‘Can I at least dispense with the bloody bedpan?’ pleaded Greatrix.
‘I’m afraid ye won’t be allowed up for another couple of weeks,’ said Mick.
‘But he’s definitely over the worst?’ queried Probyn.
‘He is, so will ye please go home to bed?’ begged Mick.
Allowing himself an elated smile, Probyn replied, ‘I’ll just have a cup of tea with my mate first, then I will.’
‘Sit there I’ll fetch it.’ Mick went off.
A few moments later, assisting Greatrix to drink his milky tea, Probyn admitted, ‘I’ve been right worried about thee. There’s been three snuffed it while I’ve sat here.’
Displaying little interest, Greatrix snatched another gulp of tea then fell back on his pillow. ‘Have you been here all the time?’
Probyn nodded.
Greatrix nodded too, signifying thanks.
Nothing was said for some while, Greatrix undergoing much ponderance before speaking again. ‘How could any mother abandon her baby on a doorstep?’ It came completely out of the blue, the tone of his voice and his expression suggesting that it was a complete mystery.
At last Probyn was bestowed with insight as to what occupied Greatrix’s thoughts during those long silences. The poor wretch must think of it all the time. But it would take a wiser man than Probyn to furnish the answer.
Weary and emotional, he fought for something with which to lighten both their moods, making comment on the crow that hopped insolently from bed to bed whilst the occupants lay comatose and unable to object. ‘I’m going to have that beggar!’ Surreptitiously he took a blanket from the next bed and, as the crow came past again, he hurled the blanket over it, after a short struggle taking it captive.
‘See how you like this!’ Whilst Greatrix watched with a tired smile, he took a piece of wire from the haberdashery box and proceeded to thread it through the holes in the crow’s beak, attaching the little bell as ornament.
Released, the bird flapped away, but they could hear it outside the window jingling.
‘That’ll teach him!’ announced Probyn, then addressing his friend’s sick countenance added, ‘Well, I’d better be off or the police’ll come looking for me. I’ll come and see you whenever I can, Trix!’ With a cheery goodbye he made to escape from the foul ward, but upon afterthought he skipped back and warned his friend not to divulge any intimacy to Mick. ‘Eh, and if you’ve any secrets keep them to yourself. Tell that blabbermouth nowt or it’ll be all over the camp before you know it!’ Thus saying he returned to barracks for a bath and some much needed rest.
15
A month later, Greatrix was still in hospital but almost fully convalesced and deeply frustrated at being kept there. Seated outside on the verandah, partaking of his beef tea, he bewailed his incapacity to his visitor. ‘They say if I’m allowed up before I’m fully recuperated it’ll do more harm than good, but I’m going to kill somebody if I’m stuck here much longer. Has that mate of yours got any influence?’
Probyn raised his eyebrows. ‘Mick?’
‘Aye! Can’t you talk him into getting me out?’
‘I don’t want to be responsible for you having a relapse.’
‘I don’t want to be responsible for your death but I’ll flamin’ well murder you if you don’t help me get out of here. Suppose you’ve heard the latest?’
‘About the Shonas?’ Probyn nodded. A new disaster had hit Rhodesia, the Shona too had risen in revolt, adopting the same grisly methods as the Matabele. More British regulars were required.
‘And who are they going to call for?’ demanded Greatrix. ‘Mounted infantry. We’ve got to be in on it, Kil.’
Probyn displayed similar eagerness to revisit Africa. ‘I’d love to get stuck in, but are you sure you’re fit enough?’
‘I will be if I’m allowed to get out of this dump and get some good grub down me. Now will you talk to Mick and have him persuade the doctor to let me out?’
Though dubious at being involved in Greatrix’s premature exit from hospital, Probyn could not bring himself to let his friend down and so went to persuade Mick who in turn spoke to the doctor.
Hence, within weeks of that conversation, the pals were to find their dreams answered. Along with all those others who could ride, they were packed up and ready to leave Mauritius.
