by John Wilcox
‘Waal, they soon realised I weren’t no Limey spy, but they said they couldn’t allow me to wander round the country in time of war, so they stuck me with these fellers headin’ south to the border. There, they said, they’ll give me back mah horse ’n’ guns and release me into Natal as a neutral.’
Simon’s interest quickened. ‘Do you know what they’re going to do at the border? And why they’ve got this cannon?’
‘No, sir. Don’t suppose they’re goin’ to invade just on their own, huh?’
‘No, of course not.’ Simon put his chin in his hands. ‘Their obvious role is to stay on the border to give warning of a British advance and even to act as skirmishers when that happens. But . . .’ he mused in silence for a moment, ‘they wouldn’t need one cannon for that and there aren’t enough of them to delay Colley seriously. No,’ he looked up, ‘I believe that they are going to reconnoitre a forward position, probably just on this side of the border, from which the Boers will launch an invasion into Natal.’
‘Blimey,’ said Jenkins. ‘Now don’t you start thinkin’, bach sir, that we can stop them doin’ that all on our own, like.’
The big Texan looked from one to the other. ‘Say,’ he said, ‘who are you fellers anyway? What’s this sir stuff? You army or what?’
Simon did not reply directly but regarded Hardy intently. The man seemed honest enough, even ingenuous, but he seemed too incongruous a figure to be taken seriously. What was he doing wandering around southern Africa, looking and sounding like a character from one of those penny Western frontier booklets that were beginning to circulate in London? Wasn’t he too good - or bad - to be true? Yet Simon had never been to America, although he had studied the Civil War campaigns at Sandhurst and had read with fascination about the recent Indian wars. Perhaps this was what the men of that frontier were really like? He decided to probe.
‘Mr Hardy,’ he began.
‘Al.’
‘Very well. Al. I will happily tell you about us in a moment. But fair trade. You promised a moment ago to tell us about you. Did you say that you were actually at the battle of Little Bighorn?’
The Texan nodded. ‘Sure was,’ he said. ‘Rode in with the general and rode out without him.’
‘But every man with Custer was killed.’
‘Yep.’ Hardy seemed not at all fazed. ‘Ah was scoutin’ fer the general, and with one of our Injun scouts ah was one of the first men to find all them Sioux an’ Cheyenne, campin’ by the river there. Ah reckon it was the biggest gatherin’ of the plains Injuns there’s ever bin. Yessir. I led Custer and his men into that valley, but then the general split his command. Ah didn’t go with him when he went up over the hills to wheel down on the varmints. Ah was ordered to lead Reno and three troops in, along the creek, yah know. Sure was tough fightin’ down there, but in the end we just about got away with our hair.’
‘Ah yes.’ Simon remembered that Major Reno, Custer’s second in command, had been pinned down by the Indians and had narrowly escaped, with severe losses. He had been pilloried for not going to his general’s aid, but Simon had always felt that Reno was blameless and that Custer’s death and those of his men lay at the door of his own vanity and ambition. Hardy certainly seemed to know more than the basics of the battle and it looked as though he really had been at one of the most famous engagements in recent history.
‘Fascinating,’ Simon continued. ‘But what brought you to Africa?’
‘Waal . . .’ Hardy looked around the waggon as though he wanted to spit but then thought better of it. ‘After the battle ah reckoned ah’d had enough of workin’ fer the army, so I quit and wandered around fer a while and got me a stake silver minin’ in Nevada.’ He smiled softly - he had a gentle face, in repose not at all unlike that of General Colley. ‘Did quite well, s’matter of fact. Ah sold up an’ decided to take a look around the world with mah money afore ah turned mah toes up. Heard about all them diamonds in Kimberley, so came down to try mah hand, but found that there was no place there any more for the little man. Mainly it’s the big corporations now, like them de Beers fellers.’
Simon nodded his head in acquiescence and shot a glance at Jenkins, who nodded back in agreement. From their own experience there, under a year ago, Simon knew that Hardy was painting a fair picture. Despite his colourful talk and appearance, the man seemed to be genuine.
‘But your magnificent horse - you certainly didn’t find him in Kimberley, surely?’
