The Last Horseman

by David Gilman

  As if the thought of the dying children triggered her desire to help, she remembered Radcliffe’s torment. ‘I’ll ask about your son. There’s a fairly decent officer here; he might know something and then –’

  ‘Missus!’ a voice called. They turned to see Sheenagh O’Connor rein in her horse. She was already clambering down from the buggy. ‘Missus Charteris. Thank God I’m not too late.’

  Evelyn stepped quickly to her and took her by the arm. ‘Not here, Sheenagh. The house.’

  Radcliffe took the horse’s bridle and guided it after the women.

  ‘But the train,’ said Sheenagh. ‘I’ve brought another sack of...’ She glanced nervously at the stranger who held her horse. ‘Y’know... for the women and kids, those on the train. They’ll need it.’

  ‘What train?’ asked Evelyn.

  ‘The one they’re sending out today to Swartberg.’ She glanced towards the railway siding and the idling steam engine. ‘I was worried I’d be too late but I see they’ve not loaded them yet.’

  ‘What are you talking about? There’s no train leaving here today.’

  Sheenagh suddenly looked frightened, eyes darting from the rail siding back to Evelyn.

  ‘What is it?’ Evelyn asked.

  ‘Mother of God. It’s a trap is what it is.’

  *

  Evelyn and Radcliffe escorted a flustered Sheenagh O’Connor into the house. Pierce, as requested by Evelyn, tipped a decent measure of brandy into a glass for the Irish girl.

  ‘You gave favours to British officers to get medicines for the camp, and one of them told you that they were shipping women and children from here. Today?’ said Radcliffe.

  ‘Aye, the bastard... Oh!’ She quickly looked in apology to Evelyn.

  ‘You’re not the only woman to hear rough language from soldiers,’ said Evelyn as Radcliffe pulled up a chair to sit close to her and take one of her trembling hands in his own.

  ‘Were the British testing you? Just wanting to see who it was that brought medicines to the camp?’ he asked.

  Sheenagh looked startled. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that’s all it is. Do you think?’

  Radcliffe tried to reason it out with her. ‘You were fed a lie to bring you here today. If someone has followed you then they still have no proof against you unless they saw you with the army satchel.’ He sensed that another piece of the story was missing.

  So did Pierce. ‘They would have wanted to catch you red-handed with the medical supplies because then you would have been forced to tell them where you got them from. Perhaps they’re after one of their own for aiding and abetting the enemy.’ Pierce eased the lace curtains aside. ‘Well, there’s no sign of anyone tailing you.’

  Sheenagh clung to that hope for a few moments. ‘That’d be fine. Worst they could do was put me away. That’s what it must be.’

  ‘It’s an officer you know?’ Evelyn asked.

  ‘A friend... of sorts... if you see what I mean.’

  ‘His name?’ said Radcliffe.

  ‘Ah, well, now, I’m asking m’self just how involved he is in this. Mebbe it’s him they want to snare as well. If they nab me then I’ll tell them who it was that gave me the stuff. Sometimes it’s best to keep your trap shut until you need to spill the beans.’ She looked to Radcliffe and Pierce. ‘I don’t know who you are, sir, but I thank you for your kindness and concern for my welfare.’

  Evelyn pressed a hand against her arm. ‘Forgive me. These gentlemen are from Dublin –’

  ‘Dublin is it? That’s the damnedest accent I’ve heard from those parts.’

  ‘Mr Radcliffe and Mr Pierce are here looking for Mr Radcliffe’s son,’ Evelyn explained. ‘There’s a chance he’s joined the irregulars.’

  Sheenagh’s hand went to her lips. ‘Mary, Mother of God. Edward Radcliffe is your boy.’

  Radcliffe pushed the chair back in surprise.

  Sheenagh swallowed the brandy and looked at the startled faces around her. ‘There’s a story I have to tell you.’

  She told them what little she knew of Edward being shot and how Liam Maguire had brought him to her. He was a brave enough lad, there was no doubt about that, but he certainly wasn’t riding with the British. Radcliffe and Pierce listened without interruption until she had finished.

