Echoes from the Past (The Brigandshaw Chronicles Book 1)

by Peter Rimmer

  "The moon will be full tonight," said Jack Slater in the Salisbury Club.

  "The Matabele were going to attack on the full moon, the night of the Big Dance," said Captain James Brigandshaw of the Queen’s Light Horse. "You think there might be some fun with the Shona? Surely not. Even they can see what happened to the Matabele facing disciplined cavalry."

  "Rumour has it the Mwari are telling their people our bullets will turn to water, that the spirits will guide them."

  "What nonsense."

  "We know that, Captain Brigandshaw, but a superstitious savage will believe his oracles. One of the many of man's stupidities. Look at the Mandi in Sudan. History is littered with people running to their deaths. The Muslim if he dies in battle in the name of God goes straight to heaven. A heaven with sweet rivers and lush green grass littered with sumptuous women. Half of the aristocracy of England ran off to the Crusades. Religion mixed into politics is a powder keg. You should tell that missionary brother of yours to get his family to safety."

  "He doesn't know I am in Africa. I was only ordered back from India after the Matabele rebellion and then the regiment argued about my secondment to a Colonial force run by a company."

  "India was the same with Clive and the East India Company."

  "My argument, Slater. My argument. There are three of us in Africa, you know. There's the black sheep we don't talk about."

  Jack Slater's mind went straight to Fran and he tried to change the subject by ordering another round of drinks.

  "You ever met Sebastian, old chap?" asked James knowing perfectly well. The fact his brothers were in Rhodesia had been a reason for his posting. His brief mentioned Slater's involvement with his brother's warrant of arrest.

  "Once, I believe."

  "And you didn't arrest him. Snotty little kid I seem to remember. Fortunately I was away at boarding school and then in the army. Only thing we all agreed was Nat being a crashing boor. Don't you worry, Slater," said James going back to his original subject, "let them all rise up. No one ever defeats the British. Remember that."

  "Are you going to see him?"

  "Who?"

  "Sebastian Brigandshaw."

  "Of course not. He's the black sheep of the family didn't I tell you. Father never mentions his name and mother does what father tells her to do…One of these days I am going to get married," he said going off at a tangent.

  At the idea Jack could only think of Fran naked in his bed and he hoped that no one would come to their table to make him stand up.

  "You've gone a bit red in the face, old chap," said James and thought for a moment. "We don't have many troops if they do go wild. Most of the chaps were in that bungle with Dr Jim. If you're going to steal something for Queen and country do it properly. The man's an imbecile. Made the British look a damn fool. That kind of bungle leads to war, you mark my word. Friend of mine in India fought with the Boers against the Zulus. The Boers don't dress up for war like we do but they shoot damn straight. Glory be, there's enough trouble keeping the natives under control without squabbling with each other. William of Orange came across from Holland so there's no reason we can't get along with the Dutch. Asked nicely the Boers will want to join the Empire. We can guarantee their safety. What's a few rules and regulations when you don't have to worry about a horde of savages going on the rampage? Joseph Chamberlain knows what he's doing. The Colonial Secretary was a businessman before he went into politics. My father says everything comes down to money and money can only be made when everyone behaves themselves. Take the British out of India and the states would be at each other's throats in a week to say nothing of the Muslims hating the Hindus. The British administration provides law and order as it does here. Then people can trade without hindrance. Seems so damn simple yet everyone wants to face off at each other if the other chaps a bit different. Dread to think what the world would be like without the Pax Britannica. You mark my words, the Boers will come into the Empire if they want to do anything with their precious republics…You know any nice girls in this town, Slater?"

