A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER IX

  In the Ring

  For a full minute silence reigned. The chums had light-heartedlydiscussed the possibility of the convoy sailing; but now, when thesupposition merged into hard fact, they could hardly realize thegravity of the situation.

  Mitigating circumstances or otherwise, reduced to rock-bottom level,the three non-coms, had overstayed their leave, and were actuallydeserters, from a military point of view. It was just possible thatthey might be sent back under arrest to New Zealand. The thoughtthat they would be done Out of "having a slap at Fritz" almoststunned them.

  "Let's get back," said Fortescue, as the grey-hulled vessels grewmore and more indistinct in the starlit night. "We'll make for thetransport office and report ourselves. If we hadn't taken thatfellow's advice and wasted precious time looking for Vanwhat's-his-name we might have caught the tender."

  "I wonder whether that fellow in the train was all above board?"said Malcolm. "Now I come to think over the matter it looks ratherfishy. And we told him a jolly lot, too. He might be a Boche."

  "If he is a Boche, and I run across him, I'll bash him," said Selwynvehemently.

  "Set to, you Diggers!" ordered Fortescue. "Selwyn, you take an oarand relieve Carr. Now, then, you pull while I back."

  Under the reverse action of the oars the boat turned towards theshore, then both men pulled their hardest.

  "We don't seem to be moving," remarked Malcolm after five minuteshad elapsed. "I've been watching those two lights, and they havebeen in line ever since we turned."

  "Perhaps we're aground," suggested Fortescue, and thrusting his oarvertically into the water he sounded. The thirteen-foot oar failedto touch bottom.

  "Plenty of water," he reported. "Carr, you must be making a mistake.Now, Selwyn, put your back into it. I've never had such a heavy oldtub to pull in all my previous experience."

  "We're not gaining an inch," reported Malcolm.

  "Current out of the river, most likely," was Selwyn's theory.

  For once Fortescue lost his temper.

  "Currents, you young jackal!" he exclaimed. "Do you think this is aBath-bun shop? We are a crowd of jackasses. We never unmoored theboat properly."

  The craft was fitted with a short bowsprit, from the end of which awire shroud or "bobstay" led to a shackle-plate in the stem. Whenthe mooring-buoy had been thrown overboard, the rope had caughtbetween the bobstay and the stem, with the result that for the lasthour the three raw amateurs in salt-water seamanship had been simplykeeping their craft straining at the end of the buoy-rope.

  The tension was broken in a double sense. The mooring-rope was thistime properly cast adrift, while the mercurial spirits of the threeabsentees rose to the occasion.

  "We've been a crowd of mugs," declared Selwyn, laughing. "Swottingfor an hour or more and fancying we were on the move. Now what's tobe done?"

  "I suggest that we sleep on board until daybreak," said Fortescue."No good purpose is served by jogging into Cape Town at this hour ofthe night. I suppose neither of you thought to bring along anytommy?"

  The others had to admit that they were unprovided with food.

  "Then tighten your belts, boys," continued Fortescue. "We've beenfeeding like turkey-cocks; a few hours' fast won't do much harm."

  With the first streaks of dawn they ran the boat ashore, secured herwith a rope, and set off towards the town. When the transport officeopened the three absentees reported themselves, and, after havinghad a stiff "dressing down" were placed under open arrest.

  "One advantage of being a non-com.," remarked Fortescue. "We arelucky not to be in the 'clink'."

  "That Tommy officer seems a good sort," declared Malcolm. "As yousay, he might have made things hot for us. So we have to cool ourheels here until we can proceed with the next draft."

  Two days later the three chums received instructions to report onboard the _Pomfret Castle_, which was due to sail with a mixedcontingent on the following afternoon. The vessel was a Union Castleliner commandeered by the Government. Capable of doing twenty-twoknots, compared with the _Pintail's_ seventeen, it was more thanlikely, U-boats and mines excepted, that the _Pomfret Castle_ wouldarrive at Plymouth days ahead of the convoy with the New Zealandreinforcements.

  Taking no chances this time, Malcolm and his companions went onboard a couple of hours before the authorized time. Baggage wasstill being stowed, while the decks teemed with troops of variousnationalities. The bulk consisted of South Africans, mostly veteransof middle age, with a sprinkling of youths; detachments transferredfrom Mesopotamia to France; and Imperial troops from GermanSouth-East Africa. A draft of Maoris, and about twenty Australianswho had overstayed their leave at Cape Town, completed the muster.

  Instructed by the embarkation officer, the New Zealanders went belowto their mess.

