by John Wilcox
George Lamb
Simon passed the letter back to Jenkins, who shook his head and handed it back. ‘I know what’s in it,’ he said. Wordlessly Simon tore the page and envelope into small pieces, divided them into four little piles and buried them in different parts of the floor of the hut, stamping down the soil with his heel. Then he sat again, opposite Jenkins.
‘Right, 352. Tell me how you got here - but first, did the Colonel give any other message?’
Jenkins nodded. ‘ ’E told me to say to you congratulations and well done. It seems that we’ve got a new Commander-in-Chief in South Africa, a general called Thesiger, and all the information you supplied has been fed through to ’im and the General Staff, see.’ He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘There’s no doubt about it, bach sir. There’s goin’ to be a war. Everybody knows about it in the Cape and Natal. This new general - ’e’s soon goin’ to be called Duke Chelmsford, or somethin’, because’is da back ’ome is very sick and when ’e dies ’e’ll get ’is title, like - well, he’s preparin’ the invasion of Zululand right now. I don’t know if the information you sent back . . . by the way, where did you get all that stuff?’
Simon shook his head. ‘Never mind that now.’
‘Well, I don’t know if it made any difference, but they all think that knockin’ over the Zulus will be easy.’
Simon felt his heart sink. Had it been for nothing, his agonies over betraying Nandi, the risk they had all run? Perhaps he should have emphasised more strongly in his message the quality of the Zulu army. Perhaps . . . His line of thought was interrupted as the blade of an assegai pulled aside the hut flap and held it open and a Zulu woman crawled in, pulling behind her a crude tray. Simon was glad to see that food and drink for both of them had been provided, but Jenkins had gulped down his milk before she could turn. He gestured to her, beaming. ‘Could I just ’ave a drop more, then, missus, do you think?’ He held out his gourd. She took it expressionlessly and returned very quickly with it full.
As Jenkins took it, rewarding the woman with his face-splitting grin, Simon could not wait to get on. ‘Tell me, how did you get here?’
‘Everyone is bein’ pushed into Natal, ready for the invasion, see. Our battalion, the 2nd, complete with old Covington - beggin’ your pardon, sir - sailed out with me from the Cape to Durban, and I ’ear that our old lot, the 1st Battalion, has already been brought up from Kingbillystown to this Rorke’s Drift place.’
Simon wiped the last of the mealies from the bowl with his bread. ‘So, what about you?’
For the first time, Jenkins looked discomforted. ‘Well, Colonel Lamb sent me back to you at Mr Dunn’s place. Now, sir . . .’ The Welshman looked as plaintive as his worldly-wise features would allow. ‘You know that I’m just about the best officer’s servant in the entire army?’
Solemnly, Simon nodded.
‘You will also know that I am an extremely splendid’orseman, a cognissuer of wine, look you, an’ not a bad fighter?’
‘For goodness’ sake, get on with it.’
‘Very good, sir. But what you don’t know is that I couldn’t find me way from A to B if they was next door to each other. You remember that I was in Birmingham when old Coley recruited me? Well, I didn’t mean to be there at all. I thought I was in Shrewsbury. As well as lookin’ for work, I was lookin’ for me brother-in-law, see. No wonder I couldn’t find ’im.’
He fumbled in his pocket. ‘Look, they gave me this compass thing in Durban. I was all right, see, ridin’ from there to the Tugela at the Lower Drift thing where we crossed before, because there’s more or less a proper road on the Natal side of the river. But once across in Zululand, I just got lost when the track ran out. They gave me a course to follow once I’d crossed.’ His brow furrowed. ‘I think it was north-north-west. Or was it north-north-east? I’m dashed if I know. They told me to keep the sun on my left shoulder. But do you know, sir, the bloody thing keeps buggerin’ about all over the sky.’ He sighed. ‘In the end, look you, I didn’t know my north-north-west from my elbow, so to speak. I’d been wanderin’ around for about six days when this party of black lads surprised me.’
‘You are lucky they didn’t kill you out of hand. Did they treat you badly?’