  At the mention of girls the face of the acting-administrator went bright red and James Brigandshaw had to look away to stop himself from laughing. He idly wondered who the girl was who brought on the hot flush: at least there was one woman in Rhodesia who could cause a stir. For a while they lapsed into silence thinking their separate thoughts. James idly stirred his coffee before carrying on speaking his thoughts out loud: "There's always some fanatic or politician who sees the chance for power. They always say they do it in the name of the people but you mark my words they do it for themselves. Throughout history, wicked men dressed in the clothes of saints have searched for a popular cause to give themselves power. To a few men power is so addictive they will kill millions to get what they want. The joke old chap is they always kill in the name of the cause, in the name of God, in the name of the people. That's why the world needs the British army. To stop all that nonsense."

  "You don't think it's us seeking power?"

  "Maybe. But it works. We make sure law and order prevails in the Empire. Now, a last toast." James Brigandshaw raised his glass of port. "To the Queen, God bless her."

  "The Queen," said Jack Slater with a wry smile raising his glass. "The Queen, God bless her."

  "You know, Slater, it's a wonderful to be an Englishman."

  With the glass tipped back Jack Slater's eyes came on a line with the open door and the round worried face and round worried glasses of Billy Witherspoon and recognised trouble. Without being asked he excused himself from the table and walked across the dining room to his aide. Everyone in the room followed his path, some turning in their seats to do so. There were only men as women were not allowed in the Salisbury Club. Witherspoon's face could just as well have shouted the news and Jack signalled the man to turn his back on the lunchtime trenchermen. To counteract the horrified look in the eyes behind the glasses, Jack smiled and maintained his measured step. It was quarter past two in the afternoon and outside the club the sun was shining. He took Witherspoon by the elbow into the street and marched him past three of Dr Jameson's jacaranda trees before he would let him speak. Then he listened.

  "Three accounts almost simultaneously of massacres on the mines and outlying farms. They struck with the full moon. The blacks are openly calling it the Chimerenga."

  "What's the Chimerenga, Billy? Speak English!"

  "The war of liberation. One of the police posts was attacked and two men hacked to death. The other man rode in with the story."

  "Right. I want everyone into the capital. Easier to protect them. They can rebuild a home but can't come back from the dead. Get the message on the wires, Billy."

  "And those without telegraph, the farmers and miners?"

  "Will have to be told personally. Those are my instructions. Now go Billy. But don’t run. Englishmen never panic so my lunch companion would have me believe."

  "Where are you going, sir?"

  "Back to the club to finish my coffee."

  James Brigandshaw watched the acting-administrator with approval as the man made his way back to the table. Everyone in the room had stopped talking.

  "Bring me some more coffee steward and a glass of port. Captain Brigandshaw will have the same. Now, Brigandshaw where were we before I was rudely interrupted?"

  By the time the coffee and port arrived, the members and their guests had gone back to their conversations and Jack could answer the quizzical look on the other man's face.

  "Finish your coffee slowly and then ride like hell to your brother's mission," said Jack quietly. "The natives are calling it a war of liberation. They are on the rampage."

  "What fun. Largely, India was dull."

  "It's in the other direction but when you have brought your Reverend Brother to safety I'd be obliged you warn Sebastian Brigandshaw."

  "Ok, don't worry about him. Nat, yes, he'll probably be on his knees telling God how good he’s been. Seb might be our black sheep, old chap, but he always
knew how to look after himself. Anyway, father said under no circumstances was I to make contact or he'd stop my allowance. I'll go alone but I'll take a maxim machine gun on the rump of my horse. Watch your askaris Slater or whatever you call your native troops in this part of Africa. If it was me I'd take the guns away from them in case they are tempted. People are inclined to obey whoever holds the gun. Sort of fundamental situation, old chap. Nat will be surprised to see me."

  "If he's still alive, Brigandshaw."

  "Of course he will be. God's protecting him. Didn't he tell you so? Thank you for the lunch Slater. My other piece of military advice, which I understand is what I am here for, is to patrol the outskirts on horseback. Then you know where they are coming from if they try anything silly. And tell the settlers to give their servants the night off and to lock the doors with the dogs inside. All fundamental but usually works. We only have twenty thousand British running the whole of India. Makes you rather think doesn't it. You were rather impressive just now, Slater. Most impressive. Now, if you'll excuse me I'll be off to visit my brother. Three lovely children, I'm told. Never met them except the youngest in the cot. Yes, I'd better get married and have some of my own. Toodle-loo, old chap."

