‘My brother told me in January, after he received a letter from Father. He has been looking for Klaas ever since, ’Cameron concluded. ‘I am sorry, we should have said something sooner.’
‘You do not have to apologise, ’ Henry replied coldly. ‘I am only an African, ’he snarled, not waiting for permission before leaving Cameron to reflect on the parting words of a man he had grown up with. There had been no reason to keep the matter a secret from Henry but the damage was done.
Barking dogs alerted Heidi van der Merwe to the fact that she had visitors. Tucking Alice into her crib, she hurried to the front door to see who it was. What she saw sent a shiver of fear through her. A mounted patrol with an open, horse-drawn wagon was approaching the farmhouse.
‘Kak, ’ she swore softly as they spread out to encircle the somewhat dilapidated building. Defiantly, Heidi stepped from the doorway to confront the officer in charge. He was accompanied by a civilian interpreter with a long black beard. Heidi could not remember his name but knew him as one of the burghers who had traitorously signed away his allegiance to the Boer cause.
‘Heidi van der Merwe, ’ he said, speaking in Afrikaans though he knew she could understand English, ‘you are to gather up only those personal possessions that you can carry and come with us in the wagon.’
‘What is this about, traitor?’ she spat in the same language. ‘Do you wage war against helpless women and children? There are no menfolk here.’
‘It is not my decision, woman, ’the Boer said. ‘I only do what I am told.’
Heidi thought about the baby and realised that she and she alone was responsible for its safety. Resistance would be futile. With shoulders slumped she went back inside to gather up a few clothes and mementos – as well as Alice. Even before she returned to the front door, she could hear the bellowing of her cows as they were herded from the milking shed.
With Alice in her arms, Heidi stepped out into the sunlight.
‘Whose baby is that?’ the Boer asked. ‘It is well known that you lost your only child.’
For a moment, Heidi felt a sense of panic. No matter the real reason for this baby being here, she had grown to love little Alice as her own. ‘It belongs to my sister, ’she lied.
The Boer shrugged. It was of no great matter to him. He spoke to the mounted officer beside him then turned to Heidi and said, ‘Get in the wagon. Both of you.’
Heidi obeyed. She could not face any further questions concerning Alice. ‘Where are you taking us?’ she asked the African driver.
‘Ek veet nie’ – I don’t know– he replied in Afrikaans.
The bearded burgher overheard, taking pity on the woman and child. ‘You will be taken to Middelburg camp in the Transvaal, ’he told Heidi. ‘That is what they tell me.’
She had heard of the place but could not remember why. Heidi had no idea how far it was from her home in what, to her, was still the Orange Free State.
‘Is it a long way?’ she asked.
‘I have no idea, ’the man answered. ‘I have never been to the Transvaal.’
Sitting and holding Alice, Heidi watched as flames burst from the roof of her home. She closed her eyes and tried not to cry. The life she had known since coming to this farm as a young bride was being taken from her. If her husband was still alive, she thought, how would he ever find her? All she had now was the tiny infant peacefully asleep in her arms. What lay ahead was nothing but despair.
TWENTY-FIVE
Major Granger-Acheson’s newly formed unit remained independent of Steinacker’s Horse, which operated mainly to the south, between Komatipoort and their base at Sabi Bridge – country Cameron knew of old. His task now was to patrol the flat, flood-prone veld further north towards the Olifant’s River. West lay the northern Drakensberg while to the east the Lebombo Hills formed a natural border with the neutral territory of Portuguese East Africa. It was fever country, where unsalted horses normally lasted no more than a couple of weeks before feeding the scavengers of Africa. Though the stifling heat of summer was past, months of heavy rain meant that malaria remained rife.
Cameron’s men were mostly born on African soil. Some, like Sergeant-Major Mulligan and Henry, came from his old troop, but there were new faces too: colonial volunteers – Canadians, New Zealanders and Australians in the main – tough and battle hardened, used to living in the saddle and coping with the adversities of nature.
