Family of the Empire

by Sheelagh Kelly

Greatrix nipped a tick from his arm, and pronounced it a good idea, suggesting that they ask the local natives for material.

  But the Bantus they approached did not understand their gestures. Returning with Simon who translated their request, they were soon able to trade, a few rounds of ammunition for a piece of kidskin. Cut into four and bound with strips of hide around Boney’s fetlocks, the soft leather provided splendid boots and also much amusement for the rest of the troops.

  Probyn laughed and dealt the dog an affectionate tap as Boney patrolled up and down before them as if showing off his footwear. ‘We should make him a little hat and coat to go with them.’

  Greatrix delivered a rare expletive. ‘You’re a sentimental old bugger!’

  ‘You can talk!’ laughed his friend.

  ‘Nay, I’m hard as nails, me,’ replied Greatrix. ‘I’m not allowing him to wear them all the time, tha knows, only for best.’

  Still, despite the merriment, Boney remained too lame to walk far and was to travel more often than not in the saddle, his owner keen to get him veterinary care as soon as possible.

  * * *

  Three weeks and two hundred and fifty miles on from their starting point, they reached Palapye at dusk. The land here was little more than scrub and the sky above them not so spectacular tonight, in muted tones of pale-gold and shell-pink, but they were too tired to care. For Greatrix the priority, next to sleep, was to get help for his dog whose pads, despite the boots, were still cracked and raw.

  Fortunately, next to the little tin house of a police officer, was a Dutch veterinary surgeon who turned out to be a kind and modest chap, showing the young soldiers another side of the Boer to the one they had experienced on the train. After chuckling at the dog’s boots, the vet gave its owner a potion with which to bathe the affected pads and also some ointment. Whilst waiting for this to be dispensed, Probyn glanced at a calendar on the wall. It was the seventeenth of November. My goodness, he thought, another month and it would be Christmas. For a moment he imagined himself at one of Aunt Kit’s grandiose tea parties, wondering too how his father was. It felt like an age since they had seen each other though it had been little over two months. But then, came the sobering thought, that invalid had not really been the Father he knew.

  Jerked from his meditation, the consultation over, he replaced his pith helmet and accompanied Greatrix out into the hot, cloudy morning.

  Going back to the camp they set about bathing the dog’s paws, smearing them with ointment and replacing his boots.

  Meanwhile, Major Grey had received a telegraph message, the content of which was related to the troops. A large impi had been spotted at Motloutse and he was to send fifty men in search of it. The rest of the column was to go via Tati towards Mangwe and be ready to assist Colonel Goold-Adams who had finally arrived at Bulawayo and, along with Dr Jameson, was part of a large force that had been sent out after Lobengula.

  Upon hearing the news Probyn and Greatrix shared enthusiastic grins, both hearts soaring, for, attached to either section, they would undoubtedly see some action at last.

  * * *

  Despite the promise of battle, there nevertheless remained a daunting trek ahead for those bound for Mangwe. A sea of green veld stretched out before them, upon which they were to encounter storm after storm, the land becoming so waterlogged that the oxen could not pull the wagons.

  Twenty miles from Tati, by the ruins of a prehistoric stone fort, they were faced with a river that marked the border of Matabeleland. It was still teeming with rain. Thanks to the ointment the little dog’s feet were much better now, though his face was a picture of misery, reflecting the mood of his master as red droplets of rain dripped from his fur. There was a short rest whilst natives were sent to cut down the banks and form a drift, and then it was on again, half an hour being spent in transporting Maxim guns, wagons, men, horses and oxen to the other side, the rushing brown waters making all attempts to wash the intruders away.

  Palms blistered from hauling on ropes, the two friends rode in silence, trying to keep their minds alert for they were now within the enemy’s territory. The deluge petered out. Anxious to take advantage of this Major Grey chose not to stop the moment darkness fell, telling his men that there was little danger of attack for the Matabele were known to be further north. Even so, the order was given that all pipes be extinguished.

  Greatrix was most indignant. ‘It’s me one bit of pleasure!’

  The sergeant spoke kindly. ‘Oh well, we’d hate to see you discommoded. Perhaps you’d like us to have the band play as well, just to make sure the Mats know we’re here?’

