Роберт Фиш - Rough Diamond

“Amen,” he said sadly, and closed his Bible.

“They’re that far into the Transvaal?” Kruger asked, as if he were merely curious about the matter. “Where did you get your information?”

“From Commandant Cronje,” his aide said nervously. “They reached Malmani the day before yesterday at noon and camped there overnight. Then they left for Lichtenburg. From there the commandant expects them to head for Vetersdorp. That will bring them almost a hundred miles into our territory, Mr. President!” The aide was wondering what on earth was the matter with his President. Kruger was acting as if it were an everyday event to have the Republic invaded by an army of Uitlanders . They had been in the Transvaal three days, now, and Commandant Cronje had said nothing about attacking the invaders. As if reading the aide’s mind, Kruger spoke up.

“Did Cronje say anything about what action he has taken?”

“No, sir. Sir,” the aide said almost desperately, “they’ll be on the road to Krugersdorp, and that’s just twenty miles or so from Johannesburg…”

“That’s true. Well,” Kruger said, smiling a bit at his aide’s discomfort, “I suppose you’re right. Send a telegraph to Commandant Cronje at Krugersdorp. Advise him the tortoise has finally put his head out sufficiently. He’ll know what you mean; he won’t be surprised. We’ve been in touch. And don’t worry so much.” He waved a hand at his aide to get on with the job, and went back to reading his Bible.

“What d’yer mean, no grub ner no fresh ’orses?” Trooper Parkinson demanded angrily. “There wasn’t no fresh ’orses ner grub at Malmani, neither, but that weren’t so bad; I still ’ad some o’ me own left over. Now there ain’t nothin’ left. Me poor animal is about ready to lay down an’ give up ’is bloody ghost! ’E wasn’t in too good a shape in Pitsani, an’ two days carryin’ me plus double rifles without bein’ spelled ain’t done ’im no world o’ good. ’E needs some oats, not the muck they call grass in this ’ell-’ole! Not there’s a ’ell o’ a lot of even that in this bleedin’ sand! What’s the bloody reason?”

“I didn’t catch all the captain was tellin’ th’ other orficers,” Billy Watson said apologetically. “I don’t rightly suppose I was supposed t’ be listenin’ at all. But they was all talkin’ with this messenger bloke what jus’ rode in from Jo’burg, Major Thompson, I seed ’im afore. Anyway, it seems the bloke responsible fer seein’ our stores an’ fresh ’orses was set up every fifty mile all the way to Jo’burg, was a bloke name o’ Dr. Wolff.”

“So?” Trooper Parkinson said, a trifle dangerously.

“So the way this Major Thompson was tellin’ it, seems this Dr. Wolff allus takes ’is summer ’olidays in December, goes down t’ th’ seaside. Get away from the bloody ’eat, y’ see. Can’t say as ’ow I blames ’im,” Trooper Watson added enviously.

“Wait a bloody minute!” Parkinson said ominously. “Y’mean t’ stand there an’ tell me, the bloke what was responsible fer grub an’ fresh ’orses, took ’is bloody ’oliday when ’e was supposed t’ be settin’ up stores fer us? Is that what yer tryin’ t’ tell me?”

“That’s what th’ major was sayin’. I guess they didn’t figger Captain Jameson was goin’ t’ move when ’e did. Lack o’ communications, they calls it,” Billy said, proud of his greater knowledge in military affairs.

“A balls-up, I calls it,” Parkinson said bitterly.

“Another balls-up,” Billy Watson corrected gently.

“I’ll have Wolff’s hide for this!” Jameson said tightly. “On holiday, for good Jesus’s sake!” He, Luckner, Willoughby, and White were sitting around the dying campfire with Major Thompson, the messenger from Johannesburg who had galloped into the camp a short time before. The major considered Jameson coldly.

“It’s hardly Wolff who was at fault,” he said quietly. “You were given strict instructions not to move until further notice. It would have been both foolhardy and wasteful to stock our caches before they were needed; they could have been discovered and lost when they were most important. We had no idea you had left Pitsani until Cape Town had time to receive your final telegraph. Then they had to inform us. And then I had to ride up here to see exactly what was going on, and that was another two days.” Jameson snorted. Thompson disregarded it, going on coolly. “I can hardly see how you can possibly blame the Reform Committee because you chose to move, without instructions, before the committee was ready.”

Jameson sneered. “The Reform Committee! The Frank Rhodes Personal Committee, they ought to call it! And just why, after all these months, wasn’t your precious Reform Committee ready?”

“For one thing,” Major Thompson said evenly, “we didn’t have enough rifles or ammunition. Oh, I know you were planning on bringing an extra gun for each trooper you brought, but that wouldn’t handle the ammunition problem, and since you were coming with only a little over four hundred men, rather than the fifteen hundred you promised—” He shrugged, but there was a malicious glint in his eye.

Captain Jameson waved that away as merely being an excuse, and a weak one at that. He leaned forward, his thin body almost quivering, his dark eyes gleaming with equal malice.

“And what about the raid on the Pretoria armory? I was told that a handful of men could take the armory in Pretoria anytime they wanted; it was under repair and one entire wall was down, for God’s sake! And it was being guarded by a minimum contingent, because the others were off duty because of the Christmas holidays. There were supposed to be fifteen thousand modern rifles there, and all the ammunition for them you could dream of, piled up to the roof of the place. It could be taken anytime they wanted, the Reform Committee told me. What happened to that great plan?”

Major Thompson reddened a bit. The plan to capture the armory in Pretoria and arm the Johannesburg residents with its contents of guns and ammunition had largely been his.

“Well,” he said slowly, his embarrassment evident, “again it was just one of those things. We sent our boys up there, but only about a week ago, because we had no idea you were planning on moving when you did. And not all the troops there had been relieved as yet for the holidays. However, somebody” — he coughed slightly and then recovered himself — “had forgotten that the Boers celebrate Nagmaal at the end of December — Communion Week — and the Church Square was loaded with outspanned ox wagons. Half the farmers in the north Transvaal must have been there with their vrous , and as you know, they all carry their rifles with them when they travel, in case they run into any game, or any trouble of any kind. We would have been wiped out in minutes if we had started anything. So—” He shrugged again.

Carl Luckner broke into the conversation.

“So there seems to be enough blame to go around, if that’s the purpose of this exercise,” he said harshly. “Let’s get on with it, I say! So the men do without grub for a day or so — so what? I doubt there’s one among them who hasn’t gone more than a day hungry either on the march at some time, or in some brig or other. We’re less than thirty miles from Krugersdorp and Mrs. Varley’s Hotel and her good meals, that’s where we are! A bit of her food in their bellies — a meal the good lady will be glad to prepare and serve, I warrant — and the boys will be riding into Jo’burg like the Palace Guard, with their backs stiff and their tails in the air! We’re talking too much; we ought to be moving. If it’s somebody needed to tell the troopers they won’t be having their supper tonight, I’ll be pleased to be the one to do it, and I promise to handle any complaints personally as well!”