by Max Hennessy
‘They’re not at the top, Ellis,’ Dabney said quietly. ‘They’re at the bottom. There’s a dried river bed there – one of the tributaries of the Koro. I think they’re in that and burrowing like ants.’
By the time Dabney returned to the main column, General Goff had moved from Bester’s Nek and had set up his headquarters in a farm building with pink stone walls. The Kwathamba Hills ran straight across his front and, with the Boers at an altitude to see any move he made, he was aware that it was going to be difficult to cross the Koro without being involved in a fight. It looked in fact, very much as though he was going to have to fall back on the sort of frontal attack he disliked intensely and, since he would have to be in position at dawn, would have to make a night march, something which had so far not proved particularly successful.
Leaning over his map while Dabney jabbed his finger at it to show the Boer positions, he found he was watching his son more than the map. So that the Boers should not know they’d been spotted, he and his small party had stayed where they were all day, sweltering in the shadeless sun until the sudden African dusk came and allowed them to ride off quietly in the growing darkness. His eyes were alight now with enthusiasm and intelligence and he had already grasped the essentials of the General’s plan and its difficulties.
Moving his hand over the map, the General pointed at the Kwathambas. ‘Is there any way through these hills?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ Dabney said. ‘There is. There’s a gap behind and to the left of where the river bed runs close to the slopes. There’s another to the right. They’re only narrow, sir, but they’re gaps. They’ve probably chosen the position so they can use them to run as usual if things get too sticky.’
General Goff stared at his son, frowning, then he ran his hand down the line of a hill running south at right angles to the main range. ‘What about this hill here – the Graafberg?’
‘It’s about a mile long and could give excellent cover.’
‘These gaps of yours – could cavalry get through?’
‘Yes, sir. In single file.’
‘It sounds damn’ dangerous. Could they do it in the dark so that when the infantry moved forward, they’d be in position to cut off Brother Boer?’
‘I think they could, sir.’
‘What about lookouts?’
‘If they’re in trenches at the bottom, there’d surely not be many on top and they’d be looking south where the main column’s expected, not north-east where we’d be.’
‘We?’
Dabney smiled. ‘You’d need me, sir, to show the way. I’d be more reliable than a native guide, and more trustworthy than a local.’
As his son left headquarters, the General stood for a moment staring after the slim, confident figure. What Dabney had suggested was a definite possibility, but it would also be damned dangerous for his son, his favourite son. He stood for a long time staring at the map then he sighed, lit a cigarette and called Ellesmere to the map table.
‘Ned,’ he said, ‘I want you to set up a night march to the Kwathambas. We shall need to be in position before dawn. Let’s have the commanding officers in.’
The regimental officers seemed startled at the plan but they had already learned not to object and the more intelligent of them were well aware that, if they were to avoid casualties, they would need to move fast.
‘The men will travel light,’ the General announced. ‘No heavy equipment. No tents. No greatcoats. Just food, ammunition and full water bottles. The men will not smoke after dark, and equipment that’s likely to rattle or clink will be tied in handkerchiefs or scarves.’
As he paused, Ellesmere looked up expectantly.
‘One other thing. De Hoog’s no fool so I want him to believe we’re moving to his left, so as to draw off some of his men. One half-battery will remain behind, together with a company of infantry and whatever native bearers we can muster. The ox wagons will move out in a wide sweep into the veldt and join up with the rest of the column tomorrow. They’re to make as much noise as possible, shouting and letting off their rifles. They can even light fires. The half-battery will fire its guns.’
He looked at Trim. ‘This will be your responsibility, Trim. Think you can look after it?’
‘I’d rather be where the fighting is, sir.’
‘Have no fear, my lad, you might get more fighting than you expect. Your job will be to make the Boers think we’re trying to move over towards Buller and that we’ve scared ourselves to death as usual with a false alarm.’
As the plan developed, there was a growing enthusiasm among the listening officers.
Giving positions and start times, the General turned to Morby-Smith.
