Forgiven

by Geoff Lawson - BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

  travelled north and sometimes west, so I had no idea where we

  were. All I could be sure of was that we were somewhere east

  of the Western Railway. So far there was no sign of the British

  army, which was not a good scenario for an escape.

  At midday, we stopped at a drift and allowed the horses to

  water, while biltong and mealies were produced. Where we

  were was a typical plain, with the odd cone-shaped hill dotted

  here and there, through which a small river zigzagged its way

  in a swath across the landscape. Over the millennium it had cut

  steep banks for itself, so the riverbed was twenty to thirty feet

  below the general level of the land. Where we were, the river

  doubled back on itself, forming a hairpin bend where the banks

  were shallow in angle, providing a place where vehicles could

  ford their way across.

  On the other side was an isthmus of land nearly a mile long

  in the shape of a narrow vee, bordered on both sides by the

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  river that created it. Generally, the banks sloped into the river

  on a forty-five degree angle, creating a perfect place for an

  ambush. The commando seemed in no hurry to leave and it

  occurred to me that de Wet could be waiting for something.

  About an hour later, a group of scouts appeared on the

  horizon, headed our way in a hurry. Within minutes of their

  arrival there was a conference, then the commando split into

  two roughly equal groups – one filtering upstream while the

  other went the other way, both groups keeping to the river bed

  so they could not be seen from above. I realised then that de

  Wet was setting up an ambush, which could only mean that a

  British column must be coming this way.

  If they were foolish enough to enter this isthmus without

  sending experienced flankguards to scout both banks in

  advance, they would be caught in a crossfire and shot to

  pieces. I could picture some idiot Colonel fresh out from

  England, a career administrator who had never seen a real war.

  His head full of textbook rubbish, he would scan the horizon

  with his binoculars and seeing no Boers would blandly assume

  there were none, never realising that they were lurking under

  his nose all the while.

  I followed Johan while leading my horse by the reins. We

  wound our way along the riverbank for a good half a mile

  before the commando fanned out along the crest of the bank.

  Although there was little conversation, I could see that they

  were all excited and no one was taking much notice of me.

  Johan in particular was supposed to be keeping his eye on

  me, but it was plain that he didn’t want to miss anything either.

  An hour went by and I could feel tensions rising. Eventually,

  Johan couldn’t stand it any longer and he rushed to the lip of

  the bank to see what was happening. Unattended, I crept up

  behind Ruan.

  “Where are they?” I whispered so no other could hear.

  His face was alive with excitement. “They are six hundred

  yards and about to enter between the riverbanks.” I slithered

  back down the slope and frowned. They must be warned; there

  wasn’t a moment to lose, but what could I do.

  “Johan look!” I called out, my voice barely above a

  whisper. He swivelled his head around.

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  “What is it?”

  “Look.” I pointed to a spot behind his horse. “You’ve

  dropped some ammo.” As I said it, I turned my head slightly in

  the direction I was pointing so he wouldn’t quite hear what I

  said. He frowned and stooping, he slid down the slope to stand

  next to me.

  “Look,” I pointed vaguely at the ground. “Your ammo.”

  Frowning, he followed the direction of my arm. There was

  nothing there to see. That’s when I hit him on the head with the

  rock I had in my pocket. He groaned and slumped to the

  ground, holding his head.

  “Sorry ol’ boy. If I escape you will be in trouble. A lump on

  your head will make things look better for you.” Then I

  mounted my horse and spurred it viciously towards the rim of

  the bank.

  “Sorry Rachel, this wild colonial boy is about to do

  something reckless!”

  The horse and I accelerated and hit the level ground

  running. I heard shouts and a shot fired. I folded myself down

  low over the horse’s neck to make as small a target as possible

  while continuing to spur the horse towards the oncoming

  British column.

  The Boers must have been surprised by my sudden

  appearance and were slow to react, for I had almost gone a

  hundred yards before the first barrage of shots. I felt hits in my

  limbs and an acute pain in my hip but I could not stop. The

  horse was hit and in its pain and bewilderment it ran even

  faster. There was another barrage of shots and I felt another hit

  somewhere on my back.

  We were approaching one hundred and fifty yards when a

  bullet hit the horse in the head. The poor beast died on the spot

  and collapsed like a stone, slewing around as it did so, its body

  landing between the Boers and me. Lying low over its neck, I

  wasn’t able to react fast enough and the horse rolled on my leg.

  I felt a sharp pain and something snap, but that wasn’t my only

  worry. I hit my head on the ground. I saw stars and forced my

  eyes open to try and see, but everything became a blur.

