Smiling Willie and the Tiger

by John Harris

  ‘Dolly estimates it at twenty thousand.’

  The Tiger blinked. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Transfer the dibs and burn the cart.’

  Fish left the bacon sizzling on the fire and climbed into Southey’s cart. The Tiger had already backed up the little buckboard and was standing in the rear. As Fish lifted the boxes from Southey’s cart, Willie and the Tiger stacked them in the buckboard. When they’d finished they spread the tarpaulin over them, detached Southey’s mules and knee-haltered them, and pushed the cart over the blaze. The flames licked at the army markings and the khaki paint began to lift in blisters.

  ‘Be nothing left by morning,’ Willie said. ‘I wonder if those chaps without the trousers managed to reach wherever it was they were going.’

  Five

  They had.

  In a war of movement, where prisoners were a nuisance, it had long since become the practice of Boer Commandos to remove the arms and uniforms of their captives to replace their own worn-out equipment and then to send the prisoners off unhurt to join their units in their underwear. It had happened often enough before for no one to be very alarmed, but to Southey, who’d spent most of the war in the safer back areas, it was the crowning indignity. His thin shanks decently covered in a pair of trousers which were far too short and which showed the tops of the army boots he’d been lent, he stood in front of General Wickover, backed by Corporal Instant and Lance-Corporal Wooden, who, not being officers, had not yet been offered trousers and had to manage with horse blankets.

  It wasn’t General Wickover’s custom to interview personally the victims of every military incident that occurred in the area of his command, but six weeks’ pay for a whole division amounted to a great deal of money and a lot of awkward questions were likely to be asked for which he wanted to know the answers. He was due the following day to be presented to Field Marshal Lord Roberts, the retiring Commander-in-Chief, South Africa, and wasn’t looking forward to it. His face grew even redder than normal, and to Instant, watching with interest from the background, it looked as if, gently blown on, it would burst into flames.

  ‘Didn’t you try to stop the bastards?’ Wickover demanded, staring bitterly at Southey.

  Southey swallowed. He was well aware how ignominious his own part in the affair had been and his unexpected summons to the general’s presence had thrown him into a state of confusion from which he hadn’t yet been able to sort out a reasonable excuse. He was still struggling when Instant spoke.

  ‘I did,’ he said.

  Wickover turned and peered into the shadows. ‘Who’s that?’ he demanded.

  Major Ffoulkes, in charge of his Provost Department, stared with him. ‘Corporal chap,’ he announced. ‘I can see his stripes.’

  Major Ffoulkes wasn’t very clever and Colonel McGuinness, the general’s Chief of Staff, could see Wickover’s neck was reddening with anger.

  ‘Corporal Instant, sir,’ he announced, interrupting briskly. ‘In command of the escort.’

  ‘Hah!’ Wickover’s blunt nose swung towards Instant. ‘Wing one of the swine?’ he asked.

  ‘Un’appily no, sir.’ Instant blinked indignantly. ‘Somebody started the cart just as I brought me gun up and I pitched out on to me ’ead.’

  Wickover stared at Southey as though it were his fault. ‘You mean nobody got a shot at ’em?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Southey muttered, aware that even Instant’s miserable effort topped his own.

  ‘What were they like?’

  ‘Big blokes,’ Wooden said unexpectedly. The words seemed to heave in the recesses of his mind and bubble to the surface like gas from the bottom of a stirred mudhole.

  ‘Three of ’em,’ he went on and Ffoulkes, a tall young man with a silky moustache, leaned towards him like an earnest schoolmaster. ‘Sir,’ he prompted.

  Wooden stared at him, frowning. At last comprehension came. ‘Sir,’ he agreed.

  Wickover was directing his attention to Wooden now. ‘Who were they?’ he asked. ‘Do you know, man?’

  But Wooden had exhausted himself. His processes of thought had ground to a standstill. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Sir,’ Ffoulkes prompted once more with a trace of impatience this time.

  ‘Sir,’ Wooden agreed.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sir!’

  Wickover rounded on Ffoulkes. ‘I’m conducting this bloody interview,’ he snapped.

  ‘Ah!’ Ffoulkes backed away. ‘Of course, sir.’