Boer komandos ranged this land at will, unhindered as yet by the blockhouses and barbed wire that Kitchener would soon use to restrict their freedom of movement throughout the Transvaal and Orange River Colony. Cattle raiding and minor skirmishes were frequent but of little concern to Cameron, whose orders were to deny the enemy access to the outside world.
If Klaas and Ramos had done what Duncan suspected, he would be ideally placed to try to prevent their escape. There were a lot of ifs and buts, though no better ideas. Only Henry knew anything of Cameron’s personal agenda. He had calmed down and apologised since storming from the tent outside Pretoria and now seemed just as determined as his old friend to do anything which would help find Alice. Zulus did not make war on women or children and to him those who had taken Torben and Gerda’s baby were not fit to be called men.
Cameron pushed his troop hard. It had taken them three days, riding north-east from dawn to dusk, before they reached the Olifant’s and followed it down from the Drakensberg into the sticky heat of flat knobthorn and mophane veld. Camp was established above a gorge close to the confluence with a second river which joined it from further north. Their slight elevation gave them the benefit of any breeze and an opportunity to observe the surrounding country. Portuguese East Africa was little more than five miles distant.
Although their primary mission was to establish picket points along the border, the fact that Klaas was wanted by military intelligence in Pretoria gave Cameron a legitimate excuse to be making enquires about him. Nevertheless, he briefed Henry in private. ‘I want you to accompany young Pickstone. Try to avoid Boer komandos but try to find word of any white men who are strangers in the area. One of those we seek has an English accent, the other, as you know, is Portuguese.’
‘What if we find them?’ Henry asked.
‘Under no circumstances is Klaas to be harmed. I want him here, alive.’ Cameron was deadly serious. ‘Should something happen to Ramos, that cannot be helped. I am placing my trust in you, old friend.’
Henry understood what was being asked of him. ‘Thank you, Cam, ’he said. ‘It is a responsibility I undertake on behalf of your family. It is also my family.’
Cameron stretched out his hand and Henry accepted the firm clasp. ‘It is I who thank you, Henry, ’ Cameron spoke in Zulu. ‘For we are brothers despite the colour of our skin.’
It was a rare moment between two people of different rank and race. Henry had no doubt that this hard man with a reputation for acting alone truly accepted him as an equal.If only such a thing were possible in times of peace, Henry thought to himself as he left the tent.
Finding Klaas would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. As his horse drank from the muddy river, Henry scanned the bush, looking for anything out of the ordinary – any shape or movement that didn’t belong. Eyes, in turn, watched him. A hippo yawned, baring curved tusks and long pointed incisors. Another in the group of half a dozen or so sounded his distinctive grunting bellow. Henry had seen many of these mighty beasts in the Mhlathuze – eaten their meat too. Otherwise, there was silence. Henry looked again. A rock had appeared where moments before there had been nothing. Elephant, the grey ghosts of Africa which his father and Cameron’s had hunted for their ivory before he was even born. The rock moved again, duplicating itself as if by magic. As he watched in awe, one turned to the side, the late afternoon sun showing off two sweeping tusks that seemed to scrape the ground as he moved. They were the first elephants Henry had ever seen. The same day had shown him another new animal. Lion.
‘See anything?’ a voice asked a
t his elbow, breaking the mood of that moment.
‘No, sir, ’ Henry replied to Lieutenant Pickstone’s question. ‘Just Africa.’
‘I know what you mean, ’the other man said with a smile. ‘When I was a boy I read a book by Frederick Selous.A Hunter’s Wanderings in Africa, it was called. Those were the days. Never thought I’d see all this for myself.’
Henry glanced at the young officer who came from Cape Town. His revelation did not surprise Henry. They had both been born in this land but until now neither had experienced the wild beauty that could capture a man’s soul.
‘Sir, over there.’ One of the mounted soldiers pointed, drawing the lieutenant’s attention to a thin plume of smoke rising from trees to the east of their position.
‘Let’s have a look-see, ’ Pickstone said.