The Texan nodded equably. ‘Surely didn’t, son. Ain’t he wonderful? Name’s Custer, o’ course, and ah bought him in Arabia on the way down here. Pure-bred stallion. Got a nice little Arab feller to make me the saddle ’n’ stuff to match mah Western pants ’n’ all. O’ course, ah brought mah pearl-handled Colts ’n’ Winchester with me from the States. Man,’ he shook his head slowly, ‘there’ll be a hell of a row if ah don’t get them all back. Oh lordy, yessir. Though I got a fair idea where they’re keepin’ mah pistols.’
Simon took a decision. ‘Al,’ he said, ‘we too are army scouts; as with you, we are not exactly soldiers ourselves, although we used to be.’
‘Yes,’ Jenkins added, his proud grin seeming almost to light the interior of the waggon, ‘we both fought the Zulus at Isandwannee, an’ the captain ’ere was at Rorke’s Drift as well.’
Hardy’s eyes widened. ‘Gee,’ he said, ‘I heard all about that. Both of them places musta been worse than the Little Bighorn.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Simon. ‘But we were sent here from Natal by our army command there to scout possible routes for an advance, should it become necessary. We didn’t know that war had been declared but it’s clear from what you have told us that such an advance will certainly now have to be made.’
He studied the Texan’s face carefully. ‘Now, Al, I believe that the Boers in this party will let you go at the border. Despite what sounds like disgusting behaviour at that ambush, I believe them to be honourable people, fighting for what they believe in. So I think you’ll get back your weapons and your horse. But I am sure that they will ship us back to Pretoria as prisoners of war, if they don’t shoot us as spies. After all, we are not in uniform. I don’t intend to let them do that. Will you help us get away?’
The tall man’s face broke into his gentle smile. ‘Waal,’ he drawled, ‘I didn’t take too kindly to bein’ bundled into this waggon and I’m kinda tired of sittin’ on potato sacks. Also I didn’t like the way these fellers shot at your redcoats without much of a warnin’, so,’ he stretched out his hand again, ‘okay, pardners. I’ll join your war.’
The three exchanged grins and handshakes.
‘Now,’ said Simon, ‘all I have to do is work out how to get out of here.’
‘Oh, ’e’ll do that all right,’ said Jenkins. ‘The captain’s good at that sort of thing.’
The waggon creaked along, going at a fair pace, Simon realised, though he could hear the cannon behind bouncing and pulling at its connection, so that the rear end of the waggon kept yawing under the strain. He removed from his hip pocket the little notebook in which he had made his sketches and extensive captions and carefully tucked it into his boot. He had decided that they must maintain their identity as would-be diamond prospectors. The alternative could be a firing squad or a noose slung from a tree. These Boers sounded ruthless.
In fact, Schmidt, their leader, proved to be a good host. Once a camping spot was found for the evening in a small copse and a fire was lit, Simon and Jenkins were allowed to leave the waggon and stretch their legs, although a man with a rifle walked with them. Then they were called to the fire and sat, with heads bowed, as Schmidt delivered a lengthy prayer in Afrikaans. Cups of water and plates of meat stew - they had shot a gazelle earlier in the day, the leader explained - were set before them, with chunks of unleavened bread. Pipes were lit and Schmidt approached and sat cross-legged alongside. The big bearded man who had apprehended them at the donga sat next to him, his rifle at his side. Of Hardy the
re was no sign.
‘Now,’ said Schmidt, ‘I am a veldt kornet in the Transvaal militia, and as you will have been told by Mr Hardy, if you did not know already, the Transvaal has declared its independence.’ His blue eyes smiled affably enough in the firelight. ‘You British have achieved the impossible: you have united us. We have established a new capital at Heidelberg and elected a triumvirate of our own people - Paul Kruger, Piet Joubert and Marthinus Pretorious - to lead us. By now, all your garrisons at Pretoria, Potchefstroom, Standerton, Lydenburg, Rustenburg, Marabastad and Wakkerstroom will have been surrounded and most of them will have surrendered.’
Simon interrupted. ‘Ambushing a British column before war was declared does not sound an honourable thing to do.’
