Just before dark, their high spirits somewhat doused now by many hours in the saddle, they were told to encamp near a drift. They were to spend their first night under canvas.
Off-saddling was always a tiresome business, unloading packs and unharnessing horses, especially when accompanied by Melody’s grumblings. Probyn attempted to steer his mind elsewhere, recalling the Zulu dance and more pertinently the women. Upon setting foot upon this continent he had been instilled by a sense of wonderment that had never left him. He was incessantly surprised, each venture into new territory bringing the announcement that this was the true Africa, yet each day he made fresh discovery as to what this meant and in consequence it was impossible to tell which was the real Africa. Tonight, though, as darkness came – if one could call it darkness, thought Probyn, for to him darkness was the colour of the pit, not this wondrous coverlet of indigo with its shimmering stars – tonight was when the true wildness of the country really hit him. The daytime quietude of the veld had undergone a startling change, a chorus of whoops and howls and roars from beasts unseen, the very air pulsating with the chirrup of crickets and the soft boom of frogs from the river.
Huddled in the tent against the bitter cold, its flap left open until its occupants were ready to sleep, Probyn scratched at mosquito bites, gazing in awe at the sky that seemed to be a living creature, shivering and twinkling with stars, and below it the deep violet outline of the escarpment. From a neighbouring tent came Bumby’s breath of wonderment, ‘Have you ever seen anything as lovely? Just like velvet covered in sequences.’
Exchanging a chuckle with his tent-mates, Probyn turned back to gaze out for a while longer, his breath coming as a cloud on the air as the temperature fell. It was hard to shut out this view but eventually he did so, pulling down the flap and burrowing under his blankets, and apart from an occasional disturbance by the pig-like snuffling of an aardvark, he enjoyed a good night’s sleep.
* * *
He awoke before the bugler to the melodic twittering of birds and the harsh kek-kek of a monkey, but for which the veld was once more imbued with its usual serenity. Being appointed tent orderly, he dared not doze and pushed aside his blanket. Stepping between his mates he clambered from his tent, standing for a moment, squinting and beating his arms about himself against the cool air. There was a heavy dew on the grass, the flowers still tightly refusing to meet the day. The far bank was lined with antelope which, startled by the human form, veered away, leaving only wading ibis and red-legged storks to witness his ablutions.
Cupping his hands, Probyn splashed the tingling cold water over his face, shaking his head at the shock of it and smoothing back his hair. The sandy banks were peppered with holes, in and out of which darted bee-eaters, tiny mosaics of blue, green, turquoise, russet and yellow. He stood and watched for a while, then went back to where breakfast was being prepared.
When Gideon wished him good morning, he decided to try out his smattering of Zulu. ‘Sawubona, Baba.’
There was a stunned hiatus, followed by gales of laughter from the other natives who were almost convulsed as they pointed derogatory fingers at their small companion, sharing the joke in their own language. ‘He must be suffering from devils in the head!’
Aware that he had made some faux pas, Probyn looked for explanation to Gideon who had adopted a bad-tempered scowl. With the rest of his comrades up now and looking to see what the laughter was about he demanded an explanation.
Gideon rushed off in a huff and it was left to one of the other natives to explain. ‘Oh I am truly sorry for laughing, master, but it is just that Gideon deserves no such respect. You have just addressed him as Father!’ Encouraged by their white overlords, the congregation broke into renewed laughter. Probyn, feeling foolish, tried to dismiss the matter and grabbed a cauldron to receive coffee which along with the bread ration he hurried to his tent-mates’ mess tins, deciding that from now he would confine his attempts at linguistics to his letters home.
With the sun out and flowers beginning to unfurl, the small column resaddled and struck out for Eshowe. Hating being made a fool of, Probyn said little on the journey back to the fort, yet nothing could deter the teasing of his fellows, which was to continue intermittently all the way. Gideon too was bearing the brunt of Probyn’s error, for occasionally Probyn would hear a native refer to the boy as Baba, when all would burst out laughing, and Gideon would glare in defiance.