  Wickover glared at him for a moment, then he turned back to Southey. ‘Who was it?’ he demanded. ‘Bloody bung-nosed Boers?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Southey said, grateful at last that he could offer something useful to the interview.

  ‘I didn’t think they was Boers, sir,’ Instant interrupted and the general turned again to him. ‘You don’t, eh?’ He stared into the shadows at the back of the tent where Instant stood and motioned him forward. ‘Come here, Corporal. Let’s have a look at you. Who the hell shoved you back there, anyway? And where are your trousers? Didn’t anyone give you any more?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Wickover turned to Ffoulkes. ‘Who the bloody hell neglected that?’ he demanded. ‘See that they get some. Now!’

  Ffoulkes turned to the headquarters sergeant who was taking notes in shorthand just behind and the general whipped round savagely. ‘Not him,’ he said. ‘You!’

  ‘Ah!’ Ffoulkes nodded, as though a great light had dawned. ‘Of course, sir.’

  Wickover scowled. He had a lot on his mind. He was trying to secure his front as instructed by Lord Kitchener, who had taken over from Lord Roberts, but dealing with a lot of farmers on horses who didn’t know the meaning of the word and operating in an area as big as Ireland, ‘front’ seemed to be rather a misnomer. In addition, the authorities in Cape Town, egged on by the home government, were badgering him to make sure that the graves of the fallen were properly regulated and that the hastily erected memorials of the earlier battles had the appearance of being properly tended. And now, to throw everything into confusion, Lord Roberts had chosen that moment to descend on him with the whole of this staff, and the details of the parade were worrying him as much as the possibility of being asked questions about cemeteries and memorials.

  He turned again to Instant, determined to get to the bottom of this new irritant. ‘You appear to be the only one with any opinions on this bloody business,’ he said. ‘Let’s hear what you have to say.’

  Singled out for praise, Corporal Instant’s breast swelled with pride. He hitched at the horse blanket.

  ‘Well, they didn’t speak Afrikaans for a start, sir,’ he announced. ‘I noticed that.’

  The general’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Did you, by God? Well, that’s something. What else did you notice?’

  ‘There were three ’orses, sir. One a grey one-eyed ex-police mount, I think. I saw the brand.’

  ‘Did you, by God?’ Wickover glared at Southey as much as to ask ‘Why the hell didn’t you notice that?’ and turned once more to Instant. ‘That was good. That was intelligent. What else?’

  ‘They were English, I think, sir,’ Instant said.

  ‘Soldiers?’

  ‘No, sir. I don’t think so. They didn’t look like soldiers.’

  ‘Why not?’

  An inspired thought occurred to Instant. ‘They didn’t look smart enough for British soldiers, sir,’ he said, trying to keep his eyes off Wooden. ‘Scruffy. Bad bearing. And they all ’ad different accents. One of them was American or Canadian. One sounded as though he might be a Cockney. The other had what you’d call an orficer’s accent.’

  ‘Good? Educated?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Flattery was coming easily to Instant now. ‘Better type of man. Blue eyes, sir. Very blue eyes.’

  Wickover studied him admiringly. ‘You kept your eyes open. What else?’

  ‘The little feller, sir, was dressed like a clerk. Watch-chain. Bowler ’at. Stif
f collar. He blinked a lot and looked nervous.’ The interview was going so well, Instant decided to embroider a little. There was probably a great deal of advantage to be gained from so doing. ‘The American had two guns, slung from the ’ips. Like them Wild West fellers. The one with the blue eyes ’ad a service rifle and a large dagger and a snake band on his ’at. They all looked very very nasty.’

  Southey stared at him bitterly, aware of being utterly eclipsed.

  The general was still studying Instant. ‘Any more?’ he asked.

  Instant was in danger of being carried away by his own imagination, but he was shrewd enough to realise that he had done himself a great deal of good already and that it would be a pity to spoil it. He shook his head.

  ‘Right.’ Wickover swung to Ffoulkes. ‘Any good to you, Ffoulkes?’

  Ffoulkes frowned, his face blank, and Colonel McGuinness answered for him. He had long since decided that Ffoulkes was probably a little weak in the head.