‘They wasn’t exactly friendly at first, an’ one lad would ’ave stuck me for nothing, there’s certain. But I tried your trick of this “Jantoni” thing. I was tryin’ to get ’em to take me to Mr Dunn’s place, see. But this is where they brought me. An’ bless me, ’ere you were. Now,’ he leaned forward and slapped Simon’s boot, ‘I don’t mind saying, bach sir, that I’m glad to see you. But not like this. What ’appened?’
Simon quickly related the events of the last weeks and the two men fell silent. The weather had turned and now the day was humid and hot. Jenkins looked around the unprepossessing interior. ‘Why ’ave they stuck us together, d’you think?’
‘I suppose it saves effort and manpower to have us under one guard.’
Jenkins wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t fancy stayin’ ’ere long. What are the odds on breakin’ out, then?’
‘Pretty short on getting out of the hut, I would say, but long on getting far without horses.’ Simon gestured towards the back of the hut. ‘It would be relatively easy to cut our way out over there at night, when the guard’s asleep, but then the difficult bit starts. We should have to pick our way through the huts, get out of the stockade, then march across the plain about a hundred miles to the Buffalo - all without being spotted. How would a master batman, wine connoisseur and elite warrior handle all that, then?’
Jenkins wrinkled his nose. ‘Not well at all. But can’t Mr Dunn get us out of ’ere?’
‘I’ve been hoping for nothing else for weeks. God knows where he is. I don’t believe he would abandon us, but perhaps he has. Look, I think we must just get out of here and take our chances. At least we have two compasses now, and I can’t stand being in this place any longer. We can cut a hole at the back there, tear this shawl into two, wrap it around us, carry our boots underneath it and just try and walk out when the place is asleep.’
Simon studied the back of his hands and his forearms, which had now lost their tan and looked white and fragile, like those of a scholar. ‘We’re out of condition for a hard march, we’ve no hard tack to take with us and no weapons to kill game or defend ourselves on the way. So we can’t break out right away. We must save a little of our bread and milk each day to provision us for a while, at least.’
Jenkins sniffed. ‘Won’t keep long in this climate, bach.’
‘I know. We’ll give it three days and then go.’
The next day, however, John Dunn arrived. He pulled back the hut flap without ceremony and crawled through, his slouch hat in his hand and his brow covered in perspiration.
‘My God, Mr Dunn, we’re glad to see you,’ said Simon with feeling.
Dunn regarded them without expression. ‘No doubt,’ he said dryly. ‘You’ve got yourselves into a steaming pot of trouble this time, right enough.’ He lowered himself to the ground. ‘And I suppose you’re looking to me to get you out of it?’
Simon decided that it would be a mistake to be supplicatory. ‘We are, and you must, Mr Dunn. I have spoken to the King and it is important that we reach the British lines to give them the information that I have gathered.’
Dunn smiled wearily, his eyelids drooping and his body betraying tiredness and resignation. ‘Mr Fonthill,’ he said, ‘if I wasn’t so damned tired and indignant with you British I would find your air of self-importance just a touch amusing.’
Simon stirred uncomfortably but it was Jenkins who spoke. ‘Now, now, Mr Dunn. That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it? Look you, Mr Fonthill ’as been stuck ’ere for weeks, existin’ on milk and mush and without even the sniff of a gourd o’ beer. We’ve got work to do and we’ve got to get out of ’ere to do it.’
‘And if you won’t help us,’ added Simon, ‘then we must break out ourselves.’
Dunn regarded them both impa
ssively. ‘So far, I’ve chosen not to help you,’ he said, ‘although there was precious little I could have done anyway.’
Simon’s jaw dropped. ‘Do you mean that you knew I was here all this time?’
Dunn raised a placatory hand. ‘Now, don’t get excited. The King wouldn’t let me see you because he wanted you to stew for a while.’ For the first time a wry smile spread across his face. ‘To be honest, he just didn’t know what to do with you - and neither did I. You got into this mess by riding to the King, shooting up some of his warriors on the way, and then raising his expectations before giving him a lecture on how bloody marvellous your army was. Well, things have developed quite a bit while you’ve been here.’
‘Please tell us.’
‘Right. You remember those trumped-up border incidents?’
Simon nodded.