‘I’m sorry, son,’ he said later that day when they stopped to rest the horses and Gideon handed him some coffee, ‘I wasn’t trying to make a fool of you I just got the wrong word.’
For a moment Gideon beheld the speaker as if he were mad. A white man issuing apology! Then he shook his head and said with dignity, ‘That is quite all right, boss. It is they who are idiots to laugh at such things.’ He indicated his fellow bearers.
‘Yes, some people don’t know when to stop do they?’ agreed Probyn looking at his own friends.
Sharing a rare moment of kinship, Gideon bared his white teeth, then reverting to his role, rushed off to answer another demand.
* * *
The teasing was to continue even after they arrived back at the fort and indeed for days afterwards, every time Gideon entered the room someone, usually Havron, would shout, ‘Here’s your dad, Pa!’ whence the jokes would fly thick and fast, until finally Mick made a joke at Havron’s expense singling him out for his comrades’ mockery for a change.
But then in the next instant it ceased to matter, for Sergeant Faulkner brought the news that Coombes had gone down with malaria and once again Kilmaster was required to stand in as the captain’s valet, this time permanently. Wasting no time in removing himself from his tormentors, Probyn issued a smiling insult as he transferred his kit to more desirable quarters.
There was somewhat more to do this time. Apart from rousing the captain in the morning, setting his table for breakfast with real linen napkins and silver cutlery, boiled eggs and buttered toast, and laying out his uniform, there was also the horse to attend to. But still, if this job kept him in the captain’s sights it was time well spent. Surely, by now he must qualify for promotion? Undoubtedly the two got on well. By paying close attention Probyn had acquired a talent for anticipating just what the captain needed at any given moment, thus drawing forth praise.
‘You really are a capital fellow, Private Kilmaster!’ would come his exclamation upon being handed the relevant article even before having asked for it, and Probyn would respond with the nonchalant answer that he was glad to be of use, secretly bursting with pride over the compliment from such a gentleman.
And in return for Kilmaster’s loyal service, the captain taught him many things, different things to those he had learned in the ranks but no less valuable. Taught him more than his own father even, so that Probyn came to look upon him as more than just an officer, became truly fond of him. Others in the platoon might refer to Captain Fitzroy as a real toff, but Probyn felt a much closer affinity, and viewed it as an act of love to make his superior’s life as comfortable as possible during their long treks into the wilderness.
As the rains became less frequent and the water levels began to fall, so their treks were to extend further and further afield, the company splitting in half and each taking their separate course, communicating by heliograph. On such protracted journeys, it became necessary to take supplies, drawn by oxen, but that was not to say that the troops were well fed for, if they failed to spot any game as often happened, they were required to exist for days on bully beef and biscuits.
‘And ye still insist this is fun?’ Mick would issue sardonically on such occasions.
Day after day, oblivious of time but for the misty golden dawn and the violet sunset, they travelled through wild and lonely country, pushed through wide rivers and open veld spiked with cactus, climbed lush hills and strove for the mountains beyond, to what end they did not know, conscious only of the order to follow.
Today, clinging to his superior’
s flank should there be any service to fulfil, Probyn wondered when they would again glimpse humanity. By his calculations they must have trekked a hundred miles or more in the last ten days without meeting a soul, their only encounters being with herds of gnu and zebra which scattered before their rifles with a thunderous zig-zag of plump striped buttocks and a panicked braying. His amazement at these encounters and at the vastness of this continent was invariably renewed, never more so than when looking at a map, for what seemed like gargantuan travels were in truth confined to just a tiny portion of the region. Reports had filtered in about trouble in the north, the telegraph wire between Salisbury and Cape Town had been cut. Both Matabele and Shona could be responsible either to take wire for ornaments or simply to cause mischief. Either way, such news failed to assume much import for Probyn who at last understood that it was too far away for him to become involved, besides which he was travelling westwards towards Basutoland. He wondered vaguely if he would ever get to see any action.
