The Sound of Thunder (29 page)

“He grows like a bull calf. Already he wears scars of battle, honourable blackening of one of his eyes.”

“He grows in wisdom also,” Nonga boasted. “Saying aloud to us those things which are written in the book. ” Hlubi went on: “He sends greetings to the Nkosi, his father, and asks that he be allowed now to leave his school and join with him once more. For now he is skilled in the matter of books and number.”

Sean laughed. “And what of the Nkosikazi, my mother?” he asked.

“She is well. She sends you this book.” Hlubi produced a travel, stained envelope from his loin, cloth. Sean tucked it away inside his coat to be read at leisure.

“Now. ” The formula of greeting completed, Sean could come to the present. “What news of Mabunu? Have you found sign?”

MbeJane squatted on his haunches and laid his spear and shield beside him. The others followed his example. The meeting came to order.

“Speak,” Mbejane ordered Hluibi.

“We came through the mountains, this being the shorter way,” Hlubi explained. “In the hills below the mountains we found the road made by many horses, and following it we came upon a level place surrounded by rock. The Mabunu are there with cattle and wagons.”

“How far is this place?” Sean asked eagerly.

“A day’s long journey. ” Thirty miles.

“How many Mabunu?” Sean asked and Mbejane explained,

“As many as camped at the place I told you of.

It made sense, Sean decided. Jan Paulus would have split his force into smaller units, for reasons of supply and concealment, until such time as he needed them.

“We will go then,” he said and stood up.

Eccles woke quickly.

“Sergeant, Major. The guides have found a small Boer commando in laager below the mountains. Get the men mounted UP.

“Sir! ” Eccles’s moustache, rumpled with sleep, quivered like the whiskers of a hunting dog.

While around him the commotion of up saddling began, Sean kicked life into the fire and in its yellow flickering light he tore a page from his notebook and licked the point of a pencil.

To all British troops in the field: I am in contact with a Boer commando of 500. Will attempt to contain them pending your arrival.

The bearer will act as a guide.

S. Courtney (Major).

5th August, 1900. Time 00.46 hours.

“Hlubi,” he called.

“Nkosi! ” “Take this book,” he handed him the note. “There are soldiers out there.” He swept his arm towards the north. “Give it to them.”

Bunched into a compact column with the gallant little scotch cart bouncing and jolting in the rear, Courtney’s Fighting Scouts cantered southwards with the brown winter grass brushing their stirrups.

With Saul beside him and the two Zulus ranging ahead like hunting dogs, Sean rode in the van. He slouched easily in the saddle and tried with both hands to steady Ada’s letter as it fluttered in the wind of his passage. It was strange to read the gentle reassuring words as he hurried into battle.

All was well at Lion Kop. The wattle grew apace, free from fire, drought or pestilence. She had hired an assistant manager who worked afternoons only; his mornings required attendance at Ladyburg School.

Dirk was earning his princely salary of two shillings and sixpence a week and seemed to be enjoying the work. The arrival of his school report for the period ended at Easter was the occasion for some concern. His average high marks for each subject were followed by the notation,

“Could do much better” or

“Lacks concentration. ” The whole was summarized by the Headmaster,

“Dirk is a high, spirited and popular boy. But he must learn to control his temper and to apply himself with more diligence to those subjects he finds distasteful. ” Dirk had recently fought an epic bout of fisticuffs with the Petersen boy, who was two years his senior, and had emerged blooded and bruised, but victorious. Here Sean detected a note of pride in Ada’s prim censure.

There followed half a page of messages dictated by Dirk in which protestations of filial love and duty were liberally punctuated with requests for a pony, a rifle, and permission to terminate his scholastic career.

Ada went on tersely to say that Garry had recently returned to Ladyburg, but had not yet called upon her.

Finally, she instructed him to take pains with his health, invoked the Almighty to his protection, anticipated his swift re turn to Lion Kop, and ended with love.

Sean folded the letter carefully and tucked it away. Then he let his mind drift, lolling in the saddle while the brown miles dropped steadily behind his horse. There were so many loose or ravelled threads to follow, Dirk and Ada, Ruth and Saul, Garrick and Michael, and all of them made him sad.

