After All*

Patrick Cairns

I imagine there comes a time for every soldier when he seriously contemplates disobeying an order. We must all reach a point where we feel that we simply cannot do what we have been told. We might think it too much, or too dangerous, or too ridiculous. Or, more likely, we may believe we know of something better.

I think I had all these thoughts out in the Western Transvaal. For on the same day that Edderington's song drew the girl out of some of her guardedness, we received a heliographed instruction to push on. General Methuen's column was moving in behind us and we were to stay well ahead. The mounted infantry regiments to either side of us were being advanced as well.

I resented the order the moment I received it. I didn't want to move. Why should I be shunted about as a pawn might be shifted by a chess player? It was too uncomplicated. Methuen no longer wanted me where I was, so he had a message sent and I would move. As far as he was concerned it was that simple. I could hardly reply to say that actually I quite liked it here and would he mind if I camped out for a few more days?

But my aversion to moving was also more than petulance. I greatly feared another round of farm burnings. I was terrified of the emotionless Boer women who defied us with their composure, and their children who damned us with their eyes. I wanted to be done with them. But I knew the great army machine had to keep on working, regardless of my state of mind. Even if I were to refuse the order, I knew it would all go on without me. And perhaps that was the crux. My defiance would have no point.

So I began preparations for a night march. I met with the officers and mapped out a route. We would stick to the river. Responsibilities were shared out and the wagons were checked. Everything fell into place as it had throughout the war. We would keep on going.

I suppose I knew that I couldn't really disregard Methuen's instruction. There was no honour in not moving just because I didn't feel like it. And besides, I had to maintain my integrity. I had responsibilities to my men and to the generals. I couldn't abandon those under me, and while I might not agree with my superiors, I had to support them. It was more than an obligation: it was the essence of keeping an army together. I was a senior officer in the British forces and I would do my duty. I was not prepared for anything else.

But with my mind resolved on one matter, I had to consider the next. Would I have to give up the girl so soon? She had been with us for only a few days and surely there was still more to gain from her? The promise she contained was largely unfulfilled. I had said we couldn't move with her, but that now seemed rash. A night march could be gruelling, but she was resilient. It would probably be less trying than some of the nights she had spent before we found her.

So I decided she would come with us. No one could really hold me to my word. The officers would have to accept a commanding officer's privilege to change his mind, and the Tommies could simply put it down to the eccentricities of the upper classes. She would have to be prepared for the journey, though. A bed could be made up in amongst the tents and tables on one of the wagons. Then she could sleep most of the way. That would make it easier for her.

I wanted to address her myself, but my other duties delayed me. It was getting towards dusk before I had a chance to see her. I expected to find her sitting outside her tent, since it seemed she was never anywhere else. So I was alarmed when she wasn't there. She wasn't inside either.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Lieutenant Smith suddenly appeared beside me. It was his usual straightforward tone, but there was a new earnestness about it.

I looked up at him. "Where's the girl, lieutenant?"

He pointed towards the river. "She went down to the river with Edderington, sir. Not fifteen minutes ago."

I was relieved, but then suddenly worried again. What would Edderington be doing with her? I wanted to scamper off and find her, but I needed to show some poise. Smith was scrutinising me.

I cleared my throat. "Are you prepared for tomorrow?" I was trying to sound casual.

Smith frowned. "All ready, sir. Reveille at two-thirty as you requested, and everyone will be moving by three. Lieutenant Trent is taking care of the fatigue party."

"Very good." I never doubted that he would have everything in hand. Sometimes I thought it was Smith more than anyone else who was keeping the regiment together. "How are your horses, lieutenant?" I knew he paid special attention to the state of his company's ponies. We went through so many during the war. A mount rarely lasted more than three months before collapsing from disease or exhaustion.

"A few won't last much longer, but I expect they will all survive the march, sir." He was being patient with me.

"Have you requested fresh ones?"

"Major Weston is having them sent for, sir."

"Excellent." It was comical but not unpleasant to indulge in this sort of conversation.

"Is that all, sir?" Smith was typically formal, but I had the idea that he was calling my bluff.

I nodded. "Thank you lieutenant. Good evening." I was already striding off before he could return my greeting. He didn't move as I passed him and when I glanced back fifty yards later, he was still there, staring after me.

I regretted the discomfort growing between us. It was not yet mistrust, but it could become that. Smith was a fine young gentleman and I didn't want to lose his confidence.

As I approached the river I felt a growing displeasure that the girl was keeping Edderington's company. I would rather she didn't spend too much time around the Tommies. Her singing that morning had been enlivening and I was grateful to Edderington for stirring her, but the men were unrefined on the whole. Edderington himself was outwardly gentle, but his behaviour could be clumsy. I wouldn't want her to suffer any indignity.

It was quiet by the river. If Edderington and Shannon had come this way, they must have moved off beyond the bend upstream. The river wound around a hill and was hidden from where I stood by a low cliff. But why, I wondered, would they want to be out of sight? What could necessitate such secrecy?

I hurried upriver. Bats were coming out to feed and swooping overhead. Flying insects oblivious to the danger rambled above the water.

I reached the cliff and started to pick my way around it. There was only a narrow path between the rock and the river. It was damp underfoot and I had to be careful not to slip.

I was most of the way around when I spotted Edderington. He was alone, seated on a fallen log beyond the cliff face. The river widened out there and meandered through a copse of willow trees. It was alluringly quiet. There was a sweet smell of wild flowers.

Edderington saw me immediately and sprang to his feet. I wasn't sure if he looked guilty or merely surprised.

"Sir?" He stood very erect and clenched his hands at his sides. "Good evening, sir."

I approached a little further, but stopped a few yards from him. "Edderington, where is Shannon?"