  ‘Someone had to attend to his wound,’ she said finally. ‘The British would have been too suspicious and Maguire and the others couldn’t risk that.’

  ‘It’s more than you they want,’ Radcliffe said. ‘There has to be another train leaving from somewhere else. They want to draw the commando into an ambush. Is my boy a part of Maguire’s group?’

  ‘No, the lad’s just riding to tell them is all.’

  ‘Then we have to get to them before they spring the trap. And you must make yourself scarce. I thank you for the risk you took in caring for Edward.’

  ‘He’s a stubborn lad, and I’ve no doubt he’ll make himself useful. But, Mr Radcliffe, it’s damned near a day’s ride to the commando from here.’

  ‘I’ll find them,’ Radcliffe said.

  Evelyn took Sheenagh’s hands in her own and brought her to her feet. ‘The British must realize that you’ve been passing on medical supplies and perhaps even information. You need to get away. There’s a train to Cape Town from Langfontein. That’s a few hours down the line.’

  ‘You’re right. Time I made m’self scarce,’ said Sheenagh as Pierce opened out the map case on the table.

  ‘Don’t go back to town. Stay away from any soldiers,’ Radcliffe told her.

  She thought of her hidden stash of money beneath the floorboard in her room. Hard-earned money. She’d need that if she was to escape. ‘Difficult that, for a girl like myself, Mr Radcliffe, but under the circumstances I’ll heed your advice,’ she lied and added a smile.

  There was little time for anything more to be said. They ushered the girl outside and with a wary eye for any suspicious activity from the garrison soldiers Radcliffe and Pierce tightened their saddle cinches as Evelyn helped Sheenagh on to the buggy. Radcliffe took Evelyn to one side.

  ‘I promise you I will do whatever I can to help when I get home,’ he said.

  In the moment that she cupped his rough hands between her own, she felt something more than his warmth. In the brief time since they had met, his kindness and strength had caught her unawares, so marked was the contrast to the harsh world that surrounded her. Whatever this new feeling was, it caused a flush of colour to her neck. Had he noticed? she wondered.

  ‘I wish the circumstances of our meeting had been different,’ he said gently, and let his eyes settle on her longer than was necessary. His smile seemed one of regret.

  She nodded. ‘Do take care, Mr Radcliffe. And I will pray for your son’s safety.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll find him and take him home. I wish you well, Mrs Charteris, and hope that one day we may meet again.’

  Sheenagh gathered the reins and released the handbrake. ‘Mr Pierce,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘They say we Irish are the blacks of Europe, and I’ve known a few Irishmen in my time, but I’m not that well acquainted with American gentlemen of colour. Be sure to look me up when you have a chance.’

  She slapped the reins and the buggy pulled away, leaving an embarrassed Pierce to look sheepishly at Radcliffe as he climbed into the saddle.

  ‘Damned if you’re not old enough to be her grandfather,’ said Radcliffe.

  ‘Damned if I care,’ Pierce answered.

  *

  As Radcliffe and Pierce made their way through the town and out on to the open veld, their departure went unnoticed by the lone trooper who had been ordered to follow Sheenagh O’Connor. He waited patiently on the ridge line, chewing a strip of biltong, savouring the cured salted beef on his tongue. A man could live a while out here on the stuff, but it tasted like old boot leather when compared to a tin of bully beef made into a warm hash with peeled onions and some broken army biscuits to glue your guts together
.

  Trooper Marlowe wondered if his mates and Captain Belmont had snared the Dutchies yet. God knows where they were but the lads would take to killing with gusto. Their blood would be up and Belmont, the mad bastard, would be at the front, sabre in hand, cutting his way through the Boers. Lance and blade: the Dutchies hated it. Gunfire and artillery, some old boojer prisoner had told him, that they could deal with, but not the sabre or bayonet. Scared the bejeezus out of them, they did.

  He kept his silhouette low, watching dutifully for the pretty whore to leave Bergfontein. Belmont had chosen him and that meant, in his eyes, that the captain trusted him to do his job as best as a man could do. His field telescope picked up the buggy. He kept it trained on her for a few moments, swinging the glass left and right, seeing if he could determine which direction she might go once she got to the crossroads outside the town. Straight ahead was his guess; that would take her right back to Verensberg. And then he’d have time for a beer and maybe a quick knee-trembler himself. Whores weren’t cheap for ordinary troopers, but there would be one willing to give him a couple of minutes. He didn’t need any longer. More than that you might as well marry them.