Then suddenly he glanced sideways at Saul and straightened in the saddle. This was not the time to brood. They had entered the mouth of one of the valleys that sloped upwards towards the massive snow, plastered ramparts of the Drakensberg, and were following a stream whose banks dropped ten feet to the water that gurgled and tinkled over the polished round boulders in its bed.

“How much farther, Nonga? ” he called.

“Close now, Nkosi.

In another valley that ran parallel to the one Sean was following, separated from it by two ridges of broken rock, a young Boer asked the same question.

“How much farther, Oorn Paul?”

But before answering, Vecht, Generaal Jan Paulus Leroux eased himself around in the saddle and looked back along the commando of one thousand burghers he was leading to a rendezvous at his laager in the mountains. They rode in a solid mass that clogged the floor of the valley, bearded men in a motley of dark homespun clothing, on ponies shaggy in their winter coats, yet Jan Paulus felt pride swell in his chest as he looked at them. These were the bitter, enders, veterans of half a hundred fights, men forged and tempered in the furnace of battle, razor, sharp and resilient as the finest steel. Then he looked at the boy beside him, a boy in years only for his eyes were old and wise.

“Close now, Hennie.

“Eccles, we’ll halt here. Water the horses.

Loosen the girths but don’t off saddle No fires but the men can rest and eat.

“Very well, sir. ” “I am going forward to have a look at the laager. While I am away I want you to issue an extra hundred rounds of amunition to each man. Check the Maxims. I should be back in two hours.

“When will it be, sir?”

“We’ll move forward at dusk, I want to be in position to attack as soon as the moon rises. You can tell the men now.”

As Sean and Nonga left the column and moved on foot up the valley, two men watched them from the ridge. They lay on their bellies among the rocks. Both of them were bearded. One of them wore a British officer’s Sam Browne belt over his patched leather jacket, but the rifle that rested on the rock in front of him was a Mauser.

“They send spies to the laager, ” he whispered, and his companion answered in the Taal.

“Ja, they have found it.

“Go! Ride quickly to Oom Paul and say for him that we have three hundred khaki ripe and ready for the plucking. ” The other Boer grinned and wriggled backwards, working his way off the skyline. Once below it he ran to his pony and led it down into the grass which would muffle its hoof, beats, before he mounted.

An hour later Sean returned from his reconnaissance.

“We’ve got them, Eccles,” he grinned savagely at Saul and Eccles.

“They’re about two miles ahead in a hidden basin of hills.

He squatted down and smoothed a patch of earth with the palm of his hand. “Now here is the way we’ll do it.” With a twig he drew quickly in the dirt. “This is our valley. Here we are. This is the laager, hills here and here and here. This is the entrance to the basin. Now, we’ll place two Maxims here, with a hundred men below and in front of them like this. I want you, ” Abruptly his earthen map exploded, throwing dirt into his eyes and open mouth. “What the bloody, ” he mouthed as he clawed at his face but the rest of it was lost in the blast of the Mausers.

Through streaming eyes Sean looked up at the ridge. “Oh my God!”

A fire haze of gunsmoke drifted across it like sea spray on a windy day, and he sprang to his feet.

“Into the river. Get the horses into the river, ” he roared above the murderous crackle, the shrill fluting whine of ricochets and the continuous slapping of bullets into earth and flesh.

“Into the river. Get into the river!” He ran down the column shouting at the men who were struggling to clear their rifles from the scabbards of plunging, rearing horses. The Boer fire flogged into them, dropping men and horses screaming in the grass.

Loose horses scattered along the valley, reins trailing and empty stirrups bounding against their flanks.

“Leave them! Let them go! Get into the river!” TWo of the mules were down, kicking, wounded in the traces of the scotch cart Sean tore the tarpaulin loose and lifted out one of the Maxims. A bullet splintered the woodwork under his hands.

“You!” he shouted at one of his sailors. “Grab this!” He passed the gun to him and the man ran with it cradled in his arms and jumped over the river bank. With a case of ammunition under each arm Sean followed him. It seemed as though he ran waist, deep in water, each pace dragging with painful deliberation and his fear came strongly upon him. A bullet flipped his hat forward over his eyes, the ammunition cases weighted him down, and he blundered panic, stricken towards the river. The earth was gone abruptly from under his feet and he fell, dropping free until, with a shock that jarred his spine, he struck and toppled forward face, down into the icy water.