Previously it had been quite hot but in this high country the temperature could be very erratic and now, as they came over the brow of a hill, the wind came as a sabre-slash. It would be spring at home. In reply to the letter he had sent his father he had recently learned that the coalmasters were demanding a twenty-five per cent reduction in wages due to the slump in prices. Characteristically, they had tried to undermine the solidarity of the Federation where it was weakest in the smaller coalfields of the Midlands but this had not worked and the consequent refusal had led to a lock-out. The Midland Federation had then been forced to ask their stronger colleagues for assistance for their locked-out members. This had resulted in a national strike. For once, wrote his father, public sympathy appeared to be high, but for how long the miners could enjoy this with coal prices rocketing he did not know. However, it was a matter of principle that the Federation must defend its members’ right to a living wage. Though as you well know principle doesn’t put food on the table, Monty had written, but, he hastened to add, Probe must not take this as a personal request for money, because even if they were to concede a reduction they would still be much better off than they’d been five years ago. Notwithstanding his father’s last comment, Probyn had sent some money anyway. After the initial excitement of having cash at his personal disposal he had become an avid saver and, during the two and a quarter years he had been in the army his abstemious habits and the extra one and sixpence a week plus tips he earned as a servant, had accrued an enormous amount of money – over sixteen pounds – and this was even after deducting the amount he had sent his father. Where could one spend it in this wilderness?
Nervous of falling off, he held tightly to the pommel as his bay horse now descended the steep, rocky incline.
‘Loosen your reins and let the horse make his own way down.’ The captain must have noticed his white knuckles. ‘Trust him, he won’t fail you.’
Trying hard to do as instructed, Probyn ached from tensing against such precipitous slopes and his spirits soared when, in the late afternoon, a native village came into view, signalling an encounter with other human life.
My, but they were a dour lot! No one came to pay respects as at the kraal of the Zulu, merely watched the soldiers with little interest as the captain approached, though when asked for rations they provided it, at their own pace.
Things became a little more cordial after Captain Fitzroy had talked to the induna and it was decided to camp here for the night before turning for home in the morning. Gideon was sent to ask the headman for some dung to light a fire, for there was no wood to be had on this treeless stretch of veld. It was decided, also, to recruit more native bearers, one having died along the way and another having absconded.
Gideon returned with three volunteers, two of them tiny creatures no more than eight years old.
‘And what am I supposed to do with those?’ demanded the captain, arms akimbo.
‘The induna says they are good workers, sir.’ Gideon was keen to have someone younger than himself to boss around. ‘And the boys have agreed to come.’
‘Very well, but they can be your responsibility,’ the captain told him, which was just what Gideon wanted to hear.
He wasted no time in showing his authority. ‘Light a fire and be quick about it!’
Proving their worth, the little boys soon had the dung ignited, though the smoke it produced was most offensive.
They were also involved in the setting up of the field kitchen, plus a good many chores besides, throughout which Gideon drove them mercilessly. During the rest of the evening his despotic rule was to provide amusement for the soldiers, until Probyn had to intervene and instruct Gideon not to overstep his role.
The two little boys were allowed to sit down then, though they chose to hunker apart from the rest, speaking together in their own language.
‘Tell them to come by the fire,’ Probyn instructed Gideon.
Shaking his head in bewilderment, Gideon nevertheless went to pass on the message.
But the boys declined. ‘We prefer to remain here. How can you bear to sit near the white man when he smells like rotting flesh?’ They made faces at each other and giggled, white teeth intruding upon the night.
‘Wretched hyenas! How dare you insult the Queen’s uniform?’ Gideon flew into a rage, dealing each a series of kicks until Probyn called a halt.
‘I’ve told you! Leave them lads alone.’
‘But sir, you do not understand, they are being most insulting!’ Gideon kicked the nearest boy again.
‘You deserve insulting,’ rallied Probyn crossly. ‘Now leave them alone and go to bed!’
* * *
The following morning Probyn rose to more trouble from Gideon, though this time it was the latter who was the victim. Bringing water to the captain’s tent, he doubled over in obvious agony. ‘Those wicked boys have put a spell on me, sir! They have put a snake in my belly whilst I slept!’ And he cried out in pain before dashing off.
