As General Goff appeared, he straightened and became very stiff and still, uncertain, faintly nervous and old-womanly. It was no wonder General Goff thought, that his troops called him, not ‘Chris’ but ‘Chrissy’.
‘General Crawford?’ General Goff cleared his throat, aware what an embarrassing business it was relieving a man of his command. Crawford waited, making no attempt to move forward, his face hostile, his expression disapproving.
Very well, the General thought, if that’s how he wants it, that’s how he can have it. There were half a dozen ways of superseding another officer and, if only for good manners, it was usually made easy by the man who was being superseded. Crawford clearly resented the General’s arrival.
‘Field Marshal Lord Roberts has sent me,’ the General said briskly. ‘I’m to take command of the column.’
Crawford blinked. ‘I received the information on the telegraph at the station at Rosanna this morning,’ he said. ‘I’d better introduce my staff – I beg your pardon,
your
staff. This is General Cook, who has the 12th Brigade, and this is General Grierson, who has the 7th. Colonel Windham, my GS01. My GS02 you’ve already met. This is Captain Pemberton, GS03; Colonel Mortimer, CRA; Colonel Smith, AAQMG…’
General Goff waited silently, nodding as the officers were introduced. He had heard of one or two of them, had even met Cook in India, and had not been impressed. They seemed an indifferent bunch and there were far too many because the troops didn’t like to see a lot of red tabs about. He would probably have to replace one or two of them, he decided, though perhaps the unsticking of Crawford might do the trick for him. The poor bugger was obviously too old for an active command.
‘I have taken over half the hotel,’ Crawford said. ‘I have two or three rooms upstairs for my own use and this room for my staff. There are a few things I have to clear up but I presume you will not be wanting me to move out at once.’
General Goff frowned. ‘Regretfully,’ he said, ‘I shall. I propose to start work immediately and I shall need every inch of space I can find.’
‘I can arrange for my marquee to be placed at your disposal.’
‘I prefer to be here near the telegraph.’
Crawford’s mouth tightened. ‘It will take time to tie up the loose ends.’
‘I trust not.’
Crawford stared back at the General, hatred in his eyes. His throat worked then he nodded slowly.
General Crawford had disappeared by next morning. He had found it possible to tie up his loose ends a great deal more quickly than he had anticipated and had departed in the early hours for Cape Town and a ship home.
During the morning, General Goff called his officers into the billiard room of the hotel and informed them that they were moving towards Jacobspoort at once. There were a few sidelong glances and he decided it needed explanation.
‘We’re here to chivvy Brother Boer into attacking us,’ he pointed out. ‘So that the army in front of Ladysmith will be relieved of pressure. But attacking us doesn’t mean defeating us and if he won’t attack us, then we shall attack him.’ He studied the faces of his officers, startled to see how young most of them seemed. ‘It’s my responsibility to lead this column, but first I want to see it brought up to scratch. This is a time of great emergency. There are people in Ladysmith waiting for relief and it’s our job to see that it becomes possible. I expect everybody to pull his weight and I shall accept no excuses.’
He had considered appealing to their loyalty but had decided in the end that a threat might be better. Crawford had clearly let them get away with murder and it was as well to let them know that from now on they were not going to. Chrissie Crawford was out and Balaclava Bill was in control.
Crawford’s troops were a mixed lot and the whole column had grown used to easy methods and too much comfort, while the wagonloads of tents were like a red rag to a bull to the General.
‘Trim,’ he snapped at the aide, ‘did you find out how many wagons are occupied by tents alone?’
‘Sir!’ Trim produced a paper which he laid in front of the General. ‘The number of wagons, sir. Also the speed of the advance.’
‘What’s this?’
‘A report, sir.’
‘I didn’t ask for a report, damn it! I asked you to find out.’
‘It’s in the report, sir.’
‘Well, that’s
something
. But in future don’t waste your time on bits of paper. They clutter the place up.’
‘Sir.’
The General turned to Ellesmere. ‘These damn tents irritate me, Ned,’ he said. ‘There are too many of them. From now on they’ll be discarded. Fortunately, in this country even if it rains, when the sun comes out it’s hot enough to dry everything at once.’
