The Shangani Patrol (56 page)

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Authors: John Wilcox

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‘I see.’ Alice, her head down, was scribbling fast. ‘Pray continue. You were saying that Wilson’s patrol was reduced by the firing during the day?’
 
‘Indeed.’ Rhodes smoothed his moustache. ‘They fought off each attack with great bravery as the day progressed until they finally ran out of ammunition. Then . . .’ The great man’s voice broke. He took a large and none too clean handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose noisily. Then he wiped his moist eyes. ‘Yes, do excuse me. This Matabele said that Wilson - whom he identified because of his large moustaches - and his men shook hands all round, stood and sang one verse of “God Save the Queen”, then . . . then . . .’ he blew his nose again, ‘stood firm and waited for the inevitable as the final charge came. No one survived, of course. They were all speared and then disembowelled as a tribute to them as great warriors. Magnificent. Magnificent. Please do quote me, if you wish.’
 
A silence fell in the tent as Alice continued to scribble.
 
‘A chapter of errors, I am afraid,’ said Fonthill, ‘which doesn’t detract from the bravery of them all at the end.’
 
‘What . . . er . . . yes, well, quite.’
 
‘What do you propose to do about the remnants of the king’s impi?’
 
Rhodes made a dismissive gesture. ‘We shall send out messengers to say that they may all now return to their kraals without harassment, as long as they promise to forgo further hostile activities. There will be no pursuit of them in the bush. Jameson here will organise for a party to go up to the Shangani and bury the dead.’
 
‘And your plans to expand to the east?’
 
‘Ah, that reminds me. I wrote to you, Fonthill, of course, following the receipt of your treaty with Umtasa, to thank you for your work out there. But let me take this opportunity to thank you again. Jameson here has made contact with the king, but I have to confess that we have met with difficulties with the Portuguese, who of course control the coast. This was to be expected, but the road to the east has necessarily had to take a lower priority to the establishment of our settlements here. This has now been done and—’
 
Alice looked up from her pad. ‘So you are saying, Mr Rhodes, that your aim in invading Matabeleland was always to establish settlements here and in Mashonaland?’
 
‘What?’ Rhodes blinked behind his spectacles. ‘But of course, madam.’
 
Alice produced that special sweet smile that so often presaged the killing point. ‘But this was not what you told King Lobengula, was it? You only requested mining concessions, surely?’
 
Rhodes seemed quite unfazed. ‘Certainly, and quite genuinely. Unfortunately, the land has proved to be comparatively unproductive so far. But I always also wished to establish good settlers here to spread the values of the English race in a territory that knew only barbarism and cruelty. If the land here seems not to have fulfilled its promise in terms of mineral deposits - and this still remains to be proven - then it is certainly, in the high veldt, good farming territory. It could never have reached its true potential under Lobengula, a feudal despot of the old order.’
 
Alice put down her pencil. ‘I understand, Mr Rhodes, that there are many people in political and other circles back home who do not share your views.’
 
For the first time Rhodes began to show signs of exasperation. It was clear that a background of buying off his competitors in commerce and a remarkably unchallenged rise to the top in South African politics had not prepared him for debate with a proponent of radical views - and a woman at that.
 
He leaned forward. ‘Then, my dear lady, those people “back home”,’ he laid heavy emphasis on the words, ‘should have done something about what you have called my “invasion”.’ He took a strong pull of his cigar and waved away the smoke. ‘On the contrary, I had approval - unofficial, it is true, but approval all the same - of my actions from government circles and I was allowed to execute my policies at my own expense. In other words, these people back home that you referred to were, on the whole, quite prepared to let me carry on a programme of extension of the British Empire as long as it did not cost the British Government a single penny. It is others, madam, who are guilty of hypocrisy, not I.’
 
Jameson entered the debate for the first time. ‘In dealing with savages, Mrs Fonthill,’ he said, ‘one cannot be perhaps quite as punctilious as, say, in Europe. One cannot say, “I wish to settle your land,” because the king would have said, “No, keep out.” That is obvious. So we had to use other means. But let me point out that Mr Rhodes has not been motivated by personal gain. It could well be that there are no minerals to be mined here or in Mashonaland, and as a result, the company of which he is chairman will gain no return on its investment. In addition, he has deployed a considerable portion of his personal fortune in financing this campaign and is unlikely to gain a return on that. His motives have been altruistic: the extension of the British Empire and the spreading of the British way of life.’
 
Alice opened her mouth to speak, but Jameson held up his hand. ‘One more matter. Lobengula’s father took this land at spearpoint less than sixty years ago. He introduced slavery and execution on a whim. The king, then, has no more right to it than the good white farmers who are now beginning to work the land following Christian principles.’
 
Alice wrote something on her pad, underlined it with a flourish and stood. ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ she said, her face a little flushed. ‘I think I understand your position and I am grateful to you for explaining it to me. I should point out, however, that nothing you have said justifies to my mind the invasion of a land ruled by a man who has a constitutional right to it - you recognised this in your original treaty with Lobengula - and the massacre of his people by machine guns, cannon and modern rifles when they have the audacity to resist your incursion. I fear that this view must be expressed in my final report on this miserable campaign. Good morning.’
 
She swept out of the hut, leaving behind her a silence as heavy as the blue smoke that hung in the air. Fonthill found himself grinning as he regarded the shocked faces of the others.
 
‘Well, my word.’ Rhodes’s voice had risen to a squeak. ‘You don’t share your wife’s views, surely, Fonthill?’
 
‘Well, do you know, sir, I rather fear that I do now.’ He shifted in his chair and thrust himself upright, wincing at the momentary shaft of pain the movement caused. ‘I am certain of one thing, and that is this: many brave men gave their lives for this land. I hope for your sakes that it will be worth it. Good day to you both.’
 