The captain seemed unconcerned, sighing to his valet, ‘Go see what ails him, Kilmaster.’
Upon finding Gideon, Probyn reeled backwards at the awful stench of diarrhoea. It was only as he caught sight of Havron laughing that he sensed it was not the native boys who had committed foul play, and went to confront the real culprit.
‘You’ve slipped summat in his food haven’t you?’
‘I was only having a laugh,’ complained Havron. ‘Stop being such an old woman.’
Probyn was annoyed. ‘Don’t you realize, you twerp, that because of your stupidity, we’re not going to get any work out of Gideon for the next few days?’
‘It were only senna pods,’ objected Havron. ‘You’d think it were strychnine the way you’re carrying on.’
‘What’s this … adulterating somebody’s food?’ Sergeant Faulkner had a habit of creeping up on one.
‘It’s nowt, Sarnt.’ Probyn tried to make light of the affair. ‘Just Gideon with bellyache.’ And with a grim look at Havron he went back to the captain’s tent.
‘I’ve got my eye on you, Private Havron,’ warned the sergeant before moving off himself.
Gripped by the painful squeezing in his abdomen, Gideon was not to be of much use for the rest of the morning, hitching a ride on the supply wagon as the column set off for home, though his incapacity failed to deter him from bullying his tiny subordinates who remained at his constant beck and call all day long.
So tyrannical was their master that by nightfall the boys had had enough. Under cover of darkness they stole away.
* * *
In the morning, when Gideon was late in making his appearance with water for the captain’s ablutions, an annoyed Probyn had to go and fetch it himself, having no time to seek out the miscreant yet for there was the officer’s breakfast to serve and his tent to dismantle. When he returned from his own rushed meal the captain had not finished and so his valet pottered around the tent, shaking dust and insects out of things and packing what articles he could. Handling
a compass, he dallied for a while, trying to make sense of its magnetic needle.
‘I don’t think you’re quite up to that yet, laddie!’ Sergeant Faulkner materialized as if from nowhere, making the other jump. ‘Put it away and leave it to the gentleman.’
‘What have we here?’ Captain Fitzroy now came upon them, mopping his lips with a napkin.
‘Private Kilmaster’s getting above his station, sir. I’ve told him he hasn’t the brain.’
Fitzroy berated the speaker cheerfully, ‘Oh, I think you malign him, Sergeant,’ and to Faulkner’s disdain he passed a few moments showing his valet how to use the compass. ‘Though I do not think that we shall trust him yet to find our way home.’
‘Very wise, sir.’ Sergeant Faulkner now voiced his reason for being at the captain’s tent. ‘I was just wondering if the boy Gideon was here, sir. He appears to have done a bunk.’
As Fitzroy shook his head in exasperation Probyn looked alert. ‘I think I’ve just seen him. Permission to go and collar him, sir!’ This granted, he dashed off, wanting to get his own back on Gideon for having to do the other’s job as well as his own.
Sneaking up on the culprit behind a wagon, he pounced. ‘Come here, you! Where’ve you been, and what’s that you’re scoffing?’
The boy jumped and pulled the article away from his mouth, looking guilty.
‘Come on, give us a look!’ Probyn snatched his hand, out of which fell the most putrid morsel of flesh and hair. With a cry of disgust he let it lay on the ground. ‘No wonder you’ve been ill eating such muck!’
Gideon protested, ‘Oh no, boss, it is medicine!’ And he explained that he had got it from the witch-doctor before leaving the village yesterday.
Kicking it away Probyn gave another sound of disgust. ‘You know the rules! If you need medicine you go to the surgeon. You wouldn’t look so guilty if you didn’t think you were in the wrong.’ But intuition warned him that this was not the true cause of Gideon’s look of guilt. It was then that he noted the absence of the two boys and demanded to know where they were. Informed of their escape, and of the full extent of the problem, he groaned and went back to tell the captain.
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