Trim looked worried. ‘Normally, sir,’ he said, ‘they’re only discarded when operations are continuous from day to day.’
The General turned to him. ‘That’s what they will be, my boy. The troops will learn to sleep under the stars.’
Trim was aghast. ‘They won’t like it, sir.’
‘Then they’ll have to lump it.’
‘What about officers, sir? They can hardly sleep in tents if the men don’t.’
‘Exactly. They too will sleep in the open.’
Trim looked shocked. ‘Where will they store their baggage, sir?’
The General smiled maliciously. ‘They won’t have any baggage, Trim. What did we manage with in Zululand, Ned?’
‘Forty pounds, sir.’
‘Then forty pounds is what it will be here. The rest will be left with the tents.’ He beamed at Trim. ‘Think how much everybody will enjoy it when we
stop
moving.’
‘Sir, I feel—’
The General’s eyes flashed. ‘I advise you to keep your feelings to yourself, my boy,’ he said. ‘A general and a column commander is the nearest thing in that column to God, and it’s only a man who wishes to commit professional suicide who argues with him. I am not God, and you’re not the Archangel Gabriel, but you will
not
dispute my orders.’
Within an hour, the headquarters tent was set up on the scrubby land beyond the group of iron buildings round the station, where the telegraph office was situated. General Goff had a strong suspicion that a great deal of information was being disseminated to the Boers by the bearded backvelders he had seen in the bar of the hotel, and he preferred to have his headquarters where they couldn’t pick up titbits of gossip.
It was surrounded by a group of other tents, everything about them khaki because the land and everything on it – the sage bushes, the aloes and acacia thorns, the uniforms – were khaki, too. Even the faces – of both black and white men – were khaki from the dust that lifted every time a foot stirred.
As soon as the tents were in place and a table set down, while the unwitting troops enjoyed their last day of the comfort they had grown used to under General Crawford, General Goff called for regimental returns, the lists of sick and military crimes, and began to frown over interminable reports and telegrams, detailing the tent wagons for food and ammunition and demanding more horses and fresh stores. Officers’ mounts were detached from the wooden hitching rail outside the hotel and tied instead to the rail alongside the railway track, and within twenty-four hours the place had acquired a permanent look, with geraniums planted in old paraffin tins to give a touch of colour to the bleak brown aspect.
Trains began to arrive bringing new stores, frightened horses, half-dead after the journey from the coast, crates of ammunition, boxes of beef, sacks of flour, blankets, bales of compressed fodder for the horses, mealies for the African drivers and grooms, hospital stores and equipment, all trundled in mule carts or sixteen-span teams of oxen to the depot. Occasionally a rider appeared in the distance, dragging with him a cloud of dust that lifted from the veldt like steam, a miasmic figure in the heat and shimmery as a spectre, until he disappeared into a fold in the ground and reappeared a moment later as a messenger from one of the outlying wings of the force. Artillery came up under double teams and fresh infantry arrived from the Cape, weighed down under their webbing, rolled greatcoats, water bottles, Lee Metford rifles and full haversacks, and bulging with the extra rounds in their cartridge pouches. They had travelled in open cattle trucks and were spilled on to the veldt alongside the railway line, bewildered, hot and exhausted.
‘They’ll do,’ the General said, eyeing them shrewdly. ‘The junior officers will suffer from the usual stage fright and get into difficulties, I expect, but when the veneer of peace has gone they’ll more often than not get out of them. It only requires the spit and polish to go, for the brain to become unglued.’ He beamed at Ellesmere. ‘It may not be a great war, Ned, but I have a feeling it’s going to be a wonderful military spring cleaning.’
His preliminary arrangements made, the General called for his horse and began to ride round the different units of his command.
Morby-Smith, with the 19th Lancers, was delighted to see him. ‘I couldn’t believe my ears, sir, when I learned it was you,’ he said. ‘You’re just what we need.’
‘See you measure up to it then,’ the General growled. ‘Because you’re carrying too much equipment for a start. Half of it’s got to go. Horses will be hobbled from now on. And we’re no longer drilling for the charge; and the fit of a jacket, the possession of a good seat or a good pair of hands are no longer as important as field craft. And from now on, your job will not be to protect
my
headquarters. It’ll be to find out where Brother Boer’s are. How are my sons?’
