by John Wilcox
‘Ah, the new so-called Boer capital.’
‘Precisely. From one or two hints that I picked up, it seemed as though he had done very satisfactory business in Heidelberg but less so in Bloemfontein. In other words, he is supplying weapons to the Transvaal but not to the Free State.’
‘Damn.’ Colley pulled at his beard. ‘Not good news, not g-g-good news at all.’ He spoke now as though half to himself. ‘We know that the Boers can shoot, but they can’t if they haven’t got ammunition - and without an effective arms manufacturing capacity of their own, they could soon run out. B-b-but not if the Germans are supplying them. All the more reason for me to invade as soon as possible. Now, I am sorry to ask you this, after your long ride from the Free State and then straight up here, but I want you to g-g-get out tomorrow up to the Nek and scout the enemy’s position. Can you do that?’
‘Of course, sir. Do you have any information at all about their disposition?’
‘Not a sausage.’ The soft eyes twinkled for a moment. ‘Shows how strong we are in the scouting department, my boy - and how much we need you. Trouble is, you see, I’ve no decent cavalry, let alone scouts. No. From what you told me earlier, it seems that it will be the Nek where the Boers will stand and fight. If I can clear them out of there - and I am sure I can, cavalry or no cavalry - then I am through into the Transvaal. So get up there and nose about. Give me some idea of where they are and how many. Do you still have your Welshman with you?’
Simon took the opportunity to confirm not only Jenkins’s worth but also to request that Hardy be put on the payroll too.
‘A scout for Custer, you say?’ The soft smile came back. ‘Goodness, I hope he doesn’t lead me into the same mess that he took that gallant soldier into. But of course we need every man who can ride well and analyse what he sees. Count him in and on the payroll - but only as a private, I fear. I’ll scribble an order.’
‘Thank you, sir. We will leave at daybreak.’
Simon found that his partners had set up their three tiny bivouac tents under a large cypress tree out of the rain and he informed them of the general’s orders.
‘You’re on the payroll now, Al,’ he told the Texan. ‘Scout first class, seconded from the US 7th Cavalry - or something like that.’
‘Don’t need the money, Simon.’
‘Ooh, good,’ grinned Jenkins. ‘I’ll ’ave it then. Better still, you keep it and I’ll take if off you at poker, see.’ The grin disappeared and was replaced by a frown. ‘Except that I never win, do I? Ah well . . .’
The rain had stopped as the three scouts set off before daybreak and a glow behind the hills to the east bespoke a fine day. Simon cursed. As he remembered the terrain, there was not much cover leading up to the Nek, and rain would, at least, have kept the Boers’ heads down for a while. They would have to approach the ridge with great care.
The heights which barred the way to the Transvaal looked menacing as the three men neared them, the sunlight slipping like rapier thrusts through the scudding clouds to illuminate parts of the swelling green and brown hills ahead. No trees were evident, but little lines of brushwood marked the lines of ravines that streaked the southern slopes facing them.
On their way south from the Transvaal a few weeks before, Simon had not studied the terrain closely, making only a few notes of the main geographical features and so confirming that crossing the Nek would be the general’s only viable route to the rebel state in the north. Now, however, he could see more clearly the semicircular nature of the ridge ahead, with its two horns running southwards, overlooking a plateau which in turn formed a kind of amphitheatre through which wound the road to the north. The lowest part of the ridge lay directly ahead. It was a broad saddle rising some five hundred feet from the plain - Laing’s Nek, so named after a farmer whose house, or its remains, could be seen standing below the crest. The road ran over the saddle and was completely dominated by the heights on either side.
About a mile from the Nek, as the soggy track began to climb more steeply, Simon called a halt and pointed up ahead. Immediately facing them, the road curled away to the right and then back again to the left, bending out of sight as it cut between the hills on either side. To the left, Majuba curled up some 1,250 feet directly from the Nek, forming the left horn. The right horn was formed by lower, more undulating hills but Simon recalled that behind them, to the east, lay the steep gorge of the Buffalo river.