  "Hallo, here are three Diggers!" exclaimed a strapping Queenslander."Make them at home, you chaps. Now our mess is quite filled up. ByGum, I don't quite cotton on to those Dutchmen. I'm a believer inAustralia for the Australians, and You fellows stand in with thatcrush."

  The speaker introduced himself as Jack Kennedy,quartermaster-sergeant by rank, and sheep-farmer in civilian life.His left hand was in a sling, a strip of surgical plasterembellished his cheek. During his stay at Cape Town he had beenforced into a squabble with a crowd of disloyal Cape Dutch. Wordsled to blows, with the result that three of his opponents werepicked up insensible, while Kennedy was taken to the militaryhospital with a broken wrist and a nasty contusion of the forehead,caused by the nail-shod boot of an eighteen-stone antagonist.

  "No kits?" continued Kennedy. "Your chaps went on and left youbehind? We were much in the same sort of hole, only Buck-up Millerhere knows the ropes. We'll soon see that you are comfortable. Howabout a pannikin of tea?"

  Under the attentions of their new chums Malcolm and his companionssoon adapted themselves to present conditions, and before the_Pomfret Castle_ cleared Table Bay the Anzacs felt as if they hadknown each other for years.

  Although the troops on board were going to fight a common foe--a foethat victorious would speedily prove more than a menace toAustralia, to United South Africa, and to civilization ingeneral--there was a certain amount of misunderstanding between theAfrikanders and their brothers-in-arms. In spite of the utmostendurance on the part of the Imperial officers, petty squabbles werefrequent. The Boers, for instance, were prone to treat the Maoris ina similar manner to the Kaffir "boys". They could not understand howa white man could treat a Maori as an equal, being ignorant of thehigh moral and physical standard of the latter, that has justlyearned the appreciation and admiration of the New Zealand colonists.For their part the Maoris accepted the Afrikanders' remarks withcourteous equanimity, but there were others on board who championedthem--with no uncertain voice.

  Big Kennedy 'was as good as his word, and before nightfall each ofthe New Zealanders had a full kit, although they wisely refrainedfrom asking questions as to the origin of the source of supplies.Already they were well advanced in the ways of the old campaigner.If they kept rigidly to the codes of civil life they would soon havefound themselves very much out in the cold as far as personalcomforts were concerned, although on board, in camp, and on activeservice, it was noticeable that personal property was rightlyconsidered as inviolate.

  One of the morning parades had Just ended, and Malcolm was hurryingdown the accommodation-ladder to the mess deck when he was broughtup sharply by a huge fist tapping him on the centre of his chest.Coming out of the brilliant sunshine to the comparative gloom 'tweendecks, young Carr could not at first discern the features of the manwho barred his progress.

  It was a Maori. The man was grinning broadly, yet he did not say asingle word.

  "Te Paheka!" exclaimed Malcolm in astonishment. "You here?"

  A few months previously, when Malcolm saw Te Paheka vanishing rounda corner as he drove juggernaut at a furious rate, the lad had cometo the conclusion that he had seen the last of his Maori friend formany a long day. And no
w, by one of the vagaries of fate, Te Pahekawas on board the _Pomfret Castle_, rigged out in khaki, and boundfor the goal of freedom--the Western Front.

  "Yes, I came along," explained Te Paheka. "Since you added a fewyears to your age I thought I would make a corresponding reductionin mine. Things were a bit dull. You heard about the car? Selwyntold you, then? I've cleared out. Sold every acre of land that Icould legally dispose of. The rest the paternal Government preventsme getting rid of; but it's let, so I think I'm good for about fourhundred a year. By the time I return--if I ever do see Wairakatoagain--I'll have enough to buy the out-and-out top-hole racing carin New Zealand."

  Just then four men hurried along the alley-way. By the lettersS.A.H.A. on their shoulder-straps, Malcolm knew that they belongedto the South African Heavy Artillery. As the foremost passed by hedeliberately lurched against Te Paheka.

  "Out of my way, Zwartnek!" he shouted, adding something in _Taal_which, fortunately for him, neither Malcolm nor the Maoriunderstood.

  As the last of the four men passed, Malcolm, seething withindignation, caught a glimpse of his features.

  "Dash it all!" he soliloquized. "Where have I seen that fellowbefore?"

  Te Paheka took no notice of the insult.

  "I would have told that fellow to _impshie_ pretty sharp if I'd beenyou, Te Paheka," observed the lad.

  The Maori shrugged his broad shoulders.

