The lieutenant issued thanks to the sergeant who had brought them in, then addressed them dually. ‘Stand easy. Now, Private Kilmaster, Private Greatrix, I am led to believe you have both done a stint at mounted infantry.’
Both answered in the affirmative.
‘Excellent. I have received orders that you are to go up to Mafeking and report to Major Grey of the Bechuanaland Border Police, to whose force you will be attached.’
Probyn’s jaw dropped. After a swift glance at Greatrix who was equally stunned, he returned his eyes to the speaker.
‘You will be supplied with travel warrants and will leave tomorrow.’
‘But sir, we were expecting to go back to our units in Natal!’ Probyn felt the sergeant’s eyes upon him for such impudence.
The officer seemed not to mind, treating the outburst as a joke. ‘What? You’d miss out on the chance of a skirmish with the Mats? Most young soldiers would give their eyeteeth for such an opportunity.’
‘Oh, I’m not jibbing, sir! I just don’t want my commanding officer thinking I’ve absconded. I was only given—’
‘Your commanding officer will be fully apprised of the matter,’ butted in the lieutenant firmly. ‘Now, you’re not going to funk this are you?’
Both young men responded. ‘No sir.’
‘Glad to hear it. There’ll be extra pay for you at the end of it. Dismissed!’
Both Probyn and Greatrix stamped to attention then were marched out of the office, immediately to be upbraided by the sergeant. ‘You do not argue with an officer!’
‘Sorry, Sarnt.’ Probyn was contrite but still preoccupied with the news. He didn’t want to be with a bunch of strangers, he wanted to be with his comrades!
‘If he gives you an order to do something you do it!’
‘Yes, Sarnt.’ Still Probyn did not pay full heed.
‘Corporal Bennett!’ The sergeant beckoned another. ‘That coal what wants shifting, these are your men!’
At which Probyn, now made fully conversant with the extent of his misdemeanour, and his unfortunate associate were, for the next couple of hours, forced to shovel coal from one place to another under the hot sun.
Greatrix was unimpressed at being involved in what was Kilmaster’s offence and as the corporal turned his back momentarily to talk to another, he was given the opportunity to vent his displeasure, leaning on his shovel, breathing heavily and wafting at flies. ‘I’m not being funny mind, but if you want to give lip to an officer in future can you make sure I’m out of the room first?’
Probyn stopped work too, wiping the back of his hand across his perspiring cheek and smearing it with coal dust. ‘Well, you don’t want to go either do you?’
‘Since when has the army given tuppence for what I want?’
Probyn looked apologetic. ‘Aye … sorry. I don’t know why I bothered opening me mouth.’
Greatrix offered a packet of cigarettes. Not wanting to offend, Probyn had accepted before today, deciding after the first eye-watering puff that he quite enjoyed it, and now accepted again.
There was a long pause whilst both employed the corporal’s absence as a chance to relax. Probyn found amusement in his occupation. ‘I’d hoped to get shut of anything to do with coal after the time I had in England, and what do I find meself doing?’
Greatrix was scowling, which the other had come to recognize as merely an indication that his friend was deep in thought. ‘I’m in two minds about it really. I want to get back to me mates, but you have to admit it’ll be an adventure.’
Of like mind, Probyn smiled and nodded. This would be real soldiering, against a proper enemy, would give him a chance to release his frustration over not being able to do anything about Judson. ‘I wonder if we’ll have to shoot any of these Mats.’
Greatrix shuddered and spent the usual time in responding. ‘I’m not bothered as long as I don’t have to use me bayonet. It makes me feel sick even to jab it in a sack.’ He hesitated before asking his next question. ‘Have you ever killed owt?’
‘Only pigs,’ replied Probyn, then looked away. ‘Well … one pig. But I expect it’ll be a bit different to that. Still, we’ll have to do it if we’re asked.’
Greatrix nodded through a cloud of smoke. ‘And rather them than us. The thought of one of them assegais coming at me …’
Probyn grimaced in agreement, then spoke to one of the brightly- coloured birds that flittered in abundance round the camp. ‘And you needn’t sound so bloomin’ happy!’