  Greatrix understood now that the pipes would act as little beacons across the dark veld, and nodded grudging acceptance. Lacking such comforts, it was a miserable ride through the darkness, harried as they were by swarms of mosquitoes.

  Of the enemy they were to have no sighting save for their deserted kraals. After great hardship, many of the men succumbing to malaria, they finally reached Tati, a mining town with the type of rough inhabitant that Probyn had witnessed at Kimberley. Here they laagered, thick thorn fences plugging the gaps and, surrounded by pickets, enjoyed a decent night’s sleep for the first time in ages.

  They were to stay here a few days, giving Probyn and Greatrix a chance to repair their tattered uniforms, and to spruce themselves up, though the little mirrors they carried for shaving purposes gave a horrifying reflection.

  For this reason, amongst others, Probyn was greatly admiring of the missionary’s daughter who managed to appear as presentable now as when she had set off and this after travelling through all manner of terrain, through crocodile-infested rivers and thornbush and thunderstorm. He was, though, far too embarrassed at his own appearance to convey his esteem, and besides they had not spoken since their introduction weeks ago.

  However, in passing the two young Yorkshiremen that day Miss Gower was to recognize them and paused to chat, thereby lending Probyn the opportunity to impart his admiration for the way she had survived the floods. ‘There are not many young ladies so determined,’ he told her.

  ‘But they do not have the word of God for inspiration as do I,’ she smiled. ‘Father is holding a service of thanksgiving for our deliverance this evening. I hope you will both attend.’

  His eyes flickering over her dress, Probyn said he would. Then, in a moment of awkwardness, bent down to pat Boney, this inviting comment from Miss Gower.

  ‘How are the poor creature’s feet?’ She bent to stroke the dog, her hand coming into contact with Probyn’s, causing him to draw away.

  With Greatrix too long in responding Probyn said that they were a lot better, then voiced his puzzlement over another matter. ‘Tell me, Miss Gower, the large number of blacks that have been trickling in since we arrived—’

  ‘They are Chief Khama’s men,’ explained Miss Gower.

  ‘But aren’t they meant to be with Colonel Goold-Adams?’ Probyn frowned at Greatrix.

  ‘I believe they were,’ said Miss Gower, still patting the dog. ‘But they were obliged to come home to attend their ploughing.’

  ‘You mean they deserted.’ Probyn shared a disgusted look with his friend.

  Miss Gower gave the dog a final pat and straightened, becoming rather cool. ‘Private Kilmaster, do not condemn them without knowing the reason. Delay in planting their crops would be disastrous for them.’

  ‘We could all claim to have better things to do at home!’ argued Probyn. ‘But we can’t all just drop everything and clear off.’

  ‘I think that you do not fully appreciate the situation. These people cannot go and buy their food at the shop as one might in England. Failure to plant would spell famine next year.’

  Probyn was only half convinced. ‘But from what I’ve seen it’s the women who do most of the field work. They didn’t need the men here.’

  ‘Are they strong enough to fend off an enemy?’ enquired the missionary’s daughter. ‘There is always the danger that a neighbourin
g chief might seize their lands if their husbands stayed away much longer.’ Probyn was exasperated. ‘So they leave it all to us? I reckon it’s the least they could do to stand firm after we’ve trailed all the way up here to rid them of their foes.’

  ‘Oh come, Private Kilmaster!’ Miss Gower gave an ironical laugh. ‘You are here to secure Matabeleland for the Crown.’

  Probyn did not care for her tone. ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ he demanded. ‘If by doing so we offer the natives protection.’

  ‘You are misguided if you think that your superiors, or anyone else for that matter, cares about the African people,’ she told him gently.

  Probyn was growing annoyed. ‘Better us than the Boers, you said that yourself! And didn’t that Simon chap profess his loyalty to the Crown?’

  She looked him in the eye. ‘I fear that his loyalty may be misplaced.’

  Probyn took this as gross insult. ‘I’d like to see how these black devils got on if we weren’t here at all, miss!’