  They had wandered around all morning looking for someone to kill, disorientated by the drug they had smoked in the clay pipe, passed from man to man until the smoke was finished. On the second smoke Gumbo spilled the pouch in his excitement and the powder fell among the grass. Tatenda had choked each time he drew on the pipe and by the time they came back to the Mazoe River and followed its course, the drug had worn off. They had asked him about his white masters before he knew their intention and had gladly described the cluster of houses looking down towards the small river that cut through the hills to the plain and the rich red top soil spilled with the flooding waters over millions of years. In the red soil the maize grew tall now the white man had chopped down the trees and the first sight of Elephant Walk was the lands of green maize he had helped to prepare and the guilt made his stomach sick. The village in the valley came back to him, the vultures on the ground, himself looking at death sprawling between the huts of his family. Alone he would have died, eaten by the wild animals.

  They smoked the last of the powder to turn the white man's bullets to water and turned the corner of the last stand of tall green maize and the flat open land, cut clean of trees, the long grass burned black, the stockade flung thickly round the houses he remembered and Tatenda, half drugged by the sparsity of their smoke saw the error of his ways. Vividly the drawings came back to him. On Sundays, when Tinus Oosthuizen observed the day of the Lord, Harry would ask the big man to show him the books in the big wooden chest and though the words meant nothing to Harry the pictures drew a babble of questions. With Harry on one big knee, the leather-bound open book on the other and Tatenda looking over the broad shoulder Tinus Oosthuizen would explain the meaning of the pictures, what the drawings meant in the context of the story the boys were unable to read. Most often the pictures were of wagons drawn round in a ring with thorn branches in the gaps and between the great wheels of the wagons. Inside the circle were boys hiding among the piles of sacks and boxes, the bigger boys loading the guns, the guns passing to the women in long dresses and then to the bearded men firing through the spokes of the wagon wheels, puffs of smoke all round the laager of the wagons and black men like himself, some with guns, most with spears attacking the wagons, headdresses topped with feathers, courage written on their faces and in front of the wagons piles of his people dead and he understood Tinus Oosthuizen had thrown a laager round the houses and through the holes in the fence would point the barrels of guns and the bullets would not turn to water and the witch was wrong and Tatenda had no wish to die. In awe of the prospect, Tatenda hung back as Gumbo led the charge across the open ground with the white- topped sticks at regular intervals. When Gumbo reached the first post a gun fired from the stockade and the bullet tore through Gumbo tearing out a piece of his back. Horror struck as Tatenda watched his friends in turn reach the posts and die and when they were all down on the black ground, blackened by the burnt grass not even grass to protect them, he turned and ran back to the river dropping his gun and cartridge belt before jumping into the river to fight the rain-filled waters to the other side. When he reached the bank, water coughing from his lungs, his brain clear of drug from his effort he began to run through the trees with no idea of where he was going, the horror of death screaming in his mind as he ran and ran.

  Half an hour later the doves had recovered their wits from the fusillade of sound. It was an hour before dusk and the dove calls carried over the silence and then the crickets began to sing and the frogs croak from the river and far away up river a fish eagle called its plaintive cry.

  On the other side of Salisbury the doves were silenced by the cantering horse and James Brigandshaw hoped he had taken the right directions expecting a church spire above the trees and then he found the sign written on a plank of wood "St Mary's Mission" and the horse broke through the trees along the rutted path and chickens scattered with the goats but no one came to greet him. The silence around him was tangible; the late sun through the trees on the weathered buildings a yellow glow. A slight wind had come and banged a door somewhere inside the building. Safer in the saddle than on the ground, James pulled his rifle from its holster in front of his right thigh and sent a bullet into the firing chamber and rode the animal up to the veranda of what he took to be his brother's house. Away from the house was a shed and by the side of the shed two horses were grazing quietly. James rode round the house looking through the windows and then across to the shed. Inside his brother and sister-in-law were still upon their knees while the children played quietly between the school desks. The boy had the cantankerous look of The Captain while the girls bore no resemblances to his family. Everywhere else there was not a sign of a soul. James got down from his horse and walked into what he perceived to be a church. Then he coughed to draw their attention.

