by Paul Almond
“And mingling with these whites, those poor black devils, unwilling slaves, for sure, carrying their bundles. Imagine, Jack! This crowd of gaunt, dishevelled beings who defied for ten long days and nights the finer discipline of the great British Empire! And for every life that left their ranks, they’d taken another for sure.”
Jack was about to interrupt, but the words came flooding out. “I went out with a burial party. Two bodies lay not far apart: one, beautiful in its calmness. Serenity on every feature, Jack. A smile hovered on the half-parted lips; not a frown troubled that worn brow. As I gazed on the face, I saw nothing but happiness. Filled me with emotion: he’d known no fear, and I thought, if that were death, who can fear to die? I could have watched for hours that beautiful stillness, that peace.”
Having finished his soggy hard tack, Stanley took another gulp of tea and sat back, and shook his head. “Then I turned to see another on his back on the blood-stained sand, hair matted with gore, pain gashed across his face. Chills ran down my backbone, I swear. I tried to yank my gaze away, but no, I could not. Why did one death appear so calm, and the next so hideous?”
He pulled himself together, downed the last of his tin mug of tea. “You know of course that this surrender of General Cronje happened on the very the anniversary of Majuba Day, of February twenty-seventh?” Jack nodded. He knew that on that day nineteen years before, at the Battle of Majuba Hill, the Boers had humiliated the British army and thereby gained their independence. “At last, the stain upon the British forces had been gloriously blotted out by our Canadian boys. A knock-out blow to the Boers.”
“Let us hope so,” echoed Jack fervently, though he suspected it might go on and on.
“I went ahead and explored that laager, Jack me boy. What a stench! You know, ’twas practically a bunch of homesteads, all under the ground. In those trenches, we found such a conglomeration of household goods and munitions: beds and mattresses, blankets and cooking pots, rifles and cartridges, corn meal and flour, women’s dresses, children’s playthings... Oh yes, and sewing machines, believe it or not, and bibles and hymnbooks scattered all over. Everyone had a tin trunk, you know? Painted in gay colours.
“Above ground, they kept the big trek wagons and such, but they were burned and battered in heaps from the shrapnel. Covered in lyddite explosive, too — even the earth had a jaundiced appearance, you know, all yellowy. They’d lived and fought from those rabbit warrens. They had women down there too, Jack, oh yes, the General’s wife, Mrs. Cronje, she’d been there.
“I got back in time to see Roberts welcoming her husband, the Lion of the Transvaal, sort of a low, thickset fellow in his short, rough overcoat and wide-brimmed hat. He took it off and I saw his partly bald head and newly trimmed whiskers. A broken man; well, he’s now sixty-five. You know, Jack, he showed no interest in the meeting, even when Kitchener congratulated him in front of us all for having put up a jolly good fight — quite unstinting praise for what General Cronje had achieved with his farmers, untrained as they were.”
“Now the British are sending him off somewhere?”
“Yes, St. Helen’s Island, I believe.” The train gave a long whistle, and Stanley leapt up. He wanted to get to De Aar too, he told Jack as he turned to run for the train.
Jack waved him goodbye. Then he carefully folded up the notes of Stanley’s and George’s stories. Not to be lost, nor ever forgotten.
* * *
After a good many more days ministering to these wounded, Jack got to join his regiment in Bloemfontein now that Roberts had occupied it. His first morning there, he went to report to Col. Otter’s office in town. He had heard and indeed now could see in their faces how his regiment had been faring all the long way here, sleeping under old blankets while the storms kept raging; the water still bad and rations scarce, which had taken its toll on the men. They now had seen battle with their naked eyes, fought with their bodies as well as their minds, endured so much, and had become the best of hardened troops.
He became aware of his own neat uniform, worn but still intact, as he saw how his troops themselves now were dressed: some in clothing from a dead Boer, or shirts with no buttons, trousers with no knees, or torn or patched with anything that could be scrounged, shoes mostly finished. And as well, he noticed something else. Were they reacting differently to him as he passed? Where was their former warmth? Their greetings were now almost non-existent. He put the thought from his mind. They’d been through so much and had not seen him for almost a month, that’s all.
