Dancing the Death Drill

by Fred Khumalo

  Acland: Why not?

  Stump: I considered my own ship was in danger of sinking … She was a tender ship, I consider.

  Acland: Did you hear anybody singing out?

  Stump: I heard some shouting out … Very shortly I could hear the oars of a boat coming alongside. I naturally thought that it was shouting from the boat that had a crowd of men. It was a tramp so far as I knew, an ordinary cargo steamer. I had no idea that there were 800 or 900 men in a ship with 6 boats or anything of that sort.

  Stump did acknowledge that, after the first boat arrived about half an hour later, he received a report that the collision had been with the Mendi, which had black troops aboard. He denied hearing cries from the water after the second Mendi boat had come alongside. Other Darro witnesses heard shouting much later than that, two of them until daylight, which would have been about 6.30 a.m. Stump argued he had insufficient crew to man the boats and work his ship if the need arose. He had a crew of one hundred and sixty-three men. He claimed that if he had put out boats, they would have been lost in the fog.

  Pitso paused here, looking at his audience. ‘Gentlemen, you have to listen carefully to the next part. Listen carefully. This Captain Stump says he had not known for certain until noon that the Mendi had sunk.’ Pitso waited a few seconds. Some men were shaking heads, others were fidgeting with their hands. ‘That’s why he left the scene. He thought he could leave the work of rescue to the navy patrol boat.’

  ‘How heartless!’ one man shouted.

  ‘It’s because he’d been told the men on the Mendi were black,’ Pitso said. ‘That’s why he left us.’

  A white officer who had been listening got up. ‘Corporal! You are inciting these men. You are making them angry.’

  ‘With due respect, sir, I’m only doing my job. I am reading what has been prepared for me.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the officer. ‘You’ve come to the end of today’s presentation in any case, haven’t you?’

  Pitso nodded and the crowd slowly dispersed, muttering about the dishonesty of the captain of the Darro.

  The next presentation, which Pitso delivered the following day, covered the interaction between Captain Stump and his own counsel, who said, ‘Having been a Master all these years in a large company it is now suggested by Sir Reginald that you wanted to leave men who you knew were in the water to drown.’

  Stump replied, ‘No one could regret the circumstances more than I do myself.’

  After Stump had described how he finally left the scene of the collision at 6.45 a.m., heading for St Helens Roads, Isle of Wight, this exchange followed:

  Acland: It would be interesting to know whether you went full speed in that fog.

  Stump: No I did not.

  Acland: Why did you not obey the Admiralty instructions which you say you received …?

  Stump: I had got into enough trouble already.

  From various witnesses during the inquest, it appeared that there was much confusion, which extended to members of the Court, about the expected behaviour of a master of a ship in times of war. It appeared that instructions from the Admiralty in time of war differed from the standing regulations relating to safety at sea. A lot of questions arose, including: should a ship be driven at full speed in fog in a danger zone, and should it sound its whistle? Stump argued that sounding a whistle in a danger zone in time of war could render his vessel vulnerable to enemy attack.

  Pitso had never been to court, but he was shocked to learn that on the third and fourth day the proceedings were already being wrapped up. He had expected the hearing to last longer, considering the gravity of the subject and the number of lives that had been lost. Also, having read Plato and his account of the trial of Socrates, Pitso had imagined court cases, especially where death was involved, to be long, rambling affairs.

  He wished Ngqavini were around. After all, his friend had been a veteran of many court cases. Ngqavini could have given some insight into these proceedings.

  On the fifth day, the magistrate, Mr Halkett read out the Report of Court. Attached to the report was an annex containing its finding of facts, covering the various aspects of the inquiry. On the question of travelling at high speed in foggy conditions, the annex declared:

  The Court has every desire to make the fullest allowance for the anxious position in which masters are placed by the dangers with which they are beset at the present time; but in its opinion, these dangers, frequent as they are, do not justify masters in taking the responsibility of running their vessels into other dangers, and more certain, in the absence of authoritative Admiralty orders compelling them to do so.