  ‘I’ll get it sorted out, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the information telegraphed down the line.’

  ‘Good idea, good idea.’ Wickover scowled. ‘The swine aren’t going to get away with the pay of my command.’ He glared at Southey who found himself wishing his desire to return to civilian life could be hastened. No paymaster who’d lost six weeks’ divisional pay plus extras in a hold-up was likely to prosper in the army.

  There was a moment’s pause, then the general turned again to Instant. ‘As for you, my lad,’ he said, ‘We’ll see if we can’t arrange something for you. You did well.’

  Instant almost fainted. It seemed he had been wrong all along about his future and ambition flowered once more in his breast. He might even, he decided, at last be shot of Wooden.

  ‘Now’ – the general turned to McGuinness as the tent cleared – ‘let’s get down to that blasted war memorial nonsense. I want to have the thing ironed out before Bobs arrives.’

  He moved to the blanket-covered table he used as a desk and sat down as McGuinness laid a sheet of paper in front of him. ‘Tidy up the battlefields,’ he went on aggrievedly. ‘Make the monuments pretty. Trust politicians to talk that sort of nonsense. What have we got?’

  McGuinness glanced at his notebook. ‘Well, sir, I expect the Ladysmith people will be attending to Colenso, Spion Kop, Nicholson’s Nek…’

  ‘Of course they will, man,’ Wickover said, irritated by the depressing list of defeats the British army had suffered. ‘George White or Buller. What do we have?’

  ‘Magersfontein. Paardeberg. Belmont.’

  ‘Methuen’s command. Haven’t we anything?’

  ‘Only Chichester Junction.’

  The general looked up. ‘Kitchener called that Birdham’s Bloody Balls-Up. What’s there now?’

  ‘A stone cairn and a carved sign, sir. Very tastefully done. The Boers put it up and Bobs had it titivated up a bit as he went north. It says “Battle of Chichester Junction. On this spot died Brigadier-General H A C Birdham and 193 of his officers and men. They fought well”.’

  ‘Well?’ Wickover snorted. ‘A hundred and ninety-three down against twenty-one of the other lot.’ He suddenly lost interest. ‘Oh, well, it’ll have to do! Send a signal and get something started in case some nosy idiot starts investigating. And while we’re at it, get that bloody provost officer up from Venter’s Road Sidings. We’ve got a few questions to ask him.’

  Six

  The general’s message arrived at Venter’s Road during the night and Lieutenant Mace’s runner wakened him from sleep to hand it to him.

  ‘The divisional pay?’ Mace said, blinking at the buff paper that was thrust into his hand. ‘Pinched?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  ‘Good God!’ Knowing instinctively that he’d be blamed, Mace was out of bed in a bound and searching through a pile of signal forms. The runner eyed him with amazement.

  ‘Signal!’ Mace gestured sharply at the sheets of crumpled paper. ‘Dated two days ago! Find it, man!’

  They turned it up eventually and Mace smoothed it out carefully and read it. There it was in black and white.

  All repeat all but essential men to be temporarily detached to this command as from this day. Expedite forthwith. It was signed J R de C Ffoulkes, Major i/c Provost Department, Corneliusdal Command.

  Mace allowed himself a thin smile and, folding it carefully, stuffed it in his pocket, then, pulling on his trousers, he walked across to the hotel where Captain Adye was billeted. Adye opened the door at his knock and read the signal. He raised his eyes.

  ‘That’ll knock the stuffing out of the pompous old donkey, Southey,’ he observed. ‘Are they after you?’

  ‘They will be,’ Mace said grimly. ‘Just let ’em try it, though, that’s all. I’ll toss it straight back in their faces.’

  The instinct for self-protection was very strong in Mace and he made a point first of all of seeking out Southey and getting all the information he could from him.

  It wasn’t much. Southey was in a state of bleating complaint and his chances of getting out of the army quickly had improved beyond all knowledge in the last twenty-four hours. Corporal Instant, however, garbed in a new pair of trousers and with his puttees smartly rolled once more, was a great help.

  Aware that he was about to gain a third stripe from his adventure, he had come to the conclusion that imagination could be an advantage in a man’s career, and he had already prepared a lengthy description of the robbery and the three men who had taken part in it and had set it all down in a report that was four times as long as the defeated Southey’s. The general had expressed his pleasure personally and Instant realised he had found the formula for success.