When Jack came to the orderly room to speak to Col. Otter, Adjutant Brown greeted him with a false show of affability. “Well, Padre Alford, how nice to see you! I do hope you had a nice rest while the rest of us engaged in some rather difficult warfare.”
Jack looked up. “Not much of a rest, I assure you, Adjutant, but I believe I was helpful in my own small way.”
“Oh, I’m sure you were the most tremendous help,” he said, “back there in the rear, enjoying the town’s pleasures...”
Such an unkind cut, Jack felt an urge to lash out and smack the fellow in the face. But he had trained himself to accept the usual barbs with a clerical dignity. “May I see Colonel Otter to report what I have been doing?”
“Of course. I’m sure Colonel Otter would be delighted to hear about all the little joys of life we’ve all been missing. Just something to lighten his day perhaps?” Adjutant Brown turned to knock on the inner door and announce Chaplain Alford.
Jack went in to find Otter as busy as ever. He looked up, nodded, and went back to his papers.
“I thought perhaps you would like to know what I have achieved, Colonel.”
“No need to worry, Chaplain. Father O’Leary upheld all the best virtues of the chaplain unit. He was with us through thick and thin. He roamed that battlefield in the dead of night, tending to the wounded; he even on one occasion brought me news of the enemy’s position. He was a marvel, so as a chaplain, you need not worry. You have been well represented.”
Jack looked at the floor. “I did what you asked, sir. I tended the wounded and buried the dead. An awful business. But I also managed to get a few other things done. The commander at Orange River asked me to take on some administrative duties. I have them written here, if I may present it to you, Sir.”
Otter nodded.
Jack went forward and laid the paper on his desk, and then saluted. “Is there anything else? Otherwise, I shall get back to my quarters.”
“No, that will be all, thank you Chaplain.”
Jack strode from the room, mind whirling: first he sends me away when I want to stay with the unit, and then shows no interest in what I’ve done. Is that the way of army life? Oh well, put it behind, Jack told himself.
He walked slowly back through the town, hardly noticing these unfamiliar buildings, and onwards about half a mile to the grassy plain where the regiment was encamped. He threaded through the tents, passing what seemed to be a party; no, a group doing their wash. But was he hearing aright? They were discussing him and Fullerton. Both had been absent for the recent battles.
“That’s the kind of job for me,” a young Corporal was saying; Jack remembered the voice. “How would you like to be a clergyman, Fred? When fighting comes along, just get the hell out! Far behind the lines.”
“No question about it, some fellas are good for nothing,” a bass voice mumbled. “They lead a church service, but where’s the good in that?”
“Now come along you two, when you talk about chaplains, you’re also talking about Father O’Leary, don’t forget that.” The speaker was younger, and fresh. “No one will ever forget him. No finer man ever walked God’s earth.”
“We’re talking about the other two layabouts, Sonny,” the Corporal said. “Off they go, back down Cape Town: bars and girls and everything that goes with it.”
“Sure,” echoed the bass, “at the sign of a dog collar, I bet them pretty whores down in Cape Town sure get excited.”
“Damn
right. Nothing stimulates a woman like somethin’ she can’t have.”
“Who says they can’t have it?” said the bass. “Who knows what them clergy got up to? That Padre Jack, quite a ladies man by his look.”
“You still going to his service Sunday?” young Sonny asked. “A chaplain who doesn’t share what you go through, then turns up to preach long after danger’s past? That’s not someone I listen to.”
“Damn right,” agreed the Corporal, “I’d rather turn Catholic, though it’d send my Poppa into an early grave. I like that O’Leary, I’d listen to him before I go to the likes of Chaplain Alford, taking off like that for Cape Town.”
Jack had heard enough. He walked on, hoping they wouldn’t see him. He’d followed orders, done his best, but in the troops’ perception, just a layabout — a laggard who’d failed in his mission. Would he ever forget that conversation? Could he redeem himself? He felt so bitter — a new and unusual feeling for Jack: being regarded as a failure. And through no fault of his own.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next day, Jack learned that mail had arrived from Canada and, luckily, an envelope for him. He shoved it in his pocket to read at lunch. It might help not having to speak to the other men.