They stood and watched the jewelled creature for a while, Greatrix finally observing, ‘Bird-watcher’s paradise isn’t it? I used to do a bit when I were a lad.’
‘Me dad loves birds. Well, canaries and the like.’ Probyn tilted his head back and narrowed his eyes against the sun, wondering over the state of his father’s health, picturing Owen’s wounded leg. A small predator scythed the firmament. He pointed to it. ‘Kestrel up there.’
Greatrix squinted, pulling on the cigarette. ‘S’not a kestrel, it’s a hobby.’
Probyn bowed to the superior knowledge. ‘You mean he only does it in his spare time?’
Greatrix threw back his head to issue a laugh of appreciation, only no sound emerged, his humour manifesting itself as little more than a throaty hiss, his whole face transformed by mirth. Silent or no, the corporal detected merriment and came charging back to deliver retribution. ‘I didn’t tell you to bloody stop!’ And it was back to shovelling coal for the rest of the afternoon.
* * *
On route to Mafeking, aboard a clattering train, Probyn was to discover that Greatrix’s knowledge extended way beyond birdlife. Hitherto, the Matabele had been a distant enemy, but now about to come face to face with them Probyn wanted to find out more and Greatrix was the one to tell him. Apparently, the Matabele, or Ndebele as some people called them, had never recognized the borders laid down by the white man and regularly breached them to attack the Shonas as they had always done, saying they had a right to kill these people because they belonged to them.
‘Have you heard anything like it?’ asked Greatrix, amazement in his voice. With only the two of them in the carriage at present he felt free to talk. ‘From what I gather in listening to the colonel, they treat them a bit like grouse, only bagging them in season then allowing them to build up their numbers before killing any more. But now they’ve really overstepped the mark: been stealing cattle from white settlers who’re demanding compensation from Lobengula, that’s the king of the Mats, but he won’t pay till they give up his slaves that ran to the white folk for protection during the attacks …’
Swaying with the movement of the train, Greatrix’s unhurried growl almost sending him to sleep, Probyn forced himself to listen whilst the other continued to reveal his vast knowledge, gleaned whilst eavesdropping on the colonel’s discussions and from his letters and telegrams.
Dr Jameson – ‘Him what runs the British South Africa Company,’ – wanted to teach these black insurgents a lesson and had set about preparing columns to march on the king’s kraal at Bulawayo. ‘There was hell to pay down here when they heard,’ drawled Greatrix. ‘Sir Henry Loch, he’s the High Commissioner and Governor of the Cape, he wanted to treat with Lobengula. He’s managed to hold Dr Jim off until he got a column of his own together, but it’s anybody’s guess who’ll get to Bulawayo first … are you listening?’
Probyn jerked himself awake. ‘Aye! I’m just a bit confused as to why it’s vital we get to Bulawayo before the representative of the Charter Company.’ Wasn’t the Cape’s prime minister, Cecil Rhodes, in charge of this same company? And wasn’t it his intention to paint the whole of South Africa red, just as was the aim of every British patriot? ‘Surely, the map’ll still be red whichever of us gets there first?’
‘If only every man were as noble as you,’ said Greatrix. Though he, too, was mainly ignorant of Cape politics, he knew the gist of this affair. ‘They’re all after their own ends. Whoever takes Matabeleland gets control.
That’s why we have to get to the king before the Charter Company or they’ll have more clout than ever. I don’t know where this Major Grey comes in ’cause I had to go to hospital then.’
Probyn made a small contribution, telling his friend that Major Grey had returned from leave on the same ship as himself.
Greatrix offered a packet of cigarettes. Probyn took one, being struck at the same time by a realization. ‘Eh, you know how the railway line only goes as far as Mafeking? I wonder if we’re expected to go the rest of the way on horseback. It must be about five hundred miles!’
A horrified groan emerged on a mouthful of smoke, his companion admitting that he had not done much training in mounted infantry at all. Probyn made sympathetic noises. If he a veteran of the saddle was daunted by the thought of this trek, how would a novice perform? He vouched to help all he could.
At this point the train stopped to take on more passengers which tended to inhibit their conversation.