  "Manners, Malcolm, or the lack of them," he remarked. "This eveningI hope to teach him a lesson. There's a boxing-match fixed up, and Ihear that this fellow is the champion of his battery. I'll do mybest to take him down a peg."

  The two men separated, Te Paheka going to his mess, while Malcolmmade his way to his quarters, where he informed Selwyn of his chancemeeting with the Maori.

  "And," he added, "although I'm not absolutely sure about it, I havean idea that the blighter who let us down on the train fromMuizenberg is on board."

  "A transport officer?" enquired Fortescue.

  "No; in khaki--an Afrikander artilleryman."

  Fortescue whistled softly.

  "Sure?" he asked.

  "No, I said I wasn't," declared Malcolm. "I only caught sight of himas he passed. The blighter looked a bit sheepish, and didn't want tocatch my eye."

  "Golly!" ejaculated Selwyn. "That's fishy! We'll keep a look-out forhim. Wonder if he'll put in an appearance at the boxing-match?"

  "We will, in any case," observed Kennedy. "All our boys will bethere to give your Maori chum a buck up. I'll pass the word to someof the Tommy soldiers. They're good sports, and will shout with therest of us."

  With the laudable intention of keeping the men's minds fullyoccupied during the hours of leisure, the officers had arranged forthe boxing-tournament at an early stage of the voyage. The contestswere to take place on the promenade deck, a space having been ropedoff and seats provided for the officers. Every other available partof the deck which would command a view of the "ring" was packed. Menwere clustered like flies in the boats on the boat deck, othersswarmed up the shrouds, to the choleric but ineffectual protests ofthe ship's officers.

  Several pairs of sparring-men having displayed their prowess andreceived indiscriminate praise and rebuffs from their respectivesupporters, the event of the evening was announced.

  Gunner Jan van Eindhovengen was open to engage upon a ten-roundcontest with any non-commissioned officer or man amongst the troopson board.

  Amidst the vociferous shouts of "Oom Jan" from his compatriots, theAfrikander stepped into the ring. Stripped to the waist, his hugebulk, bull neck, and massive limbs showed to their fullestadvantage. Across his chest and back the muscles stood out likeknots on a gnarled oak. His arms were as thick as the thigh of anordinary man, while his seconds had considerable difficulty inplacing the gloves on his enormous hands. With a supercilious andself-confident smile he folded his arms across his chest andsurveyed the dense crowd of spectators.

  Having summed up the formidable champion, Malcolm directed hisattention towards the group of men from which van Eindhovengen hadjust emerged. From the other side of the ring the lad scanned thefaces of the Afrikander's comrades, but Without the desired result.In vain he looked for the man who, he felt confident, was theselfsame individual they had met on the Muizenberg train.

  "A freak of the imagination, I suppose," decided the lad, whereuponhe devoted his attention to the events in the ring.

  A counter-blast of cheering announced the appearance of achallenger--Sergeant Smithers, of the 2nd Battalion WestOthershires. The Sergeant was the best boxer of his regiment, but hehad forgotten that a protracted sojourn in the reputed site of theGarden of Eden--where a boundless expanse of glaring sand, a totalabsence of verdure, millions of tormenting flies, and a meagre menuconsisting chiefly of bully beef and tepid water, are theoutstanding characteristics--is apt to undermine one's physicalcondition.

  Severely punished, Sergeant Smithers held out for five rounds, whilethe gigantic Jan, disdaining the services of his seconds, grimlyeyed the circle of spectators in the hope of meeting anotherantagonist.

  Softly, then gradually increasing in volume until it rose to atremendous roar, the Maori war-song greeted the appearance of TePaheka. In wonderment, for, with few exceptions, none of the othertroops had heard the chant-like chorus before, the white menrelapsed into silence. For the moment all attention was shifted fromvan Eindhovengen to the new challenger.

  Although middle-aged, Te Paheka displayed the figure of an athlete.His well-developed muscles rippled under his olivine skin. Theylacked the gnarled appearance of those of his antagonist, but theireasy, rhythmic undulations contrasted favourably with the jerky,bombastic movements of the Afrikander's muscles and sinews. Inheight van Eindhovengen exceeded him by two inches, and was a goodtwo stone heavier. Standing alone, Te Paheka would have beenregarded as a huge man. Confronting the artilleryman, he looked nomore than of medium height and build.

  Clad in a pair of shorts of a vivid orange hue--for Te Paheka sharedwith the rest of the Maoris a love of brilliant colour--and with asilk red ensign emblazoned with the New Zealand stars round hiswaist, Te Paheka grinned amicably at the Afrikander. The Maori'sbare chest and back were covered with elaborate tattooing, but,according to modern custom, his face was unmarked.