‘Doing well, sir. Losby, of B Squadron, went sick and Robert’s running it. He’s a stickler for detail.’
Robert, the General decided, sounded as though he were a fusspot and Morby-Smith didn’t wish to say so.
‘And young Dabney?’
‘Splendid, sir.’ Morby-Smith’s reaction was different this time. ‘He was clearly chafing as a squadron officer, so I tried him on his own. He’s a natural scout, sir, and I persuaded General Crawford to give him a small column of North Cape Horse. He seemed to be doing very well but General Crawford preferred his people close at hand and he was returned to the Regiment.’
The North Cape Horse were next on the list. Composed of farmers and countrymen from the area round Hoeptown, they had done well under the General in Zululand. They were a rough and ready lot and their ponies were shaggy, unlike the sleek mounts of the Lancers, while their equipment consisted only of a rifle, a bandoleer of ammunition, a blanket, a poncho and a saddlebag full of biltong. They were led by Commandant Burger’s son, Meyer, and as scouts they were unbeatable.
‘You’ll be the eyes of the column,’ the General informed Burger. ‘And I shall make a point of seeing that a few of the Lancers are attached to you to learn the tricks of the trade.’
The word flew round quickly as the General stalked through cookhouse areas, shocked at the lackadaisical methods, and, watched by nervous officers, blistered a few NCOs with his tongue. Service Corps horses were inspected meticulously and officers were informed acidly that this was a mounted war and it wouldn’t be won with them in the condition in which he found them. Sergeant-majors were snapped at and veterinary surgeons informed in no uncertain terms that they weren’t there merely to hand out horse pills.
Colonels were called to headquarters and told that from now on when the column moved it would move faster, and that when it manoeuvred, it would manoeuvre with a speed it had failed to show when it had been caught on the veldt by De Hoog. The artillery was told to be smarter at their drill. The balloon aeronauts were informed that they were expected to be aloft, not on their backsides on the ground. The 19th Lancers were informed that lances would not win the war because ten to one the Boers would probably never permit them to get close enough to use them, and that therefore they had better make sure that their practice with rifles was also good. The North Cape Horse were informed that, volunteers though they were, they were not expected to behave as if they were on a picnic. The infantry battalions were left in no doubt that they were in need of pulling together and one of the colonels was hurriedly removed from office.
There was a great deal more discomfort than there had been under General Crawford but there was also suddenly a great deal more efficiency and even Trim’s disapproving look had vanished. It seemed to be time to advance on Jacobspoort to show De Hoog what they were made of.
It was Dabney who brought in the information on the Boers’ whereabouts. Since he had flung General Crawford back, Martinius De Hoog seemed to have disappeared and the need was for news.
From the 19th Lancers General Goff requested Dabney and a detachment of the best riders, horsemasters and shots for a scouting column. To them he added a squadron of the North Cape Horse which included men who had been raised in the area and knew the country. He was pleased to see their look of efficiency but was startled when Sergeant Ackroyd announced that he wished to go with them.
‘Great God in the Mountains, Ellis,’ the General said. ‘What’s my son got that I haven’t got?’
‘Mr Dabney moves fast, sir. I’d like to be with him.’
The General’s eyebrows lifted but he was pleased.
Looking for drifts over the Koro River by which the main force could cross, Dabney’s little column worked its way north of Bester’s Nek. With them were a group of Bantus known to everyone as The Black Watch, and they lay up in clumps of mimosa during the day and only moved at night. Several times Boer patrols appeared near them and on one occasion they were obliged to bolt, with one man killed and one wounded.
The Boers had moved fast and seemed invisible, but the whole veldt spoke of their presence. The very air was full of suspense for the outbreak of firing, and every clod of earth was an enemy. Plodding on in silence, scouts out in front, at least they were certain that in this barren plain an ambush was impossible. After another mile, Dabney signalled for a halt to look round the horses, then they mounted again and pressed on. The horses were beginning to sweat now and after a while he ordered another pause to check for trouble. A loosened girth was found, and a galling surcingle, then they were off again.