‘I got nowhere in Natal. It was clear to me that the Cape Governor, Frere, was determined to use them as an excuse to invade.’ Dunn passed a hand across his mouth and jaw and looked suddenly older. ‘Well, he has. I’ve just got back from a big meeting on the Lower Drift of the Tugela between Shepstone, representing Frere, and the King’s senior inDunas.’ He sighed. ‘The results of the Boundary Commission are out and they are completely favourable to the Zulus, so we all attended expecting that the judgement would be handed down and that all would be sweetness and light again. But not on your life.’
Simon realised that Dunn was speaking as though drawing from a deep well of personal sadness. Here was a man who was facing the destruction of everything he had built: his farm, his possessions, his lifestyle. His world was collapsing, not on the whim of the savage neighbour with whom he had lived so long, but as a casualty of the latest twist in Britain’s long saga of empire-building. Simon leaned across and put a hand on the big man’s riding boot.
‘I am so sorry, Mr Dunn. Please tell us what has happened.’
Dunn shrugged. ‘Shepstone announced the results of the Boundary Commission all right. But he made much more of the Sihayo affair. He is demanding the impossible. He wants Sihayo’s son and his three brothers delivered for trial in Natal and he’s levied a fine of five hundred cattle for that business and a further one hundred head for the so-called offences committed on those two surveyors. All of this within twenty days. But there’s more. Much more.’
Dunn looked at Simon and Jenkins in turn with his sad eyes. ‘Frere is demanding the virtual dismantling of Cetswayo’s authority in Zululand.’ He slapped one thick finger after another into the palm of his hand. ‘He is ordering the disbandment of the whole Zulu army, with the men returned to their homes; every Zulu is to be free to marry on reaching maturity; all missionaries banished by the King - and what a troublemaking lot they were - are to be allowed to return and preach without asking permission of anyone; a British resident is to be established in Zululand to watch over the King . . . and so it goes on. There is plenty more. He is demanding the complete humiliation of the King - and he wants agreement to all of this within thirty days. If he doesn’t get it, he will invade.’
A silence fell on the hut. Simon cleared his throat. ‘How much time is left?’
Dunn gave a mirthless smile. ‘This was all ten days ago,’ he said. ‘Even if the King bent the knee completely, he couldn’t collect the cattle fine alone within the time limit. There is nothing to stop the invasion. Your redcoats are massing at three points to invade: in the north, in the south across the Tugela’s Lower Drift, and in the centre across the Buffalo at Rorke’s Drift. Lord Chelmsford himself will lead this central column and they’ll probably all head for Ulundi.’ Dunn leaned across to his listeners. ‘So you will see that I haven’t had much time to worry about you two.’
‘What is the King going to do?’ asked Jenkins.
‘Do? What can he do? He still can’t believe that the British would do this to him and he can’t understand why they should. He is offering to pay the fines - although he needs more time to gather the cattle because the rivers are in flood - but he cannot give in to the other demands. That would mean the end of his reign. So he’s playing for time.’
‘Will he get it?’ asked Simon.
Dunn pulled a lugubrious face. ‘Wouldn’t think so. Frere is determined to annex Zululand and that’s the end of it.’
The sadness came back into Dunn’s eyes. ‘I must help the King as long as I can, but when the invasion starts, I’ll just have to round up as many of my cattle as I can and then ride for the border with my family.’ The Natalian looked round the hut. ‘But that’s not the point. You are the problem now.’
Jenkins nodded his head earnestly. ‘Kind of you it is to think of us now, in all this bother.’
Simon got to his feet. ‘Will the King have us killed?’
Dunn stretched and rose. ‘No, I don’t think so. But he is still undecided about you.’ The Natalian smiled ruefully. ‘He’s no fool, of course, and he has a pretty fair idea that I’ve got to clear out because he knows I won’t fight against my own kind, although I haven’t said as much. That means that you could be useful to him in doing my old job of maybe interceding with the soldiers or writing letters for him.’ He shot a sharp glance at Simon. ‘I hope your Zulu has improved.’
Simon ignored the shaft. ‘No. We can’t do that. We’ve got to get out.’
‘All right, but it’s a hell of a risk, with the country literally up in arms. But yes, I will help you.’