  Marlowe waited. Sheenagh O’Connor had halted the buggy as if uncertain about which way to go. Straight ahead, my lovely, c’mon now. Back where you belong. He smiled as she whipped the horse on to the road to Verensberg. He gathered the reins and eased himself into the saddle. All right then, m’darlin’. Soon be home.

  *

  Radcliffe’s plan was to ride towards the foothills of the mountains, cutting across the vast expanse of plain that would bring them to where the rail track meandered below the mountain slopes. Sheenagh had pinpointed the commando encampment on the map. The two men had traced their fingers along the dark line of the tracks and tried to determine where the commandos might stop the train to release what they thought to be captured Boer women and children. Both men knew that the odds were against them reaching the camp in time and that it was unlikely Pierce’s horse would be able to keep up with the Irish stallion. They had agreed that if Radcliffe went ahead then Pierce would keep going until he was in position – between five hundred yards and a mile away – to try and cover the rescue attempt as sniper with his .50-calibre Sharps. Now Pierce watched as Radcliffe’s horse galloped two hundred yards ahead. His own horse was labouring, but he kept it to a steady rhythm, willing to ride his horse to death if need be. A bizarre twist of fate had brought Edward Radcliffe close to them. They would be unlikely to have such luck bless them again. He watched the shimmering figure of his friend gain even more ground ahead of him. Damn, that horse could run.

  Pierce knew they had covered more miles than a man ought to over this punishing terrain. His body ached from the horse’s efforts, his age telling on him, back muscles biting. Riding was as easy as breathing to him, but galloping across this hard, hot ground was like a slave-master whipping his back with an iron rod. He cursed the loss of his youth when he could stay in the saddle for days on end, chasing down the Sioux, the best horsemen he’d ever come across. They would ambush like a snake from beneath a log. Step too close and you’d feel their blade before you saw ’em. Was that how these Dutchmen fought? If they were hidden from view in any of those distant rocks he risked being seen for the black man he was. And an armed African in this war meant he’d be seen as their enemy. And one dead African amid the slaughter would ruffle nobody’s feathers.

  How long had they been riding now? He squinted at the sun, its ball of crimson flare settling behind the black-etched crags. There would be hours of daylight left on the other side of those mountains but here the plain was cooling: shadows draping the mountainsides. He reckoned it had been at least five hours of hard riding, easing the horse as best he could, but he could feel it was beginning to falter. It had nearly stumbled twice and its flanks were sheathed in milk-white sweat. Then, suddenly, he heard the crack of bone breaking seconds after the horse’s front hoof caught a scrub-covered hole. The horse’s head dipped as it tumbled and Pierce had no chance to stop himself falling forward. He instinctively half turned, hoping he would roll when he hit the ground. It happened so fast that the horse’s momentum spun him and then a mighty fist slammed into his back, shafting pain through his lungs. The air was punched out of him and a sudden darkness fell over him. The sun’s warmth fled from his body.

  *

  Pierce had no idea how long he had lain unconscious. He rolled on to one side, his mind telling him that nothing was broken, but his back muscles hurt like hell and he took some time to get on to his knees and then to stand upright. Yards away his horse stood shivering in pain, its left front leg lifted from the ground. Pierce looked around him: there was no sign of anyone, and no witness to his fall. He eased his aching body towards the horse, painfully at first, murmuring comforting words to keep it as calm as possible. Its head hung low, its own agony from the broken leg holding it still.

  He let the animal snuffle his hand as he pressed his pistol against its head and pulled the trigger.