Immediately he scrambled up and, still clutching the Maxim ammunition, floundered to the steep bank. Above him the Boer fire whipped and sang, but the bed of the river was crowded with his men, and others still fell and jumped from the bank to add to the congestion.

Panting and streaming water from his clothing Sean leaned against the bank while he gathered himself. The stream of survivors into the river, bed dwindled and stopped. The Boer fire also stuttered out and a comparative quiet fell over the field, spoiled only by the groaning and cursing of the wounded.

Sean’s first coherent thought was for Saul. He found him holding two pack, mules under the bank with Nonga and Mbejane beside him holding another pair. He sent Saul to take command at the far end of the line.

“Sergeant, Major!” Sean shouted, and with relief heard Eccles’s reply from close at hand.

“Here, sir.”

“Spread them out along the bank. Get them to cut firing platforms. ” ” Very good, sir, ” and immediately he began, ” Here you lot, you heard the Major! Up off your backsides!”

Within ten minutes there were two hundred rifles lining the bank and the Maxim was sited and manned behind a scharnz of’ stone and earth. Those men who had lost their weapons were tending the wounded.

This pitiful little group were gathered in the middle of the line, they were propped against the bank, sitting waist, deep in slush and their blood stained the water pinky, brown.

Sean climbed up on to one of the firing platforms beside Eccles and lifted his head to peer cautiously over the bank. The area in front of him was a sickening sight. Dead mules and horses with their packs burst open littering the grass with blankets and provisions.

Wounded animals flopping helpless or standing quietly with their heads hanging.

“Is there anyone out there still alive?” Sean called, but the dead men gave him no answer. A sniper on the ridge ploughed a bullet into the ground in front of Sean’s face and he ducked down quickly.

“Most of them managed to crawl in, sir. Those that didn’t are better out there than in the mud here.

“How many did we lose, Eccles? ” “About a dozen dead, sir, and twice as many wounded. We got off very lightly. ” “Yes,” Sean nodded.

“Most of their initial fire went high.

It’s a mistake even the best shots make when shooting downhill. ” “They fair caught us with our pants down,” mused Eccles and Sean did not miss the censure in his tone.

“I know. I should have placed look, outs on the ridge,” he agreed.

You’re no Napoleon, he told himself, and you’ve got casualties to prove it.

“How many of them lost their weapons?” he asked.

“We’ve got two hundred and ten rifles and one Maxim, sir, and I issued an extra hundred rounds to each man just before the attack. ” “Should be enough,” Sean decided. “Now all that remains is to sweat it out until my native guide brings up reinforcements. ” For half an hour nothing happened beyond a little desultory sniping from the ridge.

Sean moved along the line talking to the men.

“How’s it going, sailor?”

“Me old ma would have a fit, sir. “George,” she’d say, ‘sitting in the mud is not going to do your piles no good,” she’d say, sir.” He was shot through the stomach and Sean had to force his chuckle through his throat.

“I could use a smoke, though. That I could.”

Sean found a damp cigar in his pocket for him and moved on.

A youngster, one of the Colonials, was crying silently as he held against his chest the blood, soaked bundle of bandages that was his hand.

, Giving you pain?” Sean asked gently. The boy looked at him, the tears smearing his cheeks. “Go away,” he whispered. “Please go away.

Sean walked on. I should have put look, outs on the ridge, he thought again. I should have.” “Flag of truce on the ridge, sir,” a man shouted excitedly and Sean clambered up beside him.

Immediately a hum of comment ran along the line.

“They’re hanging out their washing.

“The bastards want to surrender. They know we’ve got them licked.

” Sean climbed out of the river, bed and waved his hat at the speck of white that fluttered on the ridge, and a horseman trotted down towards him.

“Middag, Menheer, ” Sean greeted him. He received only a nod in reply and took the note the man proffered: Menheer, I expect the arrival of my Hotchkiss gun at any moment.

Your position is not safe. I suggest you lay down your guns to prevent further killing.

J. P. Leroux, Vecht, General, Wynberg commando.

It was written on an irregular scrap of brown wrapping paper in High Dutch.