Cautiously the five-man patrol approached what was obviously a hunters’ camp where they were met by a bearded white man casually cradling a large double rifle. It pointed at nothing in particular but the officer noticed that both hammers were cocked and ready for instant use. A number of Africans armed with a mixture of Martini-Henry rifles and old muzzle-loaders eyed the soldiers suspiciously.
Pickstone had assumed they were Boer poachers but as they came closer, Henry broke into a broad grin and turned to the lieutenant. ‘I know this man. His name is Will Green.’
‘Mister Green, I presume?’ the soldier greeted him without explaining his choice of words.
Will simply stared, taken completely by surprise at being recognised in the middle of nowhere. He certainly did not know the soldier who had spoken– though the Zulu at his side seemed familiar. ‘By God, I do believe it’s young Henry, son of that old scoundrel Mister David. What brings you here, boy?’
‘No more than takes you so far from Swaziland, madala.’
‘How do you know this man?’ Pickstone asked.
‘He is the major’s godfather and an old friend of his family, ’Henry replied, dismounting as Will eased off the hammers on his Rawbone 8-bore. The two men greeted each other warmly, not in the least surprised at how small Africa could seem.
‘What in hell are you doing here?’ Will asked in Zulu. ‘Last I heard you were at Morningside keeping an eye on that father of yours.’
‘I am now a scout with nkosi Cameron, ’Henry replied proudly. ‘He is not so far from this place. My father told me that you were back at Nsoko.’
‘That was a long time ago. At least, it seems that way now.’
‘We are looking for an umlungu they call Klaas. Have you heard of this white man?’
‘Sorry, Henry, ’Will answered. ‘That name means nothing to me.’
‘He might be travelling with a Portuguese called Ramos.’
‘That one I do know, ’ Will spat. ‘We are old enemies. He passed this camp less than a day ago. I can’t say who was more surprised, him or me. There was another man with him but they didn’t stop long enough for introductions – if you get my meaning. Pasty-faced fellow with not much hair. Could that be him?’
‘This sounds like the one we seek. Do you know where they were going?’
‘Across the border most likely, but there’s not much over there until you get further south.’
Lieutenant Pickstone had not the faintest idea what the two men were talking about though he recognised names in their conversation. What Henry had discovered was obviously important, so he sent one of the men back to find their commanding officer. The needle had been found.
When Cameron received the news he burst out laughing. There is a God, he admitted– aware that Will was well out of earshot. It took them less than an hour to reach his hunting camp.
Will greeted his godson with genuine affection. ‘How is your father?’ he asked as they stood clasping each other in a bear hug which neither man wanted to break. ‘Is he still fighting for Queen and country?’
‘Not anymore. He got pneumonia and damned near died. Mother and Ellie probably saved his life. He’s back at Morningside throwing himself into new sugar planting. What about you? Last time I saw you, Buller was still waiting to move north.’
‘I stayed with him through the Transvaal. When Roberts decided he was no longer needed that was it for me too.’
‘So you went back to Swaziland?’
‘For a while. If you want my advice, never get married. I’ve got seven wives and life at home is one problem after another.’
Cameron laughed but didn’t comment. His hurt at losing Ginnie was under control, though he had no intention of talking about it. A fleeting image of another woman and a farm far to the south flashed through his mind. He had told nobody where he spent those few days. ‘Then you left again?’
‘Spent some time chasing gold up near Piggs Peak but that was a waste of time. White gold is easier to come by.’ Will gestured to the camel-thorn fire where a blackened pot steamed on a bed of glowing coals. ‘There’s enough for you and Henry to join me.’
While Will told the Africans what was going on, Cameron made sure his men had all that they needed. He didn’t comment on the pile of tusks stacked beside a wagon which had seen better days.
That night they enjoyed a spicy stew of indeterminate origin, soaked up with hand-worked balls of mealie meal and washed down with some excellent Portuguese red wine.
‘This is a damned sight better than that tobaccocoloured muck the mess calls rum, ’Cameron enthused.