  "Allemachte!" exclaimed one of van Eindhovengen's supporters. "He isnot nearly so big as Oom Jan. Oom Jan will wipe the floor with him."

  "The presumptuous nigger!" said another. "He does not know Oom Jan!"

  Even Malcolm felt doubtful concerning Te Paheka's chances. He knewthe Maori to be a good boxer, as most natives are, but age, if onlyten or fifteen years, together with inferior reach and weight, mustassuredly handicap Te Paheka considerably. The two men advanced andshook hands, van Eindhovengen with obvious disdain, Te Paheka asnaturally as the gentleman he was.

  "Take your corners, men!"

  Round No. 1 commenced. The Afrikander, confident of knocking out hisopponent quickly and completely, led off with a tremendous blow withhis left. Had the glove hit its mark Te Paheka would have been shotover the ropes like a stone from a catapult. Stepping smartly back acouple Of paces, he allowed the blow to fall on empty air.

  "Jehoshaphat!" ejaculated Kennedy. "Why didn't the Maori takeadvantage of it? The Dutchy nearly overbalanced himself with theforce of his blow."

  Malcolm, to whom the remark was addressed, made no reply beyond aconfident nod. Already he was tumbling to Te Paheka's tactics. TheMaori was fighting a rear-guard action hoping that his stayingpowers and agility were greater than those of his ponderousopponent.

  Round and round the ring the two men went, until the South Africansyelled to their man to hurry up and the Anzacs began to mutterimpatiently.

  Thud! Te Paheka had got one home on the face of the Afrikander.Outwardly it had little or no effect upon Jan's rugged figurehead.

  The Maoris yelled with delight, but the next instant their hopeswere dashed to the ground as Te Paheka, incautiously attempting tofollow up his advantage, lai
d himself open to a terrific blow fromthe Afrikander's right. With a dull crash he landed heavily on thesanded floor.

  Over him stood van Eindhovengen, ready to strike him down should heattempt to rise. The cool, deliberate voice of the timekeepercalling off the fateful ten seconds silenced all other sounds ofapprobation or encouragement to the fallen man. In the intervalsbetween the numbers one could have heard a pin drop. For the firsttime since the tournament started could be heard the plash of thewaves against the ship's sides and the gentle moan of the windthrough the rigging.

  Seven--eight--nine!

  The Afrikander struck--but struck emptiness--where Te Paheka hadbeen a fraction of a second before. With an agility so rapid thatthe spectators had not time to grasp its significance, the Maoriregained his feet, dealt a numbing blow upon the biceps of hisantagonist, and was off to the opposite corner of the ring.

  Before the boxers could engage again "Time" sounded.

  Te Paheka was glad of the respite. It was also remarked that Jan didnot scorn the attentions of his second. A dull mark on the upperpart of his brawny right arm promised trouble to him in the nearfuture.

  During the second round the Maori kept strictly on the defensive,while van Eindhovengen tired himself considerably in making blindand ineffectual rushes at his nimble opponent. His supporters nolonger yelled to him to "hurry up and knock the black out", whilethe Maoris sung their choruses again and again every time Jan failedto drive Te Paheka over the ropes.

  The third round was a slow one. The Afrikander, realizing that hewas fatiguing himself with futile efforts, adopted semi-defensivetactics, in the hope that the Maori would close. It was not untilthe close of time that the latter succeeded in getting home a "bodypunch", which did not improve Jan's temper.

  "Do something this time, you chaps!" shouted a Tommy as the menfaced each other for the fourth round. "You're supposed to besparring, not going in for a waltzing race."

  "By Jove, he's cornered!" exclaimed Fortescue, as Te Paheka,stepping back to avoid a left-hander, came in contact with theropes.

  The Afrikander's glove rasped the Maori's ribs. So violent was theeffort that again Jan was on the point of overbalancing. This timeTe Paheka followed up the advantage. An upper cut caught vanEindhovengen full on the point of his chin, while almostsimultaneously the Maori drove home a resounding blow on theAfrikander's solar plexus.

  Down like a felled ox the huge South African dropped. In silence thespectators heard the fateful ten seconds called, then a vociferouscheer from Afrikanders, Anzacs, and Maoris alike greeted the victor.For that instant the sporting instincts of the men triumphed overracial prejudices, and for the rest of the voyage--and after--theMaoris and Afrikanders "hit it off" splendidly.

  "BY GUM, THAT'S A MIGHTY QUEER CHUNK OF COAL!"]