  Greatrix was abnormally quick to agree. ‘They’d be at each other’s throats sooner than you could blink. You only have to look at Lobengula for example.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Miss Gower, remaining calm. ‘It is my understanding that Lobengula has no wish to fight. He has done all in his power to keep his indunas in check. It is the invasion of his land that has caused the problem.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Greatrix firmly, ‘but didn’t he grab the Shonas’ land?’

  One who had come through such inhospitable terrain, threatened by drought and tempest and poisonous reptiles, was not easily ruffled. ‘I will grant that there have been many centuries of internecine struggle among the numerous tribes here, but that is no excuse for the white man, be it Mr Rhodes or your good selves, to rob them of their land by trickery or violence, simply because there happens to be gold and diamonds therein.’ She pursed her lips. ‘You have absolutely no idea of how the Africans feel have you? How they have been used and lied to time and time again. Perhaps when you have acquired some insight into these people whom you so denigrate, we shall be able to discuss this more rationally.’

  Probyn bowed his head to hide his anger, saying nothing, and in time she walked away, leaving him to vent his annoyance on Greatrix. ‘Bloody bluestocking! If it weren’t for us there’d be no roads or railways—’

  ‘No medicine,’ chipped in Greatrix.

  ‘No bridges, no telegraph, no … nowt.’ His list exhausted, Probyn added, ‘Well, I don’t care what she says, you just can’t trust them, can you?’

  Greatrix shook his head vehemently as his friend continued.

  ‘I wonder how the colonel will manage without these Khama blokes. I mean, there were a few thousand of them, weren’t there?’

  ‘I suppose that’s why they want us up there,’ replied Greatrix, stroking the dog who licked him. ‘Wonder when we’ll be off? No chance of getting back to Natal for Christmas now, is there?’

  Probyn was still annoyed over the exchange with Miss Gower, all attraction having vanished. ‘No. It’d be good to see me old platoon again – not that I don’t enjoy your company, Trix. I wonder if poor Melody recovered from his enteric?’ He had never thought to miss an Irishman but as annoying as he could be, Mick was a good chap and the thought of his demise was a sobering one, and he offered up a little prayer for his survival.

  * * *

  Still dogged by rain, Major Grey’s divided force set out again heading for Mangwe where most of them were to remain, the major going on to Bulawayo to find out what was happening and taking a small section with him, the missionaries, Probyn and Greatrix in tow. Ahead lay the Matopos, the great granite barrier that protected the capital, black and polished as ebony from a recent shower.

  ‘Not far to go now.’ Probyn spoke as a father to his child, trying to remove the look of despondency from Greatrix’s face.

  The other merely delivered a grim nod, his eyes fixed on the range of glistening pudding-like hills.

  Probyn tried to raise his spirits. ‘What plans have you got for the future, Trix?’

  There was no immediate answer.

  After several seconds Probyn gave an exasperated laugh. ‘Bloomin’ heck, Trix, I hope you respond a bit sharper if the Mats launch an attack!’

  Greatrix dealt him a bewildered glance, pretending to be offended. ‘Well, it takes some thinking about! I haven’t decided yet whether to go for colonel or general.’

  Probyn smiled. ‘I’m hoping to make sergeant-major meself.’

  Greatrix nodded. ‘I used to hold that wish an’ all. But right at this minute it seems a long way off.’

  Probyn sighed in agreement. ‘’Specially when we haven’t even made corporal yet. I’ll be drawing me pension before I get promotion.’

  A battle-scarred old colour-sergeant riding along the column overheard their conversation. ‘Give it time, lad, you’re too young to know yourself yet.’

  With three years’ military experience under his belt, Probyn was slightly insulted. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Colour-Sergeant.’

  ‘Exactly! When you’re old enough to know what I’m talking about you won’t need to ask.’ The colour-sergeant kicked his horse onwards.

  Bemused and angry, a red-faced Probyn muttered, ‘What’s the soft old duffer gabbling about, know meself?’

  Equally mystified, Greatrix shrugged and, trying to alleviate his friend’s upset, asked, with little interest in his tone, ‘What you going to do when we get back from here?’

  Probyn scratched his chest. ‘Have a bath, put me feet up, probably read a book …’

  ‘Me an’ all. After all this excitement I need to take it easy.’