Over his tin plate of stew, he pulled it out. How good it was here, in Bloemfontein to have a decent meal — well, decent by previous standards. Though nothing like the meal his mother would be preparing.
Dear Son,
We were pleased to get your letter from South Africa. The girls have been looking for news of your regiment. They figured out how to get their hands on some Montreal papers. They say you been having a bit of a rest. I imagine pretty soon you’ll see real warfare. Make sure you don’t get yourself hurt. We want you back in one piece.
Not much news here. Your brother-in-law Joe Hayes has big plans. He’s started on a dam in the Hollow because he’s planning on setting up a saw mill. He got a bunch of the boys to cut trees and haul them to the river bank for floating down in the spring. Your sister Maria tells me she’s been feeding eight or ten workers as well as her children. I guess that’s how he gets them cheap.
Harvey Manderson’s old grist mill had a dam, but Joe wants his lower down. He plans on flooding part of the Hollow. I told him fine by me. He hopes to saw boards for fish-boxes for Robins in Paspebiac. A new mill will come in real handy for Shigawake, too. No more hauling logs to Bonaventure.
Joe and Maria’s had a new baby boy, and named him after our family name, Alford Hayes. Going to be a muddle, I guess. The other girls are fine. Winnie teaches up at the corner school, and Lilian wants to take off somewhere else to teach next year. She’s got a wanderlust like you. Jeannie’s too young to go but she’s sure planning on it.
There’s more talk of the railway coming. Pile of excitement for sure. Terrible lot of fellas coming to build it, I guess. But I’ll believe that when I see it. They haven’t even asked me for right-of-way across our Hollow.
Mac and Clare are both taking over the farm-work. Earle is doing more and more, and your little brother Eric runs around like he owns the place. Your mother spoils him terble. Next door, the Byers is fine — good, hard-working children they got there, and John’s farm next over is doing good. I got to close now ’cause it’s milking time.
Oh, you got a letter from some fella called Clayton on the North Shore. Says he’s a full teacher now, and follows in your footsteps up there. Got a degree and all.
We look for news when you can send it.
Everyone here sends you best wishes. Come back soon.
Your father, Jim.
Jack had been so involved in the letter he’d forgotten to eat. And now the stew was cold. Oh well, he spooned it down with some relish, nonetheless. Always hungry, it seemed; the rations were hardly bounteous, even in Bloemfontein.
Now to work, visiting the hospitals. The largest buildings in town had been converted: Grey College, the OFS barracks, the Dames Institute and other suitable structures were all flying the Red Cross flag. A few of the many overseas nurses and surgeons with little red and white arm badges were attending the patients. These two weeks after Paardeberg, Bloemfontein had been swept by a massive and unanticipated epidemic of enteric fever. Far too many had been taken sick for the small medical staff and orderlies to cope with. Conditions in most hospital encampments were the worst Jack had seen so far. He soon found out that the incubation period for the fever came exactly at that interval between the many troops drinking from the Modder river and now.
And so Jack began his new rounds in one of the hospitals. After lunch, he got the surprise of his life. There lay old Father O’Leary. Well, at fifty, Jack didn’t think of him as old. Old Poppa was sixty-five, after all, and could pitch up onto the hay-rack with the best of them, walk two miles back in the woods to cut trees, then walk out and milk three cows and get firewood ready at the end of it, all in a day’s work. Tall, lean, with a big walrus moustache, Old Poppa was fit as a fiddle. But the men persisted in saying “old” Father O’Leary.
He wanted to go and see him, but would the little priest be angry like the others? After all, Jack had left the brunt of the ministering to him. Jack paused. He just didn’t feel like another confrontation. But... this was a brother of the cloth, and obviously sick.
When he came up, O’Leary broke into a weak grin. “I been struck by the enteric, Lord help me.”
“What a piece of work!” Jack sat down. “What are they doing for you, Peter?”
“At least they’re not starving me. Doses of castor oil, and that blessed sulphate of magnesia. They say I’ll make it through, but I’ve seen some of the boys, and I know what I’m in for. Not that pleasant.”