  Then, there seemed to be a bright, yellow light. I dimly

  remember thinking the angels must have come to take me. I

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  couldn’t hear any more firing. I couldn’t hear much of

  anything. I was unconscious.

  I opened my eyes. I was staring at the sky, which was a

  deep azure blue. A speck was moving up there, a large black

  bird was drifting on the wind currents, round and round. Soon

  there were three or four of them. Vultures; they were waiting

  for me to die. The way I was feeling, they wouldn’t have very

  long to wait. I was in pain, a lot of pain, so much so that I felt

  vaguely numb. Then I heard voices and the sound of someone

  approaching.

  A head came into view; it was a Tommie with a Red Cross

  band on his arm.

  “Sir,” he said to someone I couldn’t see. “This one’s alive.”

  More voices.

  “Let’s get this ’ere ’orse off ’im then.” More heads came

  into view and began to drag the horse off my leg. I felt more

  pain and passed out.

  The next thing I was conscious of was lying on a stretcher.

  My body hurt but I could not lift my head to see to what extent

  I was damaged. The trip in the ambulance was terrible. The

  jolting aggravated my wounds and I passed in and out of

  consciousness, only to discover a couple of days later that I

  was in a field hospital in Kimberley. My leg had been set and

  my wounds attended to. I was also awaiting my transfer by

  hospital train to the army base hospital in Cape Town.

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  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Cape Military Hospital, Mid-March 1900

/>   The train trip lasted for days and covered a thousand miles. I

  don’t know exactly how long we travelled, for I constantly fell

  asleep. Frequently, I woke up, sometimes realising after a

  while that we had stopped moving, only to learn that the train

  had stopped at a station to remove those that died. After

  arrangements had been made for their burial we would be on

  our way.

  The army hospital in Cape Town was huge, with row after

  row of large marquees and a thousand bell tents for the

  hospital staff. It was said that this was the largest hospital

  under canvas the world had ever seen and I believed it. I was

  placed in a marquee with fifty other new patients, where I

  would be re-examined and possibly operated on. What if they

  cut off an arm or a leg? What would I say to Rachel?

  That afternoon, two doctors came. My wounds were

  unstrapped one by one and their condition noted.

  “Hmm,” said one after looking at my head. “Nasty bump,

  but should heal all right.” Then he looked into my eyes. “Still

  concussed, but you’ll get over that.”

  They unwound the dressings on my left arm.

  “Clean holes,” said the other. “No broken bone, should be

  okay.”

  Next was my broken leg, which they checked for

  straightness.

  “Looks like the field medics have set it right. Don’t need to

  play with it.” Then they moved to my right leg. There was a

  wound in my hip and another through the calf muscle.

  “Same as the arm,” piped the larger one, looking at the calf

  muscle, “only tissue damage here.” Then they moved to the

  wound in my hip.

  “Lucky boy,” murmured the smaller one. “Straight through

  and missed the joint. Should probably open this one up and

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  check for bone fragments.” He made a note of it. My upper

  right arm was next; it was also a flesh wound of minor interest.

  Last was my back. They partly rolled me over and

  laboriously unwrapped the bandages.

  “Hmm,” said one doctor. “This one’s odd, looks like it

  nicked the lower edge of the shoulder blade, skidded along

  under the skin and exited further up; nothing here but normal

  tissue damage. Unusual wound, you must have been lying flat

  for it to be like that. The other one is only a crease, just broke

  the skin. Lucky though, an inch lower and it would have

  severed your spine and killed you.”

  That was it then. No talk about amputation. That was

  something to cling to.

  The doctors moved on and two nurses with male aides

  stepped in to bind me. The nurses were about my age and wore

  white smocks over pale blue uniforms, with Wellington boots

  on their feet. The brown-haired one kept smiling and looking

  at me.

  “Are you a New Zealander?”

  “Yes.” Her face creased into a grin.

  “I’m from New Zealand too,” she said brightly. “I’m from

  Napier. Where do you come from?”

  “I’m from Patea, though more recently from Whanganui.”

  “Oh that’s lovely, I have cousins in Whanganui.” There was

  silence for a minute or two as they worked on my hip. They

  had to lift me with assistance from the male aides to pass the

  bandages around my waist without causing anything to bleed,

  which would have been difficult, given the number of wounds

  I had. This was hurting me and I could feel myself tiring. Due

  to the difficulty of adequately binding my hip and shoulders I

  was naked with the exception of my bandages, so when they

  finished they propped me up and covered me with a sheet

  before moving to the next patient.