  With regard to Captain Stump’s failure to save lives, the annex pronounced:

  The facts of the case are such that the Court is unable to find any excuse for the Master’s inaction. He knew that his powerful ship, going at full speed, had struck another vessel a heavy right-angled blow and, very soon afterwards, that this vessel was the Mendi, with troops, the crew of which had been compelled to take to her boats. He must have heard, for much longer than he admitted, the cries proceeding from the water, as they were heard generally on board his ship, for hours, by competent witnesses on duty. There was nothing to have prevented him from sending away boats, in the then smooth water, to ascertain what had happened to the other vessel and what the circumstances were of those whose cries were heard.

  The report concluded:

  The Court having carefully inquired into the circumstances attending the above-mentioned shipping casualty, finds, for the reasons stated in the Annex hereto, that the collision and consequent loss of life, loss of the SS Mendi and material damage to SS Darro, were caused by the wrongful act and default of Mr Henry Winchester Stump, the master of SS Darro, in not complying with articles 15 and 16 of the Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea, as to sound signals and speed in a fog, and by his more serious default in failing, without any reasonable cause, to send away a boat or boats to ascertain the extent of the damage to the Mendi, and to render to her, her master, crew and passengers, such assistance as was practicable and necessary, as required by section 422 (1) (a) of the Merchant Shipping Act, 1894. The Court suspends his certificate, No. 017169, for 12 months from the date hereof. Dated this 8th day August, 1917.

  When Pitso read the last words, a hush fell over his audience. Summer birds called from their perches, a light breeze blew from the sea in Dieppe. Then a siren sounded, and the men got up slowly from their haunches.

  CHAPTER 35

  Much as most men were disappointed with the outcome of the inquest, the inquiry at least bore some positive news for Pitso. His courageous conduct had been commended in the inquiry. The Committee for the Welfare of Africans in Europe arranged for some tangible recognition for the members of the crew who had distinguished themselves on the night of the sinking. Although Pitso was not a crew member, some officers who had witnessed his bravery confirmed that he was deserving of recognition. He received ten guineas, alongside others who had distinguished themselves.

  ‘So proud of you, old chap,’ Captain Portsmouth told Pitso on his visit to the camp on the day the announcement had been made.

  ‘Thanks, my Captain, but I don’t really know what exceptional things I did on that morning.’

  ‘Well, according to witnesses you did excellent work. You selflessly stayed behind on the ship to make sure many of your shipmates were safe.’

  Pitso also received a copy of the Bible, courtesy of the Archbishop of Canterbury. A few weeks after the citations, Pitso was appointed as a fully-fledged interpreter and clerk. The position came with a number of privileges, chief of which was a change of diet. Instead of mealie meal, he now qualified for rice and a lot more meat. He recalled, with a chill, how the issue of food had sparked a riot at one of the camps in Dieppe.

  While still in hospital, he had heard about a disciplinary hearing involving one Stimela Jason Jingoes. Originally from Lesotho, he had arrived in France with one of the earlier battali
ons. This man, articulate and not scared of whites, had stood up at breakfast one morning, lifted his porridge bowl to his nose and said, ‘Hmm, yummy! Maize-meal porridge with weevils! A black soldier’s breakfast in France.’

  Then he proceeded to dump the contents of his plate on the floor. More men followed suit, shouting, ‘No more weevils! No more weevils!’

  White officers came rushing in, wanting to know what the ruckus was all about.

  Some of the black soldiers, who didn’t want to be associated with the ‘troublemakers’, had sat at their tables dutifully picking their way through the weevil-infested sludge.

  At the height of the heated exchange between the soldiers and the officers, Jingoes started giving an impassioned address in English, obviously meant for the ears of the officers. He said many things, but the words that got him in trouble were these: ‘We Bantu are often treated like dogs here by the white people from home, yet they forget that we are all here at war against a common enemy. Actually I made a mistake in saying that they treat us like dogs, because usually they treat their dogs very well indeed. They ignore the fact that we have left South Africa for the moment. We are in Europe, and we are at war, and we were promised decent treatment if we would fight the Germans.’