  Its great body dropped to the ground, quivered for a few seconds and then lay still. Pierce scanned the horizon. If Radcliffe had managed to reach the ambush site then he would need Pierce and his marksmanship as cover to exfiltrate Edward. Pierce pulled his rifle free from the saddle and slipped his water canteen over his shoulder. Ignoring the persistent pain in his back he started off on a slow but determined jog towards the distant train line.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A day’s ride to the south-east from where Radcliffe and Pierce had sipped tea, Liam’s commando rested in the lee of the hillside that afforded them protection from a direct attack and an escape route should a British patrol stumble upon them. Jackson Lee, the American volunteer, lay below the skyline on lookout, watching as the approaching horseman kicked up dust. He was getting too close for comfort and if he veered his horse in the next four hundred yards then he would be riding directly into the commando’s camp.

  The American held his breath as the rider brought his horse to a halt and lifted his hat to shield his eyes from the sun. He looked left and right as if determining his course, and then spurred his horse towards the commando.

  Jackson Lee instinctively ducked his head and scrambled backwards.

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered, and then called out to the men below: ‘Rider coming in!’

  Liam’s men sprang into action. The hardship of living rough had made them quick to move in defence and they would kill any unwanted intruder rather than risk a trap being sprung on them.

  ‘Any others?’ Liam called to the lookout.

  ‘No sign,’ Lee answered.

  Liam wondered if any of the British irregular troops had managed to sneak closer during the night and were ready to ambush them. Only one person knew about this hiding place and that was Sheenagh O’Connor and if she had been taken then the British might have beaten it out of her.

  ‘No shooting!’ Liam commanded. ‘Jackson! Stay there! Keep yer eyes peeled! Corin! Hertzog! Take him!’

  Corin and the older Boer dropped their rifles and scrambled into position as the horseman slowed his mount to manoeuvre between rocky pillars that gave entry to a narrow gulley. Hertzog pulled a knife from his belt as Corin leaped forward, startling the horse which shied away, throwing its rider off balance as Hertzog reached up and pulled him down. Edward hit the ground hard. Pain shot through his back, and he was winded from the impact.

  ‘It’s the rooinek!’ Hertzog shouted, knife in hand ready to kill.

  Liam was already at his shoulder, pushing him aside. ‘What the fuck is he doing here?’ He reached down and grabbed Edward’s shirtfront. ‘Boy! On yer feet!’

  Edward coughed dirt and staggered dazedly to his feet.

  ‘What game is this? You got Englishmen following you?’ Liam demanded.

  ‘No, no,’ Edward said quickly, seeing that the hard-looking men would need little excuse to rid themselves of an intruder. ‘Sheenagh sent me to warn you. The British are
shipping out a trainload of women and children from the camp.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many are there in their escort?’ said Corin.

  ‘There’s only a light escort part of the way,’ said Edward. ‘Sheenagh said only as far as the refuelling depot.’

  ‘There’ll be the usual front and rear guard detail on the train,’ said Hertzog.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Edward said. ‘Sheenagh said it’s just the women and children. That makes sense, doesn’t it? Why guard them?’

  ‘Aye, mebbe so,’ said Maguire. ‘Sick women and kids wouldn’t need any kind of guarding.’ He was considering his options but his look of doubt made it plain he did not wish to stop the train.

  Hertzog pulled his fingers through his beard. ‘Liam, ons vrouens en kinders, we can save them.’

  ‘God in heaven,’ said Liam. ‘We can’t be slowing ourselves down with women and children.’

  The Boers gathered around their natural leader. These women and children might not be their own but they were their volk, their people. And any chance to rescue them from the hellish conditions of the camp should be taken.

  ‘I will send a few men with them and have them taken to safety. The British are not everywhere. Not yet. They’ll have a chance. We must give them that,’ insisted Hertzog.

  ‘We can’t care for women and children if they’re sick. You know that!’ argued Liam.

  Edward felt the surge of anxiety running through the Boers. ‘Sheenagh has taken extra medicine, Liam. She’s gone to Bergfontein and the Englishwoman.’

  ‘There!’ Hertzog said. ‘We can do this and if you will not then I will take my people from the commando.’

  The men voiced their support for Hertzog.

  Liam knew he could not risk weakening the commando any further. ‘Aye, right enough,’ he said reluctantly. ‘We’ll use what supply wagons we have hidden for the women and children. But we’ll split the group. Front and back of the train. Just in case they’ve posted guards. Edward, you’ve done good work. Get yourself away now.’