Thereafter they smoked in silence as the engine went clattering over the Karoo, staggering over stony plains, dragging itself up hills and mountains and down the other side.
Throughout the day there were more stops, sometimes for food, the only items of interest being the folk who got on and off, for there was little else to fascinate in this barren landscape. Nor was there much life along the line. Apart from the yellow patches of sweet-thorn that somewhat resembled the gorse bushes of home, the only other spot of colour was in the violet sunset at the end of the day. Night was even worse with no real beds, just a turned down seat upon which, even with hired blankets, it was nigh impossible to sleep with the train rocking about on its narrow gauge.
Stony plain gave way to grass veld, still the only feature being the sparsely dotted flat-topped thorn bush and an occasional windmill. Sometimes a cow or a sheep strayed onto the line, the train hitting it without stopping. To those trapped within its confines the other occupants of the carriage became of paramount interest, each trying to gain entry to another’s dialogue. Conscious of their uniform, Probyn and Greatrix had hitherto managed to remain aloof, muttering in low murmurs to each other between necessary catnaps, but it seemed inevitable as another day ended that they would be drawn into discussion.
By their third day on board the young soldiers’ uniforms were badly in need of an uplift, as were their aching buttocks and sinking spirits. The carriage was rank with stale body odour and tobacco smoke, everyone and everything coated in dust. Previously they had invented little games to while away the hours, such as trying to guess the nationalities of their fellow travellers, but these had soon been exhausted and now they merely slumped in their seats praying for deliverance. Besides, it had been all too easy to pick out the Britons in the carriage, mostly well-dressed and reserved. Another couple were obviously Dutch; the man had skin like tanned leather, his body lean, his face sly and shrewd beneath the broad-brimmed hat that Probyn secretly envied, whilst his wife was big and hard-faced with a red complexion. What surprised him was that their daughter was quite attractive. Probyn had responded to her polite smile when she had joined the train yesterday but had quickly put aside any amorous intention upon looking at her mother. No one on the train was black, though occasionally from the window they would see a native man, his bundle under his arm, making his way to work at the diamond mine.
Signs that the harrowing journey was nearing its end began to materialize in the form of mineheads, miles of them, as they approached Kimberley, a town of tin houses, mounds of refuse, wild and tough looking diggers and a filthy refreshment room.
Preferring to stretch their legs and reluctant to purchase anything from such an insalubrious venue, Probyn and Greatrix remained hungry, wandering up and down along the hot, dusty platform. Eventually it appeared that the others could no longer stand the refreshment room either and came out to brave the claustrophobic heat where the train sat breathing heavily from its exertions, waiting to be fed and watered. At the ticket office a spotty clerk with a superior manner was trying to throw his weight about with a passenger. Losing the argument he stalked off and began haranguing a small black boy, ending his tirade with a blow to the head that sent the youngster tumbling.
‘There’s no call for that,’ muttered Probyn. Looking round and seeing that no one else seemed interested enough to intervene, he turned to Greatrix. The latter in agreement, both made to approach the offender; but he was already marching quickly away down the platform, and it became obvious he was about to trounce another victim.
A young dog had sought out a pool of shade and had just nicely stretched his body out when the clerk kicked him in the abdomen.
‘Right, that’s it!’ said Greatrix, having barely set the black boy on his feet he moved upon the perpetrator, but before he could act the Dutchman had grabbed the clerk by the scruff of the neck and dealt him two sharp slaps around his face before casting him aside like a piece of litter.
Smirking at each other, the soldiers were left without a cause, and instead bent down to comfort the ill-treated dog, little more than a puppy, who set up a grateful fawning. The train was ready to go again. The animal’s prominent ribs advertising that it was a stray, Greatrix grabbed the dust-laden creature and took it on board, stowing it under his legs and tacitly defying anyone to object. No one did. This time when the train set in motion the young infantrymen were included in the conversation.
A man from England with salt stains under the arms of his creased suit asked where they were going.
Probyn told him. ‘Mafeking first then on to Bulawayo.’