‘Your people will move to the left here, throwing out a half-squadron in advance to warn you of danger. You’ll take no risks, however, and will attempt to get on this slope here to enfilade the river bed and to be ready to chase the Boers back to Donotsfontein and beyond. They’re not to be given a chance to hole up in Jacobspoort. One half-squadron will operate with the North Cape Horse. Who do you suggest?’
‘Johnson’s able, sir.’
‘Johnson it shall be. Lieutenant Goff, who will be acting as guide, will lead them round the back of the Graafberg and the Kwathamba Range.’
When the tent had emptied the General looked at Ellesmere. ‘There will be no mistakes, Ned,’ he said. ‘Everything will be checked and double checked. If we’re stopped by Brother Boer, so be it, and I’ll answer with my neck, but by God we’ll not be stopped through our own carelessness.’
As the bugles sang, the forward march began. By dusk the few tents round the farm had vanished, only bare patches on the earth to indicate where they had stood and nothing but empty bully beef and biscuit tins to show where the force had halted.
The men marched off cheerfully, mouth organs whining to ‘Kiss Me, Mother; Kiss Your Darling Daughter’, with the Lancers thrown out in a wide screen to watch for Boer scouts.
As darkness fell and the shapes strung across the veldt disappeared into the night, the din Trim’s column was making could be heard quite clearly, the silence of the veldt magnifying the rumble of the wagons, the calls of the African drivers and the crack of their whips, the click of metal horseshoes against the stones sounding over the low rumble of the gun carriages. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, there was a faint rattle of musketry and the thud of a gun.
‘Trim’s been found,’ the General said grimly.
In fact, Trim was doing better than anybody had imagined possible, and two hours later a subaltern on a lathered horse came thundering up to the column demanding to know where the commanding officer was. ‘Here,’ the General snapped. ‘What the devil are you making all that noise about?’
‘Major Trim’s been attacked, sir. He thinks it might be De Hoog himself. He’s established himself on a kopje on our left and opened long-range fire on us. Major Trim laagered as many wagons as he could and had the oxen taken down to the river bed for protection but he brought them out again as soon as he could in the hope of continuing the move. Unfortunately, the mules stampeded and set off the oxen and the whole lot bolted. Major Trim feels more men’ll be needed to drive the Boers off.’
The General gnawed at his lip, adding up figures in his mind. ‘How many supplies have they with them, Ned?’ he asked.
‘Not many, sir,’ Ellesmere said.
‘Well—’ the General made up his mind quickly ‘—we shall need every man we have to tackle the Kwathambas. We’ll have to sacrifice the column, if necessary, to keep up the momentum here.’
He saw Ellesmere pull a face and rounded on him angrily. ‘And don’t pull that damned face at me, Ned! Jesus Christ in the Mountains, I don’t like it any more than you do! But we can’t put off the attack to save a few wagons and oxen.’ He turned to the subaltern on the panting horse. ‘Can you hold
?’
‘We ought to be able to, sir.’
‘Then get back to Trim and tell him there must be no mistake and no surrender. He’s to keep the Boers occupied. In any way he likes. I’ll try to relieve him by the day after tomorrow.’
As the officer swung his horse and clattered off into the darkness, the General became aware of Ellesmere’s eyes on him.
‘Are you accusing me, Ned?’ he growled.
‘On the contrary, sir.’ Ellesmere’s face was grave. ‘I was thinking a decision of that sort shows the mettle of a leader. It must have been a difficult one to take.’
The General studied him for a moment, then he stared to the north-east where Dabney and the North Cape Horse had disappeared. ‘Not half so difficult as sending my own son round by the back door, Ned,’ he growled.
Eight
The two groups of cavalry had moved forward with dusk, leaving the rest of the column behind them. Ahead they could see the Kwathamba Hills and for a long time the two groups moved side by side.
Leading as guide, Dabney rode alongside his brother who was leading a half-squadron in front of the left column. Robert looked grey-faced and unhappy, and for a long time they rode together just ahead of their men, drawn together to talk.