‘By now,’ he said, ‘I should think that the Boers will be installed - and probably dug in - on either side of the road, looking down on it. The general can’t get round to the left there because of the mountain, so he will probably have to attack up the Nek on the right, where it is less steep, though,’ he mused, hand partly covering his mouth, ‘still bloody difficult.
‘I know that there is no hope of outflanking the Boer positions, what with the mountain on the left and the gorge to the right. So our job is to find out exactly where the enemy is entrenched, and get some idea of their strength and the best approach for the attack. Understood?’
‘Oh, is that all?’ muttered Jenkins, his eyes wide. ‘ ’Ow are we goin’ to find all that out - just stroll up and ask ’em?’
‘Something like that. Now, Al,’ Simon turned to the American, ‘you take the western side. Make sure that there really is no way through there and get some idea of the Boer strength.’
For the first time since their meeting, the tall American looked disconcerted. ‘Umm,’ he pondered, looking ahead. ‘Western side. Now exactly which way would that be, sonny?’ He grinned apologetically. ‘Ah find this southern hemisphere stuff just a tad confusin’, yah know.’
‘What?’ Simon was equally disconcerted. ‘But the points of the compass remain the same whether we’re in the northern or southern hemisphere. Surely you know that?’
‘Ah, sure. So . . .’ the Texan paused for a moment, looking ahead, ‘so you want me to go that side of the road an’ scout a bit, huh?’ And he pointed to the right.
‘No. The other side. To the left. The mountain side.’ Simon sighed. ‘Look. You will need to be careful, because the Boers will be watching the road. So, a few hundred yards ahead, cut off left and start to climb. After a while I guess you will have to leave Custer and scramble up the mountain so that you can see where the road climbs the Nek. If you get high enough, you should be able to look down on the Boer positions if, as I suspect, they have dug in on that side of the road, as well as the eastern side. Try and get some idea of how many there might be and what their field of fire is. Is that understood?’
‘Sure is, sonny. Leave it to me.’
‘Al . . .’
‘Yup?’
‘When you start your scrambling, it would be as well to remove your white hat. You will be seen for miles if you don’t.’
‘Gosh, yes. Sure ’nuff.’
‘Good. We’ll meet back here in five hours. Don’t get into a fight, just run if you have to.’ Simon looked at Al keenly. ‘Will you be able to find your way back? Would you like to borrow my compass?’
‘Gee, no. Ah’ll just take mah position from the sun if ah have to.’
‘Right. Off you go then. Jenkins and I will scout this side of the road. If you hear shots, just get out of here. We shall be running too.’
The American nodded to Simon and then to Jenkins, kicked in his heels and rode away, looking every inch a horseman and scout as he gently rose to the rhythm of Custer’s canter.
Simon’s eyes narrowed as he watched him go. ‘How can a scout not know the difference between east and west?’ he murmured.
Jenkins shrugged his shoulders. ‘Dunno. But as you well know, bach sir, I can’t tell the damned difference either.’
‘Yes, but you weren’t a scout for Custer. Ah well, come on. Let’s try and climb as high as we can before we dismount.’
The terrain was not quite so unhelpful to scouting as it appeared at first. Despite the absence of trees, the rain had stimulated grass to grow and the slopes leadi
ng up to the Nek were fissured by ravines. After about a quarter of a mile they found a gully where they were able to tether their horses out of sight of all but the closest observation. Then they began their final advance on foot, climbing gently the while and always keeping a careful lookout towards the top of the low ridge.
Even so, they were almost surprised by a pair of Boer horsemen who materialised from a line of brushwood to their right and above them. Simon and Jenkins flattened themselves in a declivity in the ground as the Boers walked their horses and paused about fifty yards above them. In that still morning it was possible to hear every word they said - but not possible to comprehend it, for they spoke in Taal. Nevertheless, looking up through the tall tangle of grass, Simon could see that the Boers were looking through field glasses south, towards Mount Pleasant. A third horseman appeared and produced an old-fashioned telescope that he too levelled towards the south.