The cane harvest was in full swing. Now instead of lush green fields the train rattled through vast acres of stubble, the sky black with kites and birds of prey who circled the burnt fields, awaiting the quivering mammals and reptiles that would be there for the taking, the air heavy with the sickly sweet smell of burning sugar.
Aboard the ship bound for Africa there was a mood of enthusiasm, an urgent desire to finish the Mats once and for all, and to avenge their white victims.
Once arrived, though, and patrolling familiar territory around Bulawayo attached to Colonel Plumer’s column, Probyn and Greatrix voiced disbelief at the change that had overtaken this lovely country since they had last been here. Plague after plague of drought and locust and now rinderpest, had wreaked havoc. The air was rank with death. At every turn of the way rotting carcasses of oxen lined the roads, not just one or two but thousand upon thousand. Moreover, the rich rolling pastures of white farmsteads were littered with broken down wagons, left behind in the hasty rush to escape, the crops going to seed, the farmhouses looted and burnt whilst their Dutch and English owners laagered in Bulawayo.
The town itself was considerably expanded since last they had been here over two years ago. Its broad streets were now lined with red brick hotels and banks, there were golf and cricket clubs and even a theatrical hall, though under this sham veneer of respectability it was still at heart a frontier town.
Apart from the other ruffians, it was also disturbing to find Matabele included in the native levies. How could one trust such people after the butchery inflicted by their tribesmen? However they conceded that it was useful to have guides who knew the enemy’s devious ways, though neither Probyn nor Greatrix would be turning their back on them.
All things considered, both agreed that it was good to have the opportunity to rectify this terrible state of affairs, indeed good just to be back in Africa. It was remarkable how easily one fell back into the life, the veld for one’s bed, a saddle for one’s pillow, the shimmering, star-spangled sky as a canopy and, perhaps not so thrilling, bully and biscuits for dinner.
If rations out on patrol were poor they were no better in town, for with so few oxen to pull the wagons there was great difficulty in obtaining supplies, hence prices had rocketed. Averse to having something in his mess-tin that might have died from rinderpest, Probyn and his friend stayed clear of all but tinned meat, existing mostly on bread, for there were no vegetables. Badly in need of sustenance, before the week was out their hunger had taken them to the general store where they asked for a dozen eggs between them.
‘That will be thirty-two shillings,’ said the shopkeeper.
Probyn stared in amazement. ‘I don’t want them gilded! The ordinary sort will do.’ With the price still thirty-two shillings he and Greatrix were forced to change their request to half a dozen, and left with the disgruntled comment, ‘By ’eck, now I know where they got the story about the goose that laid the golden eggs.’ And to add insult to injury two of them turned out to be bad.
With beer at a florin a glass there was little chance of drowning one’s sorrows either. But despite the hardships, the young soldiers found it exhilarating to be out on active service again, and showed much eagerness in responding to reports of impis being seen in the vicinity of Bulawayo, deriving great fun in routing the rebels and holding competitions as to who could bag the most. The three columns that were based in Bulawayo had been involved in regular sweeps across the country to the effect that most of the insurgents of the northern region had been broken and dispersed in all directions, except at one spot near Inyati some fifty miles north-east from town.
Today Colonel Plumer�
�s eight hundred strong column, to which the men of the York and Lancaster Regiment were attached, were to rectify this; after a night march they surprised the enemy at dawn, stormed their stronghold in the hills, killed a hundred and fifty of them with few losses of their own and took six hundred prisoners.
Meeting his fellow lance-corporal again after the battle, an exhilarated Greatrix voiced his opinion of the Cape Boys, remarking that he was most impressed by their pluckiness. ‘Did you see Janny?’ A splendid guide, a fearless fighter and a similar sense of humour to their own, the latter had become a particular companion of theirs lately. ‘He took his boots off to get a better foothold on the rocks—’
‘Lord weren’t they a devil to climb?’ butted in Probyn, bright-eyed from the chase. ‘I thought I were going to fall on me bum once or twice.’