Simon and Jenkins went to express their thanks, but Dunn held up a hand. ‘Look, you will have to be patient,’ he said. ‘I can’t do much until I get home and organise my affairs and that could take up to a week. Then I will send someone, probably James, to get you out of here. It will have to be at night, so sleep lightly. Here . . .’ He reached into a game pocket in his jacket and pulled out a Navy Colt revolver. ‘Keep this hidden. Don’t use it unless you really have to, but it could prove useful.’ Then, before they could argue or agree, he was gone.
Chapter 12
On New Year’s Day 1879, Alice Griffith rode into Helpmakaar. The tiny settlement stood at the intersection of the main north road in Natal, leading from Pietermaritzburg and Durban in the south, and, to the east, the track that led down to Rorke’s Drift and the border crossing of the Buffalo to Zululand, twelve miles away. Lord Chelmsford had chosen Helpmakaar to be the assembly point and main supply depot for his central column, and this had transformed the sleepy hamlet, with its three houses, into a bustling military camp of store sheds, cattle and horse pens and temporary cantonments of bell tents covering acres of scrubland.
Alice had camped that night some twelve miles south of the settlement and it was mid-morning as she entered the camp. Now she looked about her with fascination as she let the reins fall on to the horse’s neck and allowed the beast to pick its way along the dusty track, long worn into corrugations by hundreds of wagon wheels. The place was a strange mixture of seeming indolence and great activity. Along the camp lines Europeans in a bewildering variety of dress - some in serge trousers held up by braces showing over green cotton vests, with cap comforters askew on their heads; others in long john drawers and little else - sat smoking, cleaning equipment or simply lounging. Soldiers on duty, in white helmets and red jackets or blue drill uniforms, bustled about their business. Civilian wranglers, rangy men with full beards and slouch hats, led strings of horses, and wagoners unloaded boxes of stores into tin-roofed shacks under the eyes of commissariat staff. Outnumbering the white men, however, were hundreds of natives, who milled between the tent lines, the paddocks and the huts like worker ants. Alice’s inexperienced eye could not distinguish between them but she noted that many who carried spears, and some of them even rifles, wore a red rag round their heads. These, she presumed, must be some of the Natal Native Levies, whom Colonel Anthony Durnford, an experienced native fighter, had raised to supplement the white troops.
As Alice gazed about her, fascinated by the scene, so she, in turn, attracted many eyes. With her Kaffir servant, who now rod
e behind her leading a lightly laden packhorse, she had journeyed from Durban, stopping once at Pietermaritzburg but otherwise camping in her small tent at the roadside. Despite the days on the trail, however, Alice betrayed no signs of disarray. She wore a fresh cream cotton shirt, open at the throat and tucked into whipcord jodhpurs. Her riding boots, while no longer highly polished, gleamed dully under the dust and she sat loosely erect, astride the horse like a man. Her white pith helmet only partly concealed her long fair hair, that had been gathered together at the back with a scarf the colour of English spring grass. As she wound her way between the horse strings and bullock carts towards the centre of the camp, Alice cut a bizarre and even disturbing figure in that male environment.
Nor was she unaware of it. On landing in South Africa some three months ago, Alice had quickly realised that she was destined to turn heads. Her appearance in itself, with her cool white skin and confident bearing, was enough to set her apart from the mousy memsahibs and leather-cheeked locals of the Cape. But her role as the Morning Post’s accredited correspondent usually added, in sequence, disbelief, consternation and then cynical amusement to the studied courtesy with which she was first greeted by the officials and senior army officers with whom she had to mix professionally. Alice had long since decided that she would not let these reactions either daunt her or change her personality in any way. Accordingly, she neither dressed down nor up to go about her business and she displayed an air of careful politeness to all she met.
As she now led her modest cavalcade down the main street of Helpmakaar, then, she smiled and nodded a cheerful ‘good morning’ to whoever had the courage to hold her eye. A young captain of infantry, wearing a dark blue patrol jacket and the bright brass numerals of the 24th on his jaunty cap, caught it longer than most and saluted gallantly. She approved of him and nodded.
‘Can I be of assistance, ma’am?’ he enquired, reining in his horse.
‘Good morning, Captain. Yes you can. I am looking for somewhere to pitch my tent. I must enquire of the camp commandant or senior officer. Where will I find him, pray?’