway.’

  In fact the weather became worse, if that was possible. Great claps of thunder rolled up at them from across the open veldt, and three men were killed by lightning before the long column camped for the night. The succeeding days were the same; mud was added to the problem, and streams sprang up from nowhere as the waggons struggled along the now lushly overgrown old Boer track. Horse sickness took its daily toll of the mounts of the officers and colonial cavalry. It was rumoured that Wolseley was in some personal distress with pain from an old leg injury, but he gave little evidence of that, riding round in the rain at the end of the day, ensuring that troops and natives alike were finding shelter for the night.

  On one such expedition, he grinned at a wet and dishevelled Jenkins and observed, ‘Nothing like a soldier’s life, eh, bach?’ before riding on.

  Eventually, as the storms relented, the little army was able to split and concentrate on the two forts. Simon and Jenkins rode with the European column to Fort Albert Edward - another misnomer, of course, for it was nothing more than a tented encampment fifteen miles north of Sekukuni town. Nevertheless, Lieutenant Colonel Baker Russell, a trusted member of Wolseley’s Ashanti’s Ring whom the General had decided should have tactical command of the attack, had already set up an advance post, seven miles ahead, and had conducted a successful action the previous day at the kraal of Umkwane, one of King Sekukuni’s chiefs, at the northern entrance to the valley. Wolseley decided that he would attack without further delay.

  He called a meeting of his staff that evening. The sky was clear so the small group was able to sit around a camp fire under the stars, and Simon, having ridden with the staff, decided that there was no reason why he should not listen, so he quietly attached himself to the outer fringe of the group.

  Wolseley, his stocky figure loosely wrapped in a large cavalry cloak, looked vaguely Napoleonic as he stood etching the outline of the mountains and the valley in the damp sand with his riding crop. In a few concise words he gave his orders. At two a.m. the troops would be roused (no bugle calls) and Baker Russell would take the column down the narrow valley that ran north-south parallel to the main valley of the township. At dawn, he would curl into the main valley and launch his attack on the town itself. Shortly afterwards, Covington’s column would come over the top of the Lulu range and attack the town from above. Meanwhile, the artillery would bombard the Fighting Kopje and keep its defenders from playing a decisive part in the battle. Only after the town had been taken would all forces converge and attack the kopje.

  Craning over the shoulder of the friendly captain on the edge of the circle, Simon allowed himself a smile. Just as he had recommended! He stole away to find Jenkins, who had erected their small bivouac tent and laid out their groundsheet and two sleeping bags.

  The small man sniffed. ‘P’raps they’ll make you a general yet, then. Well, I’ll tell you this, bach sir. You’d make a damned sight better one than most of ’em. Tell me, was Colonel Covington there?’

  ‘No,’ said Simon. ‘He is obviously with his troops on the reverse side of the Sekukuni mountain. He must have been given his orders previously. There is no reason why we should see him because I intend to go in with the main attack, at ground level. This the best way to find our man, I think. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed. But won’t the General ’ave a few jobs for us, like? We’re supposed to be scouts out ’ere ’elpin’ ’im, aren’t we?’

  ‘That’s true, but our main job has been done, in the initial reconnaissance, that is. So far he has hardly noticed us, so I think there should be no problem in slipping away with Colonel Baker Russell. Which means we must be ready to march at two o’clock. Better get some sleep.’

  They were noticed, however. Predictably, the rains returned as the column formed up, the troops miserable in a drenching darkness only relieved by the crashing flashes of sheet lightning. Wolseley, his cape glistening, rode up to Simon as he and Jenkins tried to make themselves inconspicuous on the edge of Baker Russell’s small staff.

  ‘Ah, Fonthill,’ he called. ‘There you are. Been looking for you. You and your man will accompany Colonel Baker Russell up front and help him find his way in this damned weather down this valley. Know it, don’t you?’

  Simon felt his heart sink. He had only glimpsed the narrow valley at its northern end, from which it had looked navigable but, with the need to deliver Nandi to safety, he had had no time then to reconnoitre it personally. The Ndebeles, however, had told him that it shadowed the larger, Sekukuni valley for most of its length and that a large force could traverse it. He nodded. ‘More or less, sir. Should be fine.’