Lions were not far off. Ever hopeful of finding a meal, their throaty calls carried far in the warm night air. The talk was mainly about home. Dallas and Lorna. Duncan, Tanith and little Frazer – the son his brother had not yet seen. Ellie and Lindsay– the former very special to Will. Meggie. And when Cameron could avoid it no more, his own broken engagement to Ginnie. Strangely, he could talk about it as if she no longer existed. Finally they returned to the matter Henry had raised when they first arrived. Cameron told Will why they were seeking Klaas.
The old trader had known nothing about Alice’s abduction or the near death of Duncan in Pretoria. When all was said he knocked the ash out of his pipe and spat into the fire. ‘Your man could cross the border anywhere. Ramos has plenty of contacts on the other side but to get somewhere they will have to go south.’
‘I feared that, ’Cameron said, staring into the hypnotic flames. ‘We have to find them.’
‘Chasing white men – one a Portuguese citizen – in neutral territory is not such a good idea.’ Will shook his head. ‘If you were caught they would lock you up and throw away the key.’
‘That might apply to a soldier but what about as a civilian? Correct me if I’m wrong but people seem to come and go across the border as they please. Nobody knows where it actually is.’
‘And how would you resign your commission out here with all these fine lads depending on you?’ Will chuckled. He could see what the eldest son of his old friend and partner was thinking. ‘You would have to be bloody careful.’
‘Not if I were with an old poacher who knew the lay of the land, ’Cam continued their roundabout conversation.
‘Someone who just happened to have with him the best bloody tracker in this part of Africa, ’Will went on. ‘Who is also one of my sons.’
Cameron wondered what other family the old rogue had fathered. Although Will was his godfather, the most time they had ever spent together had been during the Natal campaign. Even then he found out little about the children of a man who, by his own choice, led a largely tribal life and was ostracised by others because of it. Will couldn’t have cared less. ‘Would you be prepared to take me through Portuguese territory on your way back to Swaziland?’ Cameron asked, swirling the contents of his metal mug. ‘I would pay you.’
The old man looked momentarily offended. ‘I will help but not for money, ’ he bridled. ‘Call it a favour to your father.’
‘Then I suggest we leave at first light. If Klaas and Ramos reach Delagoa Bay we’ll never find them.’
Will scratched his beard and sniffed. ‘Just
like the old days, ’he said, breaking into a near-toothless grin.
Cameron called a briefing with his officers and Sergeant-Major Mulligan. Lieutenant Pickstone would take command, leading the patrol south and setting up picket points at any border crossing where there was evidence of recent activity. They agreed coordinates for a rendezvous three days later. It was all the time Cameron could afford to be away from his official duties.
‘What will you be doing, sir?’ Lieutenant Pick-stone asked when the others had gone.
‘That I am not at liberty to tell you, ’ Cameron answered, folding a map which lay on the ground illuminated by the flickering fire. ‘Suffice it to say I have received information of interest to military intelligence. Henry will be coming with me. We leave at first light under the guise of a civilian hunting party.’
Lieutenant Pickstone saw no reason to question Cameron’s orders. He knew that he was more than capable of taking command in the absence of his senior officer.
Dawn came quickly to the African veld, the sky clear and cloudless, rapidly changing colour as both man and beast faced a new day. Sounds of a camp already awake took over from those of nocturnal hunters returning to sleep.
Breakfast was brief, only biscuits and coffee. Will had his men moving out before the sun came up, dew still wet on the grass. Cameron had discarded his khaki uniform, leaving it and a Lee Metford carbine with Lieutenant Pickstone. His horse and army saddle he could do nothing about. Wearing the garb of a man at home in the bush, he carried a percussion ‘Cape’ gun borrowed from Will – one barrel a .577 rifle, the other a 12-bore shotgun loaded with sixteen SSG pellets.
Henry carried a single shot .450 lever action Martini, heavy enough for most eventualities. He rode at Cameron’s side, appearing to those they might encounter as his gunbearer.
Will’s son, Eli – a quiet mixed-race boy of around fifteen – easily picked up tracks of the two men and packhorse that had recently called at their camp. ‘They are in no hurry, ’he said to his father, distinguishing the faintest marks of shod horses from the otherwise confusing mass of game trails.
Footprints of Lion Page 39