‘Ah, to put those blasted niggers in their place! Good for you. Ten years I’ve been here and I still can’t stand them.’ And he ranted on about them being an untrustworthy lot.
A well-dressed young farmer begged to differ. ‘I rather like the jolly old nigs myself.’ Following an expressive sneer from the burgher, he added, ‘I’d be lost without mine, they’re a pretty good bunch.’
A debate ensued then, in which Probyn and Greatrix took no part, chatting merely to each other or to the pup whom they had named Boney.
‘I’m not being funny, but isn’t it about time you got your fags out?’ prompted Greatrix. ‘I’ve none left.’
‘Sorry, I don’t smoke.’ Probyn looked awkward.
The hazel eyes showed amused outrage. ‘You’ve been taking my fags for a week and now you tell me you don’t smoke!?’
‘I were just being sociable.’
‘If that’s your idea of being sociable I wouldn’t care to be somebody you don’t like!’ Whilst Greatrix was rifling his pockets for a doff, the young farmer extended a packet. The recipient lit up gratefully.
The narrow-eyed Boer had been taking in Probyn’s accent and now announced, ‘You are from Glasgow. My friend he comes from there, he sounds just like you.’
At first amused, Probyn replied cordially, ‘Actually we’re both from Yorkshire.’
‘Yes, that is near Glasgow,’ came the assured response.
Though unwilling to give offence, Probyn was determined not to let the man get away with this. ‘Glasgow’s in Scotland, Yorkshire’s in England.’
To the Boer five hundred miles was a mere stone’s throw. ‘So close it makes no difference.’ Then he went on to tell them all about their own country, although it was obvious he had never set foot there.
Realizing that to argue was pointless, Probyn turned away and ignored the man, speaking instead to Greatrix who was equally annoyed and, when the Boer family got out at Vryburg, shook his head in exasperation.
The man from England joined their grievance. ‘You can’t tell a Dutchman anything. He knows it all. I hate them almost as much as the blacks. They’re filthy and disagreeable, would cheat you as soon as look at you.’
Though this was one of the few Dutchmen he had encountered, Probyn nodded in agreement. To him the two Boer republics were as warts upon the fair face of South Africa, most of which lay in the reliable hands of the Empire.
However,
the Englishman’s carping about black and Boer became too much and the soldiers pretended to take a nap, leaving the young farmer to put up with it, all heartily sick of this uncomfortable ride.
* * *
After sixty exhausting hours of travel they finally juddered into Mafeking, an ugly town of corrugated iron shacks a few miles outside the Transvaal border. The station consisted of a little tin house and a goods shed. Beyond this was a street and a market square of similarly low-roofed houses. The people had a rough and ready appearance, mirrored in their attitude.
The army camp being close to the station, Probyn and Greatrix went straight there, rubbing their buttocks to remove the painful tingling, the wary young dog at their heels.
Once refreshed they were inducted to their new posting. It transpired that the detachment they were to join was made up of men from the Cape Mounted Rifles, and others seconded from various Imperial regiments, including two sergeants and a private from their own battalion, though none were familiar faces. Added to these were some natives, plus a large band of walnut-tanned volunteers in broad-brimmed hats and corduroy breeches with bandoleers across their chests and pistols on their hips, most of whom appeared to be drunks and ruffians and the friends gave these a wide berth for now.
Fearing that perhaps there might be an order against taking dogs on the journey, they chose not to ask and no one appeared to object to Boney’s presence.
During preparations for the trek they were equipped with horses and were to learn the basis of Major Grey’s involvement, a version that differed slightly from the one Greatrix had heard. It was untrue that the British Protectorate of Bechuanaland was under threat of invasion from Lobengula, but in order to get permission to declare war on him, Governor Loch, unable to restrain Cecil Rhodes, had wired Britain with news to the contrary. It had done the trick. A southern column led by Lieutenant-Colonel Goold-Adams and supported by Chief Khama of Bechuanaland with four thousand warriors was now well on the way north. Grey’s troops were to act as reinforcements. Bolstered by the knowledge that the reputation of the British Army depended on them, Probyn and his new friend displayed an eagerness to be off.
Family of the Empire Page 30