‘—he shinned over the ridge like a monkey and knocked down half a dozen Mats while I were still on the first rung! He’s a fantastic bloke, as good as any white man. In fact a lot better than some.’
‘Well, he had a good teacher.’ Probyn indicated their own Major Kershaw who had been responsible for moulding the Cape Boys into the doughty fighting force they had become.
‘Oh, talk of the devil.’ Greatrix indicated the wiry, khaki-shorted figure who loped from rock to rock, rounding up stray rebels; men, women and children.
Catching their observation of him, Janny threw them a grin, holding his rifle aloft and shaking it in triumph. Later, while others buried the dead or rounded up the captive cattle, he came to join his lance-corporal friends in a search of the stronghold kopjes. It had, all agreed, been a splendid battle, a massive blow that must surely finish the enemy as far as the north was concerned, although, Janny informed them Mqwati the local priest of the Mlimo and Mtini his induna, both important men, had escaped. ‘They say the Mlimo’s cave is somewhere hereabouts.’
‘Oh not that invisible bloke again,’ complained Greatrix, wandering through the maze of chambers with his usual indifference, in the next instant startling Probyn with an echoing cry, ‘Look out, Kil, he’s behind you!’
Probyn twirled round, gun at the ready, then seeing that his friend was joking dealt him a thump, rather annoyed that Greatrix should do this in front of the men. ‘You soft ’a’porth!’
‘I were just trying to aid your constipation.’ Winking at Janny, Greatrix turned his head at a shout, all going to investigate the find. From every nook and cranny men came scurrying, the scene resembling a termite mound. Within one of the large dry caves was a massive cache of grain: grass baskets containing mealies, dried melons, monkey-nuts and rice, much of it obviously looted from white stores. Along with these were found pots and calabashes, assegais and knobkerries, and little clay models, one of which Greatrix picked up, pronouncing his disgust. ‘Bloody heathen thing. Look it hasn’t got no head! I wonder if it’s supposed to be an effigy of us, some sort of black magic.’
Janny laughed heartily. ‘It is only a child’s doll.’
At first sheepish, Greatrix examined the model further. ‘No this one’s definitely modelled on Lance-Corporal Kilmaster. Look at its short legs.’
‘I’m warning thee!’ Probyn dealt his friend another whack, observing as he did that Greatrix’s skin was darker than Janny’s and wondering whether to use this as retaliation but decided against it and continued to move through the labyrinth.
At the next cavern, Janny was first to investigate but seemed reluctant to go further. Asked what was amiss, he said, ‘It’s the Mlimo’s cave.’ The Cape Boy who had shown such courage in battle seemed slightly unnerved at being here but at Greatrix’s demand for explanation, remained long enough to convey how he knew this. This part, he told them, was a kind of waiting room. The priest would leave the supplicants here and enter that narrow cleft which would take him deep into the rock wherein lived the Mlimo.
Greatrix was mildly sarcastic. ‘How does he know he’s there? I mean, this Mlimo’s invisible.’
Janny ignored the flippancy. ‘He does not see him, merely makes his request through a crack in the rock.’
‘And the Mlimo grants his wish?’ Greatrix pretended to be impressed. ‘Reckon we should try this bloke out, Kil.’ Whilst Janny made his retreat and others looked on, Greatrix approached the fissure and cleared his throat. ‘Er, cod and chips and a bottle of dandelion and burdock please.’
Laughter echoed around the cave. Then another voice, ‘Eh, Corp, can you get me a couple of scallops, some mushy peas and—’
‘That’s enough, Watson!’ Transformed by the arrival of those in his squad, Greatrix abandoned the leisurely jaunt with his friend and began doling out orders, whereby Probyn became more authoritative too, the friends not seeing each other again until the column was on its way back to Bulawayo.
With a sullen mob of prisoners and eight hundred head of cattle in tow, they had laagered for the night and were partaking of the usual cold meal, no fires being permitted for fear of attracting rebels. With no pipes allowed either Greatrix was in a less jovial mood than he had been this afternoon, a curmudgeonly look upon his face as he sat huddled with his friend during the hiatus before bed time. From the darkness came the whoops and barks of animals unseen.