Schmidt blinked for a moment. ‘I was there,’ he said coldly. ‘They were informed of the position and told that continuing their march towards Pretoria would be an act of war. They had the choice and they chose to fight. They had to accept the consequences.’
‘Oh come now, Kornet Schmidt. You know that that colonel had no choice. As a soldier, he could not surrender. But he and most of his men were shot down from cover before they could lift a rifle.’
The Boer on Schmidt’s right snorted but the leader remained silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘I don’t think you realise your position, Mr . . . er . . . Fonthill. We have found you near our southern border, armed with the latest British rifles. We understand from two farmers near here that you have visited them, clearly attempting to ascertain the temper of our people in the event of war. You say that you are making for Kimberley, but you are heading in the wrong direction. We believe that you are British scouts, preparing the way for an invasion. You are not in uniform but you look to me like soldiers. We have the right to hang you.’
Simon made to speak but Schmidt held up his hand to silence him. ‘Our people does not have a standing army with generals and such. I only command here with the agreement of these men. We take our major decisions by voting. Now, you have heard what I believe. I wish to hear what you have to say. Then we shall take a vote.’
‘Bloody ’ell, man,’ exploded Jenkins. ‘That’s a bit rough, that is. Where were you when we was fighting the Zulus - your enemy, eh? You left us to do your dirty work for you then, bach, didn’t you? Now you want to’ang us. That don’t seem fair, now does it?’
Simon realised with a sinking heart that Jenkins had revealed their past links with the army, but the point seemed to have been missed by the Boer, who kept his eyes on Simon, waiting for his reply.
He gulped. ‘We are not spies and we are not in the army,’ he said, ‘although, as Mr Jenkins has said, we did serve in the 24th Regiment of Foot and fought at Isandlwana and Rorke’s Drift. We left the service at the end of the war and are looking to find a new life here. We had heard of the opportunities at Kimberley and were on our way there. We may well be off course, but people who do not know the veldt find that easy to do. You are welcome to search our belongings to find evidence of links with the army. You will find nothing.’ He took a breath.
‘As for the rifles, they are our old army issue. We were allowed to buy them for hunting when we left the service.’ His voice rose slightly now and he emphasised each word. ‘If you hang us on this so-called evidence, you will be committing an act of murder and consequently would have no right to call yourselves Christians. The world would hear of it and you and your countrymen would be rightly condemned. We entered what you now call your country when it was under British jurisdiction, having been annexed by us three years ago with the complete agreement of your then government. When we crossed the border you had not then declared your independence. Indeed, we knew nothing of this until Mr Hardy told us. We were therefore not - I repeat not - entering foreign, let alone enemy territory.’
A silence fell on those nearby. Simon realised that they must have been listening and he wondered how many had understood.
Schmidt heard him expressionlessly. Then he nodded in acknowledgement and gave a curt order. Immediately Simon and Jenkins found their hands being tied behind their backs. The Boer said, ‘I shall put what you have said to my people. For the moment, I am afraid you must stay bound.’ Then he clapped his hands to gain attention from his men and walked away, to be in a better position to address them.
Simon was suddenly aware that Al had appeared and was sitting silently behind them, but his attention was now focused on Schmidt. The Boer spoke slowly, with little emphasis, only an occasional nod towards the two of them. It seemed that his was the only address to be made, so Simon presumed he was presenting the case for both prosecution and defence. The man guarding them had moved slightly forward, the better to hear the speaker, although he retained his rifle.
‘ ’Ere, bach.’ It was a mark of Jenkins’s distress that he had dropped the ‘sir’. ‘We can’t be ’ung like common criminals, can we? That’s not right.’
Simon licked his lips, now as dry and hard as old leather, but could think of nothing in reply. Then he felt a pressure from behind on his wrists, and realised that someone - Al, of course - was sawing away at his bonds with a knife. In a moment his hands were free and the American was working on the rope that bound Jenkins. ‘Keep your hands together behind your backs, as though you’re still tied,’ he whispered to them both. ‘If the vote goes agin’ ya, then I’ll try ’n’ get the rifle off that chile there.’