  Jingoes was suspended from duty for the day. The following day, he was summoned to appear at a hearing.

  As his opening salvo, the captain officiating at the hearing said, ‘You are a lance corporal. Yet you have been charged with making mischief here yesterday. I have to consider your case in terms of martial law.’

  Martial law. The scariest words on the front, for they meant possible death by firing squad.

  In response to the captain’s opening remarks, Jingoes said, ‘I said yesterday, sir, that in Europe we are not natives. Is that an offence, sir?’

  ‘Did you say that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Then he immediately went on to the issue about the food. ‘Sir, our meals have been changed from the usual rations to mealie meal, which we are given from morning to night, sir, Monday to Monday, and the mealie meal we get is bad. There are weevils in it. It is for you, sir, to judge where justice lies in this matter.’

  The captain stormed out of the room, and went to the kitchen. He scooped up some porridge and some uncooked mealie meal in bowls. Both bowls had weevils wriggling about in them.

  Enraged, the captain turned to the man’s accusers – a sergeant major and the sergeant of the man’s platoon, both of them white men – and addressed them. ‘After you heard this man speak so strongly against his officers, and after you heard the men complaining about their food, did you go to the kitchen to check on whether they were telling the truth?’

  The accusers said they had not.

  ‘What did you do, then?’

  ‘We did nothing, sir.’

  The captain asked the two accusers to look closely at the food. They did and admitted there were weevils in the food.

  The captain said, ‘Why do you complain when your men tell you that their food has weevils in it?’

  ‘As natives, we did not think they were telling the truth …’

  ‘What do you mean by this term natives?’

  The two officers squirmed. ‘We mean these black people.’

  The captain got up and started pacing the room. Then he said, ‘Then your complaint is that this man said black people are not natives in Europe, thereby implying that whites are natives here?’

  ‘Sir, I am a European, not a native!’ one of them exclaimed.

  The captain shook his head and told the accused they were free to go.

  That afternoon, the black soldiers were served potatoes, meat, rice, bread and, of course, their beloved mahewu.

  Pitso smiled and shook his head at the memory. Now, alongside other clerks and newly appointed black chaplains, he was allocated new accommodation, which allowed the clerks and chaplains the privacy necessary for their work. But this new situation also meant that Pitso would have to be transferred to another camp – which he regretted, seeing as he had grown to love his camp at Arques. He was going to leave behind a lot of good friends he had made there.

  Imagine his surprise, then, when he arrived at the new camp, also in Arques, to be greeted by Portsmouth and some of the survivors of the Mendi. The other survivors, including his friend Tlali and Officer Haig, were at the camp next door. He rejoiced in being able to reconnect with his old comrades. He spent the first day getting used to his new surroundings and tasks.

  ‘You’re an old skelm, Captain Portsmouth,’ said Pitso when he ran into him, two days later.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, old chap,’ replied Portsmouth, looking away.

  ‘This is all your doing, sir, the promotion, then the transfer. It bears the unmistakable Portsmouth signature.’

  Portsmouth’s face was inscrutable. He changed the subject. ‘There’s a rumour doing the rounds here. A grave rumour.’

  ‘I hope it doesn’t involve me, sir.’

  ‘On the morning of the sinking? As we were all scrambling to safety, one of the men found a raft. But as soon as he was on the raft, he kicked into the water whoever tried to join him on his perch.’

  ‘I did catch a glimpse of that man. But I think his raft was sucked into the whirlpool when the Mendi was going down, sir.’

  ‘No, old chum, the man is still with us.’

  ‘How would you know, sir?’

  ‘I’m privy to a lot of things that need to be known. Don’t forget about my father and his military background; my eyes and ears are wide open, my dear lad. What I can tell you with certainty is that the man is one of us. What a shame.’