‘Do you enjoy soldiering, Dab?’ Robert asked suddenly.
Dabney’s head turned. ‘Of course.’
‘Why?’
‘Father, I suppose. Grandfather. Great-grandfather. All the other Goffs back to the year dot. I imagine it must be in me. I’ve never questioned it. Why?’
Robert’s head moved unhappily. ‘I’m not sure I feel the same way. I prefer desk work to this sort of thing.’
Dabney shrugged. ‘There’s always a place for a good desk man. Especially these days. The idea of a general staff’s growing. This little lot’s shown the need for men who can organise things.’
‘I don’t mean that sort of organisation. I mean as a civilian.’
Dabney’s head turned. ‘You mean, send in your papers?’
‘I’ve thought of it more than once. Elfrida’s not keen on me being a soldier, anyway – frightened and all that – and Lord Cosgro’s offered me a position in his organisation.’
‘That was merely to get a dig in at Father. It’d please old Walter no end to entice one of the Goffs away from the Regiment.’
‘No. It’s not that. He said I had the ability, and I think I have.’
Dabney looked puzzled. ‘Well, that’s a licker, if you like. A Goff in business.’
‘Surely to God you’re not going to be snobbish about it!’ Robert’s voice was harsh and irritated. ‘The idea that gentlemen don’t go into business just doesn’t hold water any longer.’
‘Oh, gosh, no, old man!’ Dabney hurried to correct a false impression. ‘I wasn’t thinking of that! Just of a Goff not being in the Regiment. They’ve been in the Regiment ever since it was founded.’
Robert gave a little snort. ‘Then it’s about time they did something else,’ he said. ‘We’re in danger of becoming bores about this bloody Regiment.’
As dusk came, Morby-Smith rode forward to join them. ‘I think this is where we part company,’ he said, and the two columns separated, two and a half squadrons of the Lancers moving westwards under Morby-Smith, the other half-squadron under Major Johnson, followed by the North Cape Horse, moving towards the Graafberg. As the horsemen bore away across the Boer front, the firing flared up in the darkness to the east. Johnson, at the head of the right column, cocked his head.
‘Trim’s certainly drawing attention to himself,’ he said.
They were hidden now by an area of monkey thorn, mimosa and low trees and scrub, and Dabney suggested they should stop to make sure of their bearings.
‘They’ll never see us, sir,’ he advised. ‘We ought to stay here now until the infantry move. They’re bound to have scouts out looking for any attempt to get round them.’
Pushing forward on the other flank, Morby-Smith had also drawn rein. Staring ahead into the darkness, he motioned Robert forward with his half-squadron.
‘Scout up in the western end of the hills,’ he ordered. ‘Make sure the way’s clear. Make no mistake, though, and be careful. I want you to find us a spot where the horses won’t be seen. Some sort of dip where the horse holders can wait, with a rise in front where we can enfilade the Boer position.’
Moving forward with his squadron, Robert shivered slightly. The night was cool and very soon the sky would begin to pale. There was a sliver of moon and, through the darkness, he could just see scanty grass and scrubby bushes. The plain was seamed with gullies and ravines which were offshoots of the dried river bed that the Boers were holding in front of the hills. He didn’t consider the job a difficult one but he was terrified of making a mistake. His fear sprang less from the thought of danger than from the knowledge that his father had been an expert scout – he’d heard the story a thousand times of how he’d led a Confederate regiment round a whole Federal cavalry division in the American Civil War and how he’d commanded the North Cape Horse in Zululand – and he was certain that his brother Dabney had the same gift. He himself would never have offered to lead a column round the back of the Boers because he would have been terrified of going wrong, and he was conscious that in the trotting files behind him was Morby-Smith’s son.
His little column moved slowly, silent except for the faint clink of harness or sword scabbards. A horse snorted and Robert turned nervously.
‘Keep that damned horse quiet,’ he snarled in a harsh whisper.