  ‘It’s all in my report, sir,’ he explained to Mace. ‘I can get a copy if you wish.’

  Mace read the account, impressed by its detail, but, knowing Instant better than the general, wondering how much of it had been made up. He didn’t expect much from Wooden. He didn’t get much.

  ‘Don’t remember,’ Wooden said.

  ‘I didn’t think you would,’ Mace retorted.

  Armed with the knowledge he’d acquired and the signal he’d unearthed, Mace called on Colonel McGuinness and stood in silence, smartly at attention, while the colonel tried to tear him to ribbons.

  ‘Two NCOs and eight men,’ he said. ‘That’s what Southey should have had. A headquarter guard. You know the regulations. You can even err on the right side by detailing three NCOs and twelve men.’

  ‘I only have six men altogether,’ Mace said, secretly exulting. ‘One sergeant, one corporal and four temporary acting lance-corporals. And as the sergeant is sick in hospital, I should have been answering the telephone, meeting the trains and guarding the prisoners on my own.’

  McGuinness glared at him. ‘There’s no need to be clever, Mace,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think we deserve an explanation?’

  Mace smiled. ‘Indeed, sir. Will that do?’

  He spread the signal he’d retrieved on the colonel’s desk. ‘Received the day before yesterday, sir,’ he said. He leaned forward and placed two other buff sheets in front of McGuinness – the first a signal demanding a detachment of his men, the second his own signal protesting.

  McGuinness decided that his suspicion that Ffoulkes was weak in the head was well founded. The headquarters sergeant called into the tent, explained.

  ‘Major Ffoulkes sent ’em after his interview with the general about the review at Fairplay,’ he pointed out. ‘Similar messages were sent to Tobaccoberg and Chichester Junction. That rumour about the general’s wife. The Provost Department’s got every spare man in Fairplay, sir.’

  McGuinness frowned. ‘What the hell are we supposed to do if there’s an outbreak of rioting or Boer cussedness in Tobaccoberg or Chichester Junction?’ he demanded. He sighed and, as the sergeant disappeared, handed the signal back to Mace. ‘You’d be wise to keep that,’ he said.

  Later in the day Mace was recalled to McGuinness’ tent and found the colon
el disconsolately staring at his papers. ‘Pity you had to send away your best men,’ he said. ‘Might have got rid of that feller Wooden.’ Even McGuinness had noticed Wooden. ‘Never think of having him posted away?’

  ‘I tried it, sir. They always post him back.’

  McGuinness nodded sympathetically. It was a problem that he had to contend with, too. He came back to the business on hand. ‘I’ve been told to make Instant a sergeant,’ he said.

  ‘I hope the general doesn’t regret it, sir,’ Mace observed.

  ‘I hope so, too.’ McGuinness sighed. ‘You’re to be in charge of the investigation.’

  ‘I am, sir?’

  McGuinness smiled maliciously. ‘The general said that since you’d lost the bloody stuff, you’d better find it.’

  Mace had an uneasy feeling he was being put on. ‘Will this business be held against me, sir?’ he asked. ‘Will there be a reference to it in my file?’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘That’s unfair, sir.’ In his self-righteous sense of honour it seemed to Mace like cheating.

  McGuinness permitted himself a sly smile. ‘You’d better catch the chaps who did it then, hadn’t you?’ he said. ‘That ought to redeem you. You’ve got a free hand. Any methods you like.’

  ‘Civilian clothes, sir? If I’m to find these chaps I’ve got to be able to get near them without advertising who I am.’

  ‘I’ll see you get permission.’

  ‘Freedom to move about?’

  ‘Anywhere you like. I’ll see to that, too. You can call for help if you need it. Your duties will be as usual.’ McGuinness leaned back, closed his eyes and quoted from memory. ‘“To arrest any member of the forces found without passes, plundering, making unlawful requisitions or offences of any kind”…et cetera, et cetera. You know it as well as I do. But’ – he woke up and leaned forward – ‘in addition, you’ll catch these swine who pinched the divisional pay!’