He hobbled back to their tent to find that Jenkins and Mzingeli had gone hunting and Alice was, predictably, scribbling furiously on a cable pad. She hardly looked up as he entered.
 
‘Now, don’t chastise me,’ she said. ‘I have work to do. I know you don’t agree with me, but I had to say all that. I am only supposed to report news for the
Post
and my own opinions, as always, will only be implied. But,’ she looked up at him with a triumphant smile, ‘I got Rhodes to admit that he invaded to build the empire, not to prospect. That damns him from his own mouth and it’s a good story. Now, go away, you Imperialist, and let me write my piece.’
 
Fonthill bent and kissed her. ‘As a matter of fact, I agree with you.’
 
Alice looked up, her mouth open. ‘You do? Good lord!’
 
‘Yes, and I told them so.’
 
A slow smiled began to spread across Alice’s face. ‘Simon, you continue to amaze me. I think I am beginning to love you all over again.’
 
‘I should think so. My leg aches. I need attention.’
 
Then the smile was replaced by a frown. ‘But you own land in Mashonaland. You have taken Rhodes’s shilling.’
 
‘I know. Listen.’ He pulled up the other camp stool. ‘I still love the land up there, and I agree with Rhodes and Jameson to the extent that it should be developed and farmed creatively. The Mashonas - or the Matabele, for that matter - will never do that. They are not farmers and never will be. However, I have a proposal for you.’
 
‘Propose away.’
 
‘I would like to give the farm to Mzingeli. He has no roots in the Transvaal, nor a proper home, working for that Boer down there. He would like, I am sure, to be near his father.’
 
‘But is he a farmer? Could he work the land?’
 
‘Actually, he was beginning to do very well, until we took him away to be a soldier, with the result that he got a bullet through his shoulder. No, he will cope, with a bit of help. We will give him a sum of money, which we will invest in the farm, and if he agrees, and I think he will, I will promise to keep an eye on the property for him, visiting him from time to time to help him develop it. Jenkins and I will like the game hunting anyway, and as you know, I love the country. It seems the ideal solution. The land will return to one of its native sons, in a way, and Ntini and Joshua can both work for him. What do you think?’
 
Alice sat for a moment, deep in thought. ‘What do
we
do?’ she asked.
 
‘We go back to your beloved Norfolk and give the land there the attention it deserves after our long time away, and still retain a sort of foothold here. But . . .’
 
‘Ah. I knew there would be a but.’
 
Fonthill frowned. ‘Yes. Well, we might as well be completely honest with each other. I can farm happily in Norfolk for a time, but the place runs itself pretty well, and I know that I will get bored after a time - and so will you, not to mention Jenkins.’
 
Alice sucked her pencil. ‘So . . . ?
 
‘I think - no, I am sure - that there will be trouble soon in the Transvaal. The Boers there are still cocky after beating us so completely on Majuba Hill, and the peace agreement afterwards was a cobbled-together mess. To be frank, I sense that Rhodes has got his eye on the province and wouldn’t be above stirring up trouble there with the many Britishers who have gone in to work the goldfields on the Rand to justify an invasion.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘Jenkins and I know the territory better than most Englishmen - certainly better than most soldiers. With General Lamb as army commander in the Cape, there could be a job for us and a bit of excitement to relieve the . . . er . . . forgive me, my love, but I think the word is
tedium
of life in Norfolk, if and when the call comes.’ Then the smile faded and he looked at her anxiously. ‘But would you let us go?’
 
She stood and looked him levelly in the eye. ‘Of course, if I could come too.’
 
Fonthill sighed. ‘I knew you would say that. You would want to report it all for the
Post
?’
 
‘Of course.’
 
‘Well, they say all is fair in love and war, and I don’t suppose we have run out of either yet.’
 
Alice stepped forward and put her arms around his neck. Somewhere a dog barked and harnesses creaked as a wagon drove past. ‘No, I am sure we haven’t,’ she whispered into his ear.
 
They kissed and stood together for a moment, her head on his shoulder, and then she said: ‘And I love your idea of giving the farm to Mzingeli. It seems the perfect solution. Put it to them both - for Jenkins must be party to this, as he is to everything - when they return. Now.’ She pushed him away and sat down again. ‘Go away and let me write.’
 
‘Very well. But go easy on Rhodes and Jameson.’
 
‘Of course I will. Oh . . .’ She looked up. ‘How do you spell despicable?’
 
Author’s Note
 
The Matabele War was a virtual sideshow in the great pageant of Victorian colonial wars, attracting comparatively little attention from historians and writers of biographies and autobiographies, probably because it was, on the whole, a piece of private enterprise by Cecil John Rhodes. Nevertheless, it did result in the establishment of a new nation in southern Africa, Rhodesia, and the controversy that surrounded its birth has continued to cling to it, through its split into northern and southern Rhodesia, its unification, its secession from the British Commonwealth and its present reincarnation as Zimbabwe under President Mugabe.
 
It was also significant in that it represented the high-water mark in the territorial gains that made the British Empire the largest the world had seen. (I discount the bits and pieces of real estate that Britain picked up as a result of the First World War.) For a novelist, however, the war’s main attraction must be the clash between its two main protagonists, Rhodes and the Matabele chief King Lobengula. They never met, like those more famous adversaries Wellington and Bonaparte, and Hitler and Churchill, but their vices and virtues stamped themselves on the encounters between Lobengula’s impis and Rhodes’s army of settlers just as surely as if the two had crossed assegai blade and bayonet personally.

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