‘Sir—’ it was young Morby-Smith who spoke ‘—aren’t we a little too far forward?’ He jerked a hand. ‘I think the rise we’re supposed to occupy is over on our left.’
Worried about making a mistake, Robert was resentful of the interruption. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ he snapped.
Morby-Smith didn’t reply and Robert pushed on, worried. Ahead, there seemed to be another slight rise and he was convinced that this, not the one Morby-Smith had pointed out, was their goal. He glanced over his shoulder to his right. There was no sign or sound of the infantry or guns getting into position, and he realised nervously that he was on his own. Waging war in darkness, he decided, not knowing where the enemy was, was a nerve-racking business. Then he saw a chink of light on his right and halted the squadron.
‘That must be the infantry getting into position,’ he said.
Morby-Smith shook his head. ‘Sir, I feel sure we’re ahead of the infantry. It couldn’t be the Boer position, could it?’
‘We can’t have come that far, for God’s sake!’
The little column halted and the men were told to dismount. Nerves on edge, Robert was dying for a cigarette.
‘The men may smoke if they wish,’ he said.
‘Sir—’ Morby-Smith ventured to protest ‘—I thought—’
‘We’re all right here.’ Robert turned sharply. ‘They won’t be watching this place, and anyway the order applied to the infantry in front of the Boer trenches.’
A few cigarettes and pipes were lit and there was a quiet murmur as the men smoked, their muttering interspersed with the soft snorting of horses and the scrape and clink as they pawed at the stony ground.
‘Soon be daylight.’ Robert glanced at the sky. ‘Have someone look out for the infantry. When they move, so do we. Any sign of the rest of the regiment?’
Morby-Smith, who was still mounted, stared to the east. ‘No, sir. I still suspect we’re perhaps a little too far—’
‘For God’s sake, Morby-Smith!’
‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’
But as the sky paled and the first flicker of light appeared, bringing with it the reddish-brown colour of the grass and bushes, what Morby-Smith had tried to tell Robert proved to be correct. The light they had seen was in the B
oer position and they could see the line of scrub and trees where the infantry were waiting almost half a mile in their rear, with no sign of the rest of the regiment.
‘Dammit, where are they?’ Robert snapped, aware as he spoke that he was trying to justify his mistake by suggesting everybody else was wrong.
Lifting his glasses, he tried to study the plain. But there was no sign of infantry or guns, or of the North Cape Horse at the south end of the Graafberg. He was just about to lower the field glasses when a single shot came, the echoes clattering among the slopes and krantzes of the hills. Morby-Smith cried out, and, turning, Robert saw him slipping from his saddle, blood pouring from his throat. He tried to grab him as he fell but he was too late and the boy crashed to the ground. Immediately, the squadron was thrown into confusion as the men watched the sergeants, and the sergeants turned to Robert for orders.
The single shot was followed by others and as Robert gave instructions to lift Morby-Smith to the saddle, it changed to a regular fusillade. One of the men trying to hoist the wounded boy clutched his knee as his leg buckled under him, and another staggered back with a grunt, sat down, then flopped over on his back like a rag doll. Morby-Smith slid off the saddle and fell on his head on top of him.
‘Mount!’ Robert yelled. ‘Mount, for God’s sake! We’ve been ambushed!’
He knew he had not been ambushed, because the Boers were still in their trenches several hundred yards away, but had failed to heed advice and led his men too far forward. Behind him, along the face of the slope they occupied, he could see their retreat would be under fire every bit of the way. In his panic-stricken mind, the only thing to do seemed to be to destroy the Boers who were killing his men.
‘Mount!’ he yelled. ‘Draw swords! Squadron into line.’
From a vantage position among the trees, the General heard the first firing.
‘What in God’s name is happening?’ he snapped. ‘The infantry aren’t in position yet.’
‘Sir!’ Ellesmere swung round, his binoculars in his hands. ‘The Lancers are moving forward.’