All three were dressed almost identically: heavy serge jackets from under which, despite the heat, peeped waistcoats; dirty corduroy trousers; scuffed boots; and wide-brimmed, high-crowned felt hats. They carried rifles and each wore a bandolier of cartridges across his breast. Each face was heavily bearded but it was the third man who attracted Simon’s attention. His lanky black hair was balanced by a severe spade beard and his nose was long and splayed at the nostrils. He exuded an air of authority, confirmed when one of the others addressed him as ‘Commandant General’. The man replied monosyllabically, not taking his eyes from his glasses. They spoke further, and Blackbeard was addressed by the second man as ‘Commandant Joubert’. From the tone, it was obvious that the man was held in some respect. They all stayed for perhaps three minutes before Joubert pulled on his reins and rode away, leading the others back up to the low ridge.
‘Phew!’ Jenkins wiped his brow. ‘They were lookin’ right over us. Thank God they didn’t look down, eh?’
‘Yes.’ Simon was frowning, trying to recall the name he had heard. ‘Joubert,’ he mused. ‘Commandant General Joubert. Where have I heard that name before. Joubert . . . Yes. I’ve got it!’ He turned to Jenkins. ‘He’s Piet Joubert, one of the triumvirate who are leading the new republic. Gosh. If they have sent one of the top three men down here they must mean business. He will have a reasonable force at his command. Come on, let’s see if we can get some idea of the size of it.’
‘Oh blimey.’ Jenkins scrambled up after him, shaking his head and muttering. ‘ ’Ere we go again, back puttin’ our ’eads into the bleedin’ lion’s mouth.’
Crouching low and holding their rifles at the trail, the two part crawled, part walked up to their right, towards the top of the first of what appeared to be two separate low hills which merged into the Nek and commanded the road below. Some hundred feet from the rounded summit, Jenkins pulled at Simon’s shirtsleeve.
‘Enemy’s just up there,’ he whispered. ‘See ’is ’at, look.’
Squinting upwards through the scrub, Simon concentrated and eventually saw the outline of a slouch hat. Then, to the left, another and another. ‘Trenches,’ he hissed. ‘They’re dug in all along the top, blast it. That’s as far as we can go.’
Beckoning Jenkins to follow, Simon slithered down the side of the hill and then turned and began crawling along its gentle face, parallel with the road and towards the Nek.
‘Where are we goin’ then?’ hissed Jenkins.
Simon paused and nodded towards where the Nek rose, carrying the road with it. He gestured to the second hill ahead and to the right of them. It was marginally higher than the first. ‘I want to see if Joubert has dug in along the top there as well,’ he whispered. ‘If he hasn’t, then Colley might be able to take these first entrenchments. But if the Boers have further trenches on this second hill, then they have a considerable force here and Colley will have a hell of a problem on his hands to break through. It will mean that the Nek is defended in depth and I’m not sure that the general can take it with the force he has. Come on and keep your head down.’
The two continued their cautious progress, and eventually Simon found a lone cedar tree, some sixty feet high.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘You stay here. There looks enough cover for me to climb up here and get some sort of view ahead. Here. Give me a bunk-up.’
Jenkins made a back, and, balancing on it, Simon was just able to grasp a sturdy branch and haul himself up. As the Welshman watched anxiously, he made his way about two thirds up the height of the tree, where he produced his telescope and levelled it. After five minutes, he lowered himself down again.
‘Now don’t tell me we’ve got to keep goin’ up to that Nek place,’ Jenkins implored.
Simon lay down on the grass for a moment to get his breath back and made a negative face. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen enough. There are lines of trenches all along up there, not only facing down to the road but also stretching along the top, commanding the southern approaches. They are well dug in and I could see the tops of a hell of a lot of tents behind. Joubert has a small army here. Time to go back and pick up Al.’
Now steering well away from the fortified tops of the hills, the two made their way back parallel to the road and eventually found their horses. Mounting, they rode back to the rendezvous point. There was no sign of Al.
Simon consulted his timepiece. ‘We’ve been away about four hours,’ he said. ‘I said five, so we can give him about an hour and a half.’