Trying to cheer himself up as much as to rally the other, Probyn maintained the conversation, his breath white on the bitterly cold air. ‘Wonder how long this’ll last?’
Greatrix underwent a seemingly interminable pause. ‘Dunno.’
‘We must surely have them smashed by now.’
Another overlong pause. ‘Probably.’
At a loss as to what to say next, Probyn gave a sigh. ‘All right, Trix, just one last question, now I don’t want you to answer too impulsively!’ He made a dramatic gesture. ‘Take your time, don’t put any exertion on your brain … Shall we get our heads down?’
‘Yes,’ said Greatrix emphatically.
‘You mad impetuous fool!’ Smiling, Probyn dealt him a pat to the back and settled down for the night.
* * *
He awoke to an alarm call from one of the pickets, springing into action before his eyes were fully open, Greatrix and everyone else equally alert.
In the cold early morning mist all remained tense as the subject of the commotion was half dragged, half carried into the laager, a woman in a desperate state, her clothes ripped and heavily stained with blood, her hair awry and her eyes haunted. Probyn felt he would never forget that look as long as he lived.
So horrific had been her experience, so obviously terrified was she still, that she could not speak at first, but eventually was able to reveal the source of her dishevelment. Her father, having steadfastly refused to be driven from the farm for which he had worked so hard, had finally been compelled to dash for the safety of a nearby fort when the rebels overran his land. But the strain of living under siege and the constant guerrilla attacks had proved too stressful and he had decided yesterday afternoon to make a dash for Bulawayo with his family. They had been driving here when the rebels had caught them. Her father and elder brother had, whilst trying to protect their women, been hacked down immediately, the females had been maltreated then left for dead. She did not know whether her mother or sister had survived, had dared not look but had instinctively sought to save herself, first crawling amongst some rocks to hide, then travelling once it was dark.
‘Yesterday afternoon you say,’ murmured the captain to whom she spoke. ‘Then you cannot have travelled far.’
‘I feel it is a thousand miles,’ came her haunted whisper.
Concluding that the scene of the attack could not be far away and worried that there might be more survivors, the captain deemed it worth the risk of attempting a rescue mission and gave the order for a sergeant to elect riders. Hugging herself within an army blanket, having told her story the young woman watched with lifeless eyes, rocking back and forth where she sat, as there were calls from eager volunteers.
Probyn and Greatrix, as angry as the next man over this abomination, immedi
ately offered their services and were accepted, picking several good men from their respective platoons to accompany them, all saddling up and finally riding out of the laager behind the officer, apprehensive as to what they would find.
What they found, only a couple of miles away was a scene of such butchery that each one wished he had not come, for never would he be able to erase it from his memory. The hyenas had been at work overnight and had exacerbated the outrage, but enough of the carcasses remained to show what had happened. It was bad enough that the mules had been disembowelled, that men had been hacked and mutilated in similar fashion, their faces beyond recognition, that fine English women lay with their limbs exposed and contorted, their breasts disfigured for sport and their black female servant treated likewise … but the sight of two small children, the survivor had not mentioned them and Probyn knew full well why, two little white children with the life smashed out of them … it was one horror too much.
He had never known that such rage was within him. From his very boots it surged up in a volcanic eruption, travelling with suffocating intensity through his chest and into his skull from which there was no outlet, whirling and churning and burning, around and around until he thought he was about to lose his mind.
From a distance, an order was being barked. Jerked back to sensibility, he automatically obeyed, instructing his equally horrified young platoon members to excavate graves, into which the bodies were finally laid.
‘The fiends,’ Greatrix kept muttering as he supervised the digging, his hands clenched with futile anger. ‘The evil black devils.’
But mainly there was no comment. Nothing could be said that would encapsulate the horror.
After burying the victims they made their way back to camp, later resuming their march to Bulawayo where the lone survivor was handed into the care of the nuns at the hospital.
Family of the Empire Page 40