  Pitso looked away. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Between the two of us, sir …’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘I think I recognised the man.’

  Portsmouth searched Pitso’s eyes. Then he started pacing up and down. ‘If you are sure you recognised the man, keep it to yourself. One day you might need to reveal his name, but certainly not now. We’re in the middle of a war. And, who knows, this might be a secret you want to take to the grave. I certainly don’t want to know what you know. I don’t like peddling rumours – I’m an officer, after all. Can’t afford to sully my name and reputation. As a battalion we’ve acquitted ourselves so well. As the survivors of the Mendi, we have a reputation to protect. For posterity’s sake, we need to remove this stain.’

  CHAPTER 36

  Pitso took to his new assignment as interpreter/clerk with aplomb. Every now and then he could be seen on horseback, clip-clopping from this point to the next, fulfilling his duties.

  His new job also gave him more time and excuses to be with his friend Portsmouth. The latter, in charge of a company that worked the quarry, spent a lot of time with the cooks after there’d been complaints about the quality of food. Portsmouth’s epicurean tastes were legendary, his culinary skills having been cultivated, on the side, while he was at military college in Britain – skills which he would later refine when he served as a lay preacher. He ate and drank only the best if he could.

  One day Pitso found him with his sleeves rolled up, with the black cooks looking on in surprise and amusement. He wasn’t in the kitchen to give instructions but was actually doing the cooking himself, explaining every step in preparing his dish.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Pitso, greeting the cooks, ‘why do you allow this man to poke his long European nose into your pots? Ever heard of food poisoning?’

  ‘I thought I knew how to cook,’ said one of the cooks in Sesotho, ‘until he started showing me all these things called spices. The only cooking powder I’ve ever used is salt. Now these colourful powders and the leaves he’s got are an eye-opener. They smell good, I must admit. Can’t wait to taste them.’

  ‘Hey, Pitso, you old thing,’ said Portsmouth without lifting his eye from the saucepan, ‘what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on duty somewhere?’

  ‘A
little bird tells me you need my services here, Captain.’

  ‘Well, yes and no. These gentlemen here are good cooks, or at least they show some potential. Now, trying to impart my knowledge to them is proving rather difficult. They don’t understand my brand of Sotho.’

  ‘That’s because they speak Sepedi, which you white people call Northern Sotho. But I can help with that. So, what are you cooking, sir?’

  ‘Don’t worry, the chaps here have already cooked the regulation meal for the troops. What we are now conjuring is for my own private consumption – though of course I’ll share with them, so they can experiment with my recipes at their leisure.’

  ‘Good for you, sir.’

  ‘Okay, let’s start here: can you cook at all?’

  ‘Well, I’m not a top-class cook like you, Captain, but my bobotie will make your taste buds stand up and cheer. The traditional braai is my specialty. A simple beef stew with rice is not too much of a challenge, either.’

  ‘Well, if you can cook a creditable stew, you’ll get a hang of the rogan josh. That’s the dish I’m taking these gentlemen through.’

  ‘Josh what?’

  ‘Basically, rogan means fat, and josh means heat. What you’re doing is you’re cooking meat on the bone, slow-cooking it in its own fat. But you use lots of spices here – chilli powder, cardamom, Kashmir shallots, cinnamon or bay leaves, coriander, fennel powder, and, of course, stewing lamb or chops.’

  ‘But we don’t have any lamb here, sir.’

  ‘We improvise, my boy, we improvise. Remember, our boys now have full and official permission to lay traps in the forest.’

  ‘So, what of it, Captain?’

  ‘We catch antelope, and we pretend it’s lamb, that’s what. I’ve never been too much of a hunter myself, so I don’t even know what these animals here are called. But they’ve got just the right amount of fat, just like a sheep.’

  ‘I get the picture. But the dish you’re cooking today sounds … Indian? I lived with an Indian family when I was a child,’ Pitso said.