"She's further on, sir." He turned a shoulder to point behind him.

"Alone? You really shouldn't let her out of your sight." I moved to pass him, but he shot out an arm and grabbed my shoulder. His grip startled me.

He said: "You can't go there." Just like that, matter-of-factly, as if there could be no argument against his manhandling me and giving me an order.

"What the devil is going on, Edderington? You can't pretend to tell me what I can or can't do!" I gave my voice as much authority as I could muster, but I made no attempt to free myself from his hold. He was too strong.

"She's bathing, sir. You can't go there." His tone never changed. He knew he had the better of me. He released my shoulder and I stepped away.

She was bathing! How does a gentleman explain the way that thought caught me off guard? As shameless as it must sound, I had to fight the urge to search her out through the trees. I felt a moment's exhilaration at the idea of her pulling off her dress and slipping into the water. I imagined her bare legs glistening as she stood in the shallows with the water dripping through her fingers. In my mind, she was entrancing, but I had to cast out the thought. Wasn't she only a girl?

"She's wanted to wash for days, sir. But she wouldn't come by 'erself. Said she was scared. So I come to watch out for her."

It was a simple explanation. Of course she wouldn't want to be disturbed. I should have thought of it. I wondered what else I hadn't considered.

"What else has she asked of you?"

"Nothing more, sir. Said she just wanted to wash. So I come with her to keep it private-like."

"Nothing else?"

"No, sir."

"Good." I wanted to be irritated at him, but he was being honest.

Darkness was closing in. I noticed that Edderington had brought a lantern. Foolishly, I had forgotten a light.

I decided to wait. At least I could walk Shannon back and explain about the night march. I picked out a large rock and sat down. Edderington shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "You can't stay."

"Why ever not? I want to see the girl and I plan to wait."

He glanced behind him as if to look for her. For a moment I thought he was no longer so sure of himself, but when he turned back I could see he was resolved.

"I'm sorry, sir. Shannon said she wanted no one about. I promised 'er."

And so it was laid out for me. Whether he knew it or not, Edderington had presented me with a dangerous choice. I could insist on my authority and stay where I was, or maintain my dignity by leaving. The difference was exclusive. For it was not Edderington's wish that I should go, but Shannon's. If I stayed, she would be offended, and I would be compromised. But since it was Edderington giving me the instruction, if I were to leave it would not be the girl I would be obeying, but him.

I considered my predicament for only a moment.

"Very well," I said. "But have her come see me as soon as you return to camp. It is urgent."

I didn't wait for a reply. There was nothing more to be said. And besides, for the sake of my pride, I had to have the last word.

There was no moon when the men were roused the next morning. The surrounding veldt was ominously dark. I watched from the entrance of my tent as points of light - candles and lanterns - lit up the faces of weary men. They shook themselves out from under their blankets and coats, pulled on their boots and worked to build up fires for brewing coffee. They communicated in grunts.

The night was cold. Even through my greatcoat the chill still dug itself in between my shoulder blades. It would not be a pleasant ride.

The girl had lit a candle in the tent beside mine. I watched her shadow on the canvas as she shuffled within. Her movements did not appear tired. If anything, they were lively. Perhaps this night march, which was such drudgery to us, seemed exciting to her? Although, when I had told her about it the night before, she had been uncertain. She said that she didn't want to go anywhere, that she was tired.

"But you can't stay here," I had told her. "There will be nothing left."

I think she understood well enough what I meant. She would have to come with us. I hadn't given her any other choice. Maybe it was unfair to let her think we were her only option, but I desperately wanted to keep her.

Shortly before three o'clock the men began to mount up. The fatigue party had been called, and those named had slouched off to await Lieutenant Trent's command. Shannon had come to stand outside her tent and watch, wrapped in the coat we had found for her. She was yawning, but her eyes were bright. All this activity in the dead of night seemed to delight her - the grumbling Tommies, the sergeants trying to prod their fellows into action, the fires and lanterns against the darkness of the veldt and the horses snorting and breathing steam.

It was soon time to take her to the wagon. I wanted to see her up myself. She remained quiet as we walked to where the boys were hitching up the last of the oxen. Her coat scraped on the ground behind her.

She skipped up onto the wagon and smiled from in amongst the blankets. "It's nice," she said.

I was pleased she liked it. "Make sure you keep warm. And if you need anything, just ask Jackson." He was driving the wagon.

She nodded and started to dig herself into the nest that had been made for her. She seemed more sure of herself. She had been so nervous for the past days, but now she was almost playful. Maybe we were no longer so strange to her? Although she had become no more generous with affections. Edderington was the exception. She was fond of him. I'm not sure I completely understood it, but it was as if she had picked him out of all of us to be the one she would like. She had seen something in him that made her believe she could trust him, even though that made her no less wary of the rest of us.

I left her and returned to where Major Weston was organising the ranks. The advance parties had already ridden out and the remaining men were being spread out into four lines, each nearly three-quarters of a mile long. Every rider had to be twenty-five to thirty yards from his nearest companion. We had learnt long ago not to present a concentrated target to the guerrillas.

I mounted Troy and rode to the head of the regiment. By three o'clock we were moving.

We rode in silence. Even our breathing was hushed. We moved into a night and veldt that appeared boundless. In their midst I felt insignificant. I knew I was a man at the mercy of the darkness, the wildness, the Boers and even my own generals. It seemed that all I had on my side was a little girl who may not even like me.

I turned to look for her wagon, but I couldn't make it out. She was in the middle of the regiment, hidden by the night. At least I confirmed that the men were still following me. That was reassuring. I wondered if the girl was sleeping or if she was still enjoying herself too much.