  Molly was her name and she adopted me for want of a

  better word. One day when she was going about her rounds I

  asked her how she came to be there. She told me she had read

  in the paper that a group of nurses in Christchurch had gone to

  England and volunteered to serve in South Africa. That got her

  thinking and a few days later, she’d decided she would like to

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  do the same. Since our government had no intention of

  recruiting nurses, she made her way to London at her own

  expense, where she joined the Imperial Army Nursing Reserve.

  She was attached to a hospital ship with two hundred other

  nurses and now here she was. I found that amazing. I couldn’t

  help admiring her conviction and resourcefulness, for she had

  probably never travelled further than twenty miles from her

  home in her life. To have left New Zealand on her own and

  travelled halfway around the world to serve the Empire was

  truly admirable and I told her so. To see her smiling face

  coming towards me always brightened my day and she knew it

  did.

  It was about this time that I had an unexpected visitor.

  “Hello Wilson. I see you’re in the news again.” It was

  Major Anderson Watermeyer.

  “Can’t salute Major, my arms are all banged up.”

  He laughed.

  “You are a mug for punishment. Heroics seem to be your

  forte.”

  “One does what one must.”

  “You do, don’t you? There’s a story going around Cape

  Town faster than a cat with a tin tied to its tail and it’s all about

  you.”

  “Yeah and look where it’s got me.”

  He laughed again.

  “You realise of course, that after your little escapade in

  Duntroon, there isn’t much more in the medal line we can give

  you. You’ll have to take pot luck with what you get.”

  I smirked. “Are you hinting I may be in for another gong?”

  “Could be, my boy, you never know your luck.”

  Next day, one of the doctors who’d examined me came by

  to check on my progress. He was tall, fiftyish, tired-looking

  and sported a large handlebar moustache.

  “I heard what happened to you and you’re an incredibly

  lucky young man. There is talk that you saved hundreds of

  lives and that you managed to acquire seven bullet holes

  without one being fatal; which, I am qualified to say, has to be

  the wonder of the modern age. I heard there were dozens of

  bullet holes in the carcass of the horse they dragged off you

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  and if it hadn’t landed the way it did and pinned your leg, you

  would have surely been killed.”

  He wandered off to look at another patient and I thought

  about Rachel. How was I to let the folks at home know I was

  here? Also, there was One Company; did they realise I was

  still alive? It must be four weeks since I was last seen at Riet

  River, so what if they had already sent the family a letter that I

  was missing? I could imagine the distress that would cause.

  Molly was the answer; I was sure she would write for me.

  Next day an officer from army group headquarters arrived

  to see me.

  “Are you the Richard Wilson who averted a massacre at

  Sands Drift?”

  That was new, I had no idea the place had a name.

  “Yes sir, that’s me.”

  “Congratulations my man, I am
Staff Sergeant Wallace

  Hillman. I have pleasure in informing you that Colonel

  Peregrine Smith has made a report about your actions at Sands

  Drift and has recommended you for a medal. Headquarters

  considers his judgment correct on this occasion, so in due

  course an award will come to you. In the meantime, is there

  anything I can do for you?”

  “Yes sir. Can you fast track any mail that is undelivered to

  me and can you tell me what happened afterwards at Sands

  Drift?”

  “Well, yes. The column was heading towards the drift

  when you made your little dash. Half of the advance party

  were subsequently killed or wounded, although the main

  column fared pretty well; forewarned by all the shooting

  instigated by you, they went to ground and returned fire. There

  was another of our columns on a converging course some six

  or seven miles away that the Boers were obviously aware of

  and once they realised that surprise was lost, they immediately

  withdrew and escaped as they always do. Major Robins at New

  Zealand headquarters has been informed of your circumstances

  and your appearance here in Cape Town. I will contact his

  aides and instruct them to forward all outstanding mail to army

  group headquarters, where I will forward them on to you.”

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  Hillman left and as I watched him disappear, Molly turned

  up.

  “Who was that?” she whispered, pretending to fuss over

  me.

  “Oh, no one. Just some aide from army group

  headquarters.”

  “Really! Don’t keep me in suspense, what did he want?”

  “Ooh nothing. He wanted to know if I would like my mail

  forwarded quickly.”

  “Richard! You are a devil! Even I know there must be more

  to it than that – you are teasing me aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I grinned. “He said I’d been mentioned in

  dispatches and I was in line for a gong.”

  “I knew it! You should get a V.C. you know, nothing less.

  After what you have endured you deserve it.”

  “Oh come now Molly, they won’t give me one of those.”

  “Well if it was up to me they would.” She walked off

  smiling and I watched her wispy form disappear. There wasn’t

  a plump nurse to be seen around here. The poor things are so

  constantly on the run it’s a wonder they are ever allowed to eat

  and sleep.

  Five days later, a letter arrived via army group