  Wolseley gave him a sharp glance from under his dripping hat brim. ‘I damn well hope so,’ he said. ‘You get them there in time to attack at dawn. Understood?’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  The journey was a nightmare. There had originally been a hunting track down the centre of the valley but now it was overgrown with dense bush and the waggons made very heavy work of pushing through the foliage. Waggons stuck and oxen fell as the heavens thundered and strong winds sent the rain swirling about them. The curses of the drivers and the crack of their whips added a Mephistophelean atmosphere to the scene, lit irregularly by great sheets of red lightning. Many of the plodding troops, who had had precious little sleep during the past twenty-four hours, lacked capes, and the mud and rain had turned their once-scarlet jackets into faded caricatures of uniforms.

  Riding ahead with Jenkins, Simon was aware that a large, bearded man riding a horse of gigantic proportions had pulled alongside him. ‘God,’ said the stranger. ‘After this march, I can’t see the troops being able to attack tomorrow.’

  Simon looked hard at him. The man wore a strange blue naval-type cap wedged on to his head, from which black hair fell nearly to his shoulders. He seemed to be wearing no uniform.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the man, extending a hand. ‘Russell, Daily Telegraph. You’re Fonthill, aren’t you?’ He nodded across to Jenkins. ‘Alice Griffith has told me a bit about you both - although not much. That girl likes to keep a good story to herself.’ He grinned.

  Simon smiled back. ‘Presumably Alice is back with the General, is she?’ He tried to keep his tone matter-of-fact.

  ‘Good lord, no. She’s just back there, with the rest of us scribblers. Somewhere between the artillery and the commissariat.’

  ‘This is no place for a woman, Mr Russell,’ said Simon, shaking his head. ‘It’s bad enough now, but the fighting hasn’t even started yet.’

  Russell grinned. ‘I quite agree with you, Fonthill, but the world’s a-changing faster than I can keep up. And I’m supposed to chronicle it. No doubt we shall be having women generals soon. But she’s a damned fine journalist, I’ll say that.’ He paused and wiped the rain from his face with a dirty grey handkerchief. ‘What do you think of our chances in the morning? I’ve told my readers last night that I couldn’t see how these troops could go straight into the attack. They’re soaked and damn near exhausted.’

  Simon shot him a keen glance. This was a man who had reported all of the great wars of the past thirty years: the Crimea, the American Civil War, the Franco-Prussian conflict, the recent Zulu War and numerous colonial clashes. Probably no general had witnessed so much warfare from so close a range
as this awkward, paternal-looking figure riding beside him. But he was a shrewd, iconoclastic operator. Was he pumping him? Better be careful.

  ‘Come now, Mr Russell,’ he said, ‘you know as well as I how capable the British soldier of the line is.’ He was forced to shout as another great thunder roll echoed across the narrow valley. ‘This is hard, but give him time for a mug of tea and a pipe of ’baccy after the march and he will get up and charge with his rifle and bayonet as though he’d just stepped off the parade ground. There’s no one better at slogging through this sort of hell and then getting on with the job. You were at Sebastapol - and think of Ashanti and Rorke’s Drift.’

  ‘Ah yes. You were at the last place, I hear. Great deeds. Perhaps you are right. We shall see in the morning. Good luck, Fonthill.’ And he let his horse fall behind.

  Although the conditions made the march through the long, thin valley extremely difficult, at least the route presented no problems of navigation, for the way lay straight ahead and it was not possible to deviate. The storm also prevented Sekukuni from sending out skirmishers to harass the column as it plodded along, vulnerable to attack from the high hillsides that frowned down upon it from either side. In fact, as dawn neared, the conditions improved and Simon was able to mark quite clearly the gap where the hills to the left swept down, giving access to the main valley. Here, Baker Russell called a halt and gathered his force together.

  The lieutenant colonel, slim and worried-looking, had been one of the great successes of Wolseley’s Ashanti campaign, and Simon had heard that Wolseley had deliberately stepped back from direct command of the assault on Sekukuni’s township to give his protégé a chance for glory. Despite his harassed appearance - and, reflected Simon, who wouldn’t look concerned after making a forced march like this? - Baker Russell was precise and Wolseley-like in giving his orders for the attack. The assault would be delivered simultaneously from three directions. That from the south would be led by the charismatic Colonel Ignatius Ferreira, the daring Boer leader who had, it seemed, taken part in every military enterprise that South Africa had seen over the last thirty years. He would be at the head of his eponymous Horse, dismounted for the task, and supported by native contingents. The central attack would be launched by the rest of the colonial troops, most of them of British stock, again backed by native levies, and the northern thrust would be made by the British troops and the artillery. The latter would direct fire on the kopje, which would be the main target for the line soldiers, who, until their turn came to storm it, would stay in reserve. Covington was expected to synchronise his attack over the mountain at the same time.