  Though still ruffled, Probyn shared his friend’s sardonic smile, and enquired what sort of book Greatrix enjoyed, the discussion of this helping to while away a few hundred yards.

  ‘Ever heard of Homer’s Iliad?’ asked Probyn.

  Greatrix’s reply was delivered in the customary uninterested drawl. ‘Picked it up once in the library. Put it down again though. Iliad must be Greek for rubbish.’

  Probyn nodded. ‘Virgil wrote one of them iliad things an’ all, didn’t he?’

  Greatrix yawned. ‘Aye. I didn’t bother reading that one either.’

  They came, then, to the Mangwe Pass where the erstwhile careless mood was to alter. The road ahead of them wound through a tract of rocky hills and kopjes from which the enemy could launch a surprise attack. The route was ten miles long.

  The old colour-sergeant, catching Probyn’s nervous glance at his friend, sought to allay their fears as they embarked on the dangerous stretch, steering his bay horse alongside them. ‘Keep your wits about you, boys, and you have naught to fear. I’m reliably informed that the Mats are demoralized by our harrying and they’ve been decimated by smallpox, many of them have already surrendered, it’s only the very best regiments who remain with Lobengula and they’re known to be retreating. I know you lads were probably weaned on tales of Rorke’s Drift,’ he smiled at their tense response, ‘but bear in mind that the Mats are far inferior to their Zulu cousins. Remember your training, and you’ll be fine.’

  The column made its tentative approach. Probyn’s heart had begun to thud. Had this been a normal outing the scenery would have made a stunning backdrop – mountains of piled up granite boulders spattered with platelets of jade, long grass and bushy glades – as it was, he saw only places for his enemy to hide.

  Eyes darting into every cranny, body poised for action, for ten miles his nervous state persisted, almost to the point where he could have lashed his horse and beat a retreat. Others felt the same, he could feel and smell their tension, the horses felt it too, dancing skittishly from side to side.

  When the kopjes gave way to open downs a combined sigh of relief emerged, and the rest of the journey was completed in relative calm. That was until they came to the missionary station whence Miss Gower and her mother voiced little moans of horror.

  Wh
at had been their home was now an empty shell, blackened by smoke. Ripped clothes, broken furniture and pictures were strewn across the veld. Books lay open and pulped by constant rain. As the stricken young woman and her family wandered about the ruins, sombrely observed by their protectors, Greatrix murmured an opinion, his words genuinely meant. ‘I feel right sorry for ’em, but what else can you expect from savages?’

  Probyn nodded woefully, yet he could not help recalling that night in Pontefract when houses blazed and pianos were smashed and books were torn asunder. And it came to him then that the savage was not exclusive to Africa.

  * * *

  Their house totally uninhabitable, the Gowers salvaged what they could, a pitiful amount, then climbed back into their carriage and proceeded with the soldiers. Moving his horse alongside the wagon, Probyn tried to catch the young woman’s eye, wanting to convey his sympathy despite their difference of opinion, but she turned neither to right nor left, though she must be aware of his attendance. Did she imagine that he wished to gloat, thought Probyn, to demand of her which of them now had been misguided? He would never be so cruel.

  Such thoughts were unproductive. She was never to speak to him again.

  Finally they reached Bulawayo, its outlying blocks a scattering of houses in the red earth. It seemed to those who had strived so hard to get here an unprepossessing place, a town of bottle shops and dry goods stores and mining syndicate offices all undergoing refurbishment after the damage done by Lobengula, and the ruins of a royal kraal burnt by its king as he fled. A Union Jack had been hoisted. For much of the time it hung limp on this sultry day, but occasionally it would give a triumphant flutter, thereby displaying the Rhodesian lion at its heart, a sight to goad those who had ridden long and hard.

  Discovering that Colonel Goold-Adams and Dr Jameson were returned from their expedition, Major Grey went to receive orders. Acrimonious words were to be heard concerning who was to blame for letting Jameson reach Bulawayo first, Goold-Adams saying he had been forced to wait for Grey’s help, this argument filtering through to the ranks and the men becoming angry at being made scapegoats.