Jenkins wrinkled his face in disagreement. ‘Oh no, bach sir,’ he said. ‘Give ’im a couple of hours. Don’t forget, ’e gets confused in the southern hemisphere, like.’
‘Confused my foot.’ Simon glowered. ‘A scout is supposed to be able to find his way around, whatever the terrain or the bloody hemisphere. But all right. Two hours it is. Then we must go or we shall be caught after dark.’
They settled down to wait, but not for long. After only about thirty-five minutes the tall Texan came trotting down the trail, his white Stetson hanging down his neck at the back by its cord and Custer prancing as though he was performing before royalty.
‘Howdy,’ he acknowledged them, with a shy grin.
‘What luck, A1?’ enquired Simon.
‘Bin up and down that danged mountain, Simon, an’ ah don’t recommend doin’ that in mah fine Texas boots, ah’ll tell yah.’
‘No, I can quite imagine. But what about the Boers? Are they on that side of the road?’
‘Sure ’nuff. The mountain rises a bit steep there, straight up, in fact. But these fellers are dug in, facin’ this way, in a single line of trenches. Ground’s hard there, so they’re more like scooped-out lines, an’ not offerin’ much cover, ah’d say. But they’ve heaped up rocks and they’re there all right. An’ they can shoot down on anyone comin’ up at ’em or along the road.’
‘How many?’
‘Couldn’t exactly count ’em, but maybe three hundred or so. It’s steep there an’ it would be danged difficult, ah’d say, to go straight up at ’em. Even General Custer wouldn’t do it.’
‘Hmm. No way through there for the main force, then. Good work, Al. Let’s get back and report.’
Once again the heavens opened as they rode back to Mount Prospect and they were drenched and bedraggled by the time they reached the British lines. Jenkins and Hardy went to their tents to dry out but Simon reported directly to Colley.
‘My dear fellow, you’re soaked,’ said the general. ‘Here, dry yourself off,’ and he threw a towel to Simon.
‘Thank you, sir.’ As he rubbed his hair, Simon reflected again how easy it was to see why Colley’s men loved him.
‘Right,’ said the general. ‘Have some coffee and then tell me all you know. I am anxious to get m-m-moving as soon as this weather clears. Tomorrow, if possible.’
Simon accepted the cup gratefully. ‘Well, Sir George, it’s your decision, of course. But you may feel that that would be inadvisable. Let me sketch the Boers’ position for you, as best as the three of us could define it.’
Colley
frowned at Simon’s negative tone, but he threw him a pencil and a sheet of paper and Simon drew a rough map. ‘You will see, then, that the Boers are entrenched on both sides of the road. So you will be unable to push through and over the Nek without clearing the enemy positions that command the road. On the left here, on the lower slopes of Majuba, there are fewer of them - Hardy, our American, reckons maybe about three hundred or so. They are not particularly well entrenched because they are on stony ground, but they have thrown up a line of rocks - I think they call them sangers in Afrikaans - and the slope is so bad that you would have difficulty getting through up there anyway, even without being under heavy fire from above.’
‘Artillery should shift them.’
‘I doubt it, sir. As I say, you couldn’t take the whole column up and over that way, waggons and all, anyway, and you would be under fire from the Boer positions on the other side of the road as well as from the trenches above.’
He pointed with his pencil at the first hill. ‘This is slightly the lower of the two on the eastern side of the road, but it is still a stiffish climb and the enemy is well entrenched along the top, looking down at the road. I should think that it could be vulnerable - I couldn’t get close enough to see how many men are dug in there - but if you take this hill, then you still have to advance up this slope to the next one, where there are even more of the Boers entrenched and they would have a clear field of fire on anyone advancing on them.’
Colley examined the drawing and stroked his beard. Then he looked up and smiled at Simon. ‘I know that you have a high opinion of Boer marksmanship, Fonthill, but I have to repeat that these people are not trained soldiers. I cannot escape the feeling that, honest patriots as they are, they will break and run when they are put under a bombardment and face a disciplined charge by regular soldiers. Our chaps with bayonets should clear them.’