Company Of Spears

Fairbrother lowered his telescope. ‘I thought at first the Zulu might have killed a bull – the sort of thing I believe they do to fortify themselves – but observe the distribution of the birds. They’re not circling with apparent intent to come down on a particular spot; they’re patrolling a wide area. Which I presume is that occupied by the Zulu bivouac.’

‘Why aren’t they all at yesterday’s feast?’ asked Hervey as he took out his own telescope again.

‘You have your answer: it was yesterday’s feast.’

‘So quick?’

Fairbrother nodded.

Hervey peered at them for a good while. Their line of patrol was a full mile to the troop’s front, and the same in length: much as he imagined the impi to occupy in bivouac – or else in the advance. ‘If it is so – their watching the Zulu, I mean – then they’re worth a couple of dozen scouts. I wonder shall they tell us when they advance?’

‘I shall endeavour to read the signs,’ said Fairbrother airily.

Hervey nodded, and smiled. He put back the telescope in its holster and took a handful of corn from the feedbag on the saddle. His mare ate it greedily.

‘May I make a suggestion?’ asked Fairbrother.

‘By all means.’

‘You’ll send out scouts?’

‘They’re making ready this moment. It is the usual drill.’

‘I should like to ride to that little hill yonder.’ He pointed out what appeared to be the merest anthill on the green veld. ‘I’ve a notion I might see things better.’

‘I have no objection,’ said Hervey, but warily. ‘Take with you Corporal Byrne.’

‘If I may, I’d rather go unaccompanied.’

Hervey was reluctant to accede; it took only his horse to lame itself and Fairbrother would be at the mercy of the spear. But then, he had crawled about the bush at night and dealt singly with three Xhosa … ‘Very well.’

With the scouts forward, Hervey was able to stand down both troop and company to make a proper feed for the horses and breakfast for themselves. For over forty hours neither dragoon nor rifleman had eaten but what they carried in their haversacks: corn cakes, and dried meat which without slaking was like chewing bridle leather. Hervey sat on the ground holding his mare’s reins, letting her pull at the rough veld grass. It would have no goodness in it (except, he supposed, for the game – the antelope and such) but a little bulk inside would do her no harm.

He looked up at the vultures. Had they picked clean Gilbert’s bones yet? He hated the death of a horse without ceremony, without proper disposal, leaving it to the pecking and tearing of crows and ravening dogs, and then to the ants and maggots and worms … He grieved separately for Corporal Dilke.

‘All well, sir?’ came a voice of the Tyne.

‘Passing well, Sarn’t-major,’ he replied, without looking up.

‘A close shave wi’ Gilbert, I understand.’ ‘

Ay. How’s the troop?’

It was not rightly ‘procedure’ for the troop serjeant-major to speak above the head of the troop leader (and Hervey had placed his lieutenant squarely in command); but with Armstrong ‘right procedure’ was an aid, like spurs or a whip, not an end in itself. Hervey would ever welcome his counsel, or even, as now, simply his company.

‘They’re in good fettle. Them greenheads did all right yesterday. Not one unseated. And not a horse lame this morning.’

Hervey had had the parade states already, but Armstrong’s assurance was welcome nonetheless. As it had been for a dozen years and more. Indeed, he had almost begun to think of Armstrong and the army – certainly the regiment – as one and the same. ‘We made a deal of vulture meat yesterday.’

‘We did an’ all, sir. But I doubt they’ll be caught like that again. Not the way they kept coming on when the rifles began dropping ‘em. An’ if they can learn to form square with them spears… ‘

Hervey agreed. They had fought men under discipline yesterday, strict discipline; well-trained men, and brave too.

Suddenly Armstrong braced. ‘Cap’n Fairbrother’s coming in at a fair lick, sir!’

Hervey got to his feet. Fairbrother was a furlong off, his horse flattening. ‘Stand to, Sarn’t-major. Trumpeter!’

Armstrong was gone in an instant, barking words of command like a jack-corporal at his first picket. Trumpeter Roddis came running, bugle in hand, ready. He halted at attention and saluted. ‘Sir?’

‘Stand to your horses.’

‘Sir!’

It was a simple call: triplets and a minim repeated, all on C. As well, since Roddis was still unpractised.

Fairbrother galloped straight at them, reining back only in the last few yards. ‘Call in your scouts, Hervey: there’re Zulu on both flanks!’

Hervey didn’t hesitate. ‘Skirmishers in, Roddis!’

It took a second or so for the trumpeter to recollect the call, and then he began blowing for all he was worth.

‘Zulu on both flanks?’

‘Ay,’ said Fairbrother, slipping from the saddle and catching his breath. ‘Crawling so flat you’d have to run into them to see. That’s why the scouts didn’t.’

‘How—’

‘That hillock yonder’s bigger than you think. I thought as much from the length of the shadow at first light. And then the vultures started taking a look this way, as if they’d seen something. That’s when I saw them, running like monkeys on all fours, so flat as to be hid by the grass.’

Hervey rattled through his options. They were few. He could throw out a flank – two flanks – but that would avail him nothing if the Zulu were behind him … ‘How many do you suppose there are?’

Fairbrother shook his head. ‘No way of knowing. But it would make sense for Matiwane to send a column round each flank: a couple of hundred or more to each, I mean.’

Hervey was astounded. ‘You mean there might be five hundred Zulu, unseen?’

‘I do.’

That settled it. His force was too weak to deal with an encirclement in such strength. And the rest of the impi would no doubt be readying to hurl itself in a frontal attack. ‘Hammer on anvil,’ he said ruefully.

Lieutenant Fearnley and Captain Welsh were soon come up. Hervey was emphatic: ‘We retire at the trot, Rifles leading!’

Colonel Somerset was waiting at the ford of the Ox River as they approached. Hervey had led with the Rifles since he judged it too risky to dismount for rearguard action, the sabre handier therefore than the firearm. Once they had put a mile of veld behind them, the furthest distance he calculated a Zulu could have advanced unseen, he threw out skirmishers in a wide arc behind, sent Cornet Beauchamp back to the river to inform Somerset, and continued the retirement at the walk. From time to time a dragoon took a shot with his carbine and sent back word of a Zulu – or else some wild animal – in the long grass, but besides the advancing vultures there was no definite sign that Matiwane was following in strength.

Half a mile from the river Hervey ordered Lieutenant Fearnley to post a picket line and to mark his routes of withdrawal to the ford, and told the Rifles to prepare to cross to the far bank. Then he galloped for the ford to speak in person with the commander of the Kaffraria Field Force.

‘Mounted detachment returned to your disposal, Colonel,’ he reported, saluting with due ceremony.

Somerset touched the peak of his forage cap. ‘Where are the Zulu?’

Hervey did not like the peremptory tone. ‘By my best estimate, the main force is half a league off, but their scouts may be a good deal nearer. The troop is in picket line yonder’ (he indicated the distant trees beyond the scrub of the flood plain) ‘with orders to send patrols forward if there is no sign of the Zulu within the hour.’