“Not pleasant at all, no, but with the help of the Lord, you’ll survive.” Well, Jack thought, at least he has his share of charity. “And I’ll certainly attend your bedside every day, and stand in for any of these useless orderlies.”
O’Leary smiled weakly, then clutched his stomach as another convulsion shook him.
To take his mind off the present circumstances, Jack continued, “I hear you were a big hero at Paardeberg. The boys are full of your exploits. We’re all proud of you.”
“Thank you, Jack. Too bad, you weren’t up there with us. You should have been, but you had to obey your orders. I heard about that.”
He dropped his eyes. “You heard? The men seem to think I’m a coward.” He paused. “I was afraid you would, too.”
“Don’t say that Jack. You did your duty. I know that.”
Jack sighed. “Nothing like seeing your chaplain out there on the battlefield beside you, dodging bullets. I guess I’ve let them down.” Jack could not suppress the pain that flooded through him at the thought.
“Jack, you haven’t. You did your duty, never you mind. The Lord is with us both.”
Jack felt good at the unexpected warmth — a companion in arms who had some understanding of what he had been going through. So far the two of them had not had many substantial conversations: usually matters of administration — when to hold services, when to share hospital duties, whom to visit separately and that sort of thing. But now Jack felt another kind of closeness. His friend was in pain and he would do all he could to help. “Would you like me to write a letter for you, Father? To your family, perhaps?”
O’Leary shook his head. “My parents are long gone, Jack. I’ve got two brothers out there in Ireland, but you know, once you’re in the Lord’s service, you can’t take a wife. I’ve had to learn to accept just serving the Lord alone, with no one beside me.”
Must be hard, thought Jack, to do that all your life. “Well I’ve got a pretty big family back on the Gaspe. Yesterday I got a letter. So good to hear from them all.” Jack sat silently, remembering his family safe and sound back there, and here he was, subject to the slings and arrows of an outrageous attitude from the lads, as some famous writer once said.
“You never told me much about them, Padre,” O’Leary said. “Who’ve y
ou got back there?”
Jack told Peter about his relatives, about his homestead, and about the Hollow, and his growing up. Odd they’d never exchanged this kind of information before.
“And what about a pretty little fiancée, Jack? Surely you’ve got someone waiting for you back home?”
Jack shook his head. He paused. Should he mention the sublime Lorna? He was about to put the thought out of his mind and then the words just started to take shape. He told the good Father all about her. And how he’d missed his one chance. Finally, how he had managed to get over it.
“Well, there’ll be another one, I’m sure,” said O’Leary. “But thank you, Jacko, for telling me. Takes my mind off my own troubles.”
“Now look here, Peter,” Jack said, “you know very well that they’ll cure your enteric. Not a lot of fellows are dying of it, although they come pretty close.” He cracked a smile.
“Well, Jacko, if it’s His will I’m supposed to go meet Him, so be it. But like you, I think he has more work for me here.”
“I pray so,” said Jack. “Now I’m feeling guilty — so enjoyable sitting here with you, but a lot of other lads need my services. Maybe the first thing I’ll do is see some of your flock. How would that sit?”
Jack saw the old man’s eyes glisten. “Mighty fine, just mighty fine, Jacko.” He proceeded to tell Jack who he’d been seeing before coming down with this wretched disease, and told him where they were. Jack went off to do this new duty for Peter and his God.
* * *
It wasn’t all that easy. Some Roman Catholic soldiers greeted him with suspicion, being fond of Peter and all he had accomplished under that blizzard of bullets, which of course Jack, to them, had avoided, and others perhaps warned by their leaders back home to have no truck with devils from the breakaway Church of England. In any case, the rest of the afternoon turned out to be less pleasant than he’d hoped. Most of the Catholics did their best to be polite, but with such a visible effort Jack felt it better to leave them alone. One or two did welcome him, and another even asked for confession and absolution. Jack did not know the correct words to use, but he sat and cupped his ear by the dying soldier’s mouth and heard of some minor sin troubling the lad, a sin Jack felt better left unsaid, for it did no damage to his soul. And he told him so.