Simon nodded in relief. It was a chance, a faint chance, but better than being strung up without a fight.
Eventually Schmidt stopped speaking and quietly Al eased along the ground on his bottom so that he was almost alongside the man with the rifle who was guarding them. Simon saw that the American had a big Bowie knife in his hand.
Now the Boer leader turned his head round the circle, lit sporadically as the fire flared intermittently. He seemed to look at each sombre, bearded face in turn and Simon felt a stab of fear run through him. It was a frightening scene, as though the devil was casting flickering shadows around an inquisitorial woodland court. It was also, he realised, the moment of truth for them both. Schmidt spoke one word. He was putting their lives to the vote.
Six hands rose from the circle of twenty or so men around the fire. They included, Simon noted, those of the three men who had arrested them at the donga. Another word was uttered and it elicited double the response. Simon exchanged a glance of horror with Jenkins. Which way had the vote gone?
Schmidt nodded and walked back to them. ‘You won’t hang,’ he said. ‘Your argument won the day.’
Simon tried to keep his face as immobile as possible, though he was forced to let a gasp of air escape. He realised that he had been holding his breath but he would not give this cold man the pleasure of realising that he was relieved or of thanking him.
‘So,’ he said. ‘What happens now? You will release us, of course?’
‘No.’ Schmidt’s face remained impassive - did the man never show emotion? ‘You should thank the Lord that we are reasonable and merciful men. But I remain convinced that you are British scouts and therefore I cannot let you go to tell your general in Natal of our presence here just across the border. So you will remain with us as prisoners, and when we have completed our mission, we will take you back to Heidelberg, where you will be detained as prisoners of war. Now you will not be treated badly, of course, and I am prepared to free your hands and allow you movement within our camp if I have your word that you will not attempt to escape.’
Simon did not hesitate. ‘Thank you for the offer, but the answer is no. You have no right to detain non-combatants and we retain the right to attempt to escape.’
‘Very well.’ The Boer smiled, but without humour. ‘That is just the response I would have expected from a British officer. You will remain bound except for meals and you will stay within the waggon on the march and at all other times. You will be under surveillance and I must warn you that you will be shot if you attempt to leave the waggon.’ He looked down at the American. ‘I do not t
hink it wise to allow Mr Hardy to stay with you, so he can sleep under the stars, like the rest of us.’
Hardy’s eyes twinkled. ‘Sure appreciate that, Mr Smith. Hope it don’t rain, though.’
At a curt command, Simon and Jenkins were escorted back to the waggon. They took care to wind the loose ends of the cords around their wrists so that they seemed still to be bound. At the cannon they saw that their horses had not been put with the Boer ponies but were tethered to graze at the rear of the camp, close by the waggon, their saddles on the ground near them. Their bedrolls were thrown into the waggon and Hardy’s was handed out to him from the waggon’s interior.
In the minor bustle that ensued, Hardy managed a quiet word in Simon’s ear. ‘Ah’ll come ’bout two hours afore sun-up.’
Simon could not help wondering at the tall Texan’s assurance, but the man was as good as his word. The two prisoners were lying in a fretful doze when a scuffling at the canvas opening at the rear of the waggon woke them.
‘Just you git inside now, ma chile, an’ you won’t git hurt.’ Hardy was pushing forward the guard who had been left by the horses to watch over them and the prisoners. The Texan was levelling one of his long-barrelled Colts at the man’s head. ‘Now just sit down there, sonny.’ He nodded. ‘You fellers bind him nice an’ tight with your cords and stuff a handkerchief in his mouth and keep it in place with that neckerchief o’ his. Don’t want to disturb everyone’s well-earned sleep.’
‘Blimey, bach,’ said Jenkins, happily transferring his own bindings to the wrists of the Boer, ‘you don’t ’alf work fast.’
‘Waal,’ responded Hardy, flashing his teeth in the gloom, ‘when a man’s gotta go, he might as well just git an’ go, that’s what ah’ve always said.’
Simon tightened a knot behind the Boer’s head, returning the man’s indignant glare with a smile of his own. ‘How the hell did you get your revolvers back, Al?’