  "You may kneel and pray with us James," said Nathanial looking round. "The Lord has answered our prayers. The Lord has spared me for His work."

  "You don't think the deliverance might have had something to do with a soldier riding hard old chap. Please, no, don't get up for me but right about now I have to ask you all to be going. There is a native uprising and you are all to be brought into Salisbury. I believe old chap the acting-administrator, nice chap name of Jack Slater has declared martial law so you'll be a good fellow and do what you are told. Dead missionaries stir up much anger in London and we have all we want right now."

  "Who’s the funny man?" asked the boy standing up from behind a school desk. "Why's he wear a red coat?"

  "He's your uncle James from India," said Bess trying to get up.

  "Kneel Elizabeth," snapped Nathanial. "Now is the time to give thanks to the Lord. The Lord in his wisdom at the time of our need has sent our brother from India, a true miracle, a true miracle. Pray, Elizabeth, Pray. The Lord is surely powerful."

  James strode across the floor and yanked his brother up onto his feet and looked straight into his eyes. "It'll be pitch dark in an hour. Two hours to Fort Salisbury may be three with the trap. I will rope you into the trap, if needs be. There's a nice big church in Fort Salisbury where you can do all the praying you want tomorrow morning. And I came from England, not India. Mater and Pater send you and yours their regards."

  "Have you seen Sebastian?"

  "Of course not. He's the black sheep of the family. Now, please get a move on before I lose my temper in your nice little church. Where is everyone?"

  "They ran away."

  "Exactly. Now come along Bess and give your brother-in-law a kiss and get the children into the trap while I harness the horses."

  The dusk had come and gone and inside the stockade the dogs were quiet and outside in the pale colourless light of the full moon the corpses of men lay where they had fallen. Sebastian continued his round of the stockade liste
ning for the cans to rattle, his hunter's senses pitched to screaming point. Once with Tinus a leopard had leapt at him out of the night, a snarling fetid mouth. Claws flung out from the reaching paws and instinct had thrown up the gun and fired dropping the cat dead at his feet. He still had the skin of the male leopard in the house behind him where his children slept. The night was quiet. Small fires burnt at intervals. Looking up he saw the black heart of a passing cloud. The dogs lay still around the fire, content with the company of man and Sebastian bent down to stroke their heads in turn, two Rhodesian ridgebacks and two fox terriers, meeting their eyes in the light of the burning fire.

  At midnight he gave the guard to Gregory Shaw and walked across to his house and pushed open the screen door to the veranda. He checked Harry's bedroom and the boy was fast asleep. In the bed next to him with the sheet flung off, the girl was asleep in the protection of her almost eight-year-old brother and his heart swelled with pride for both of them and when he found his room Emily was asleep on her side and he got into the bed and within a moment he was fast asleep.

  All through the night the leopard chased him running and running from tree to tree and when he woke the day had come and when he got up and looked the bodies were still strewn on the blackened earth and the flies had found the corpses and beyond the blackened grass the bush was alive with song and the orange glow of dawn flamed the sky above the trees and the scattered clouds were belly red and from the river Sebastian could see their glow reflected in the surface of the river and beside the river buck were drinking.

  The breaking dawn found Jeremiah Shank asleep in his swivel chair, the dome of his observatory open to the day, the stars fading quickly to obscurity. Below the tower four black men were looking in at the closed windows of the ground floor and one of them went across to the farm sheds where the grain was stored. When he came out a yellow glow was in the heart of the building and directly behind some three miles there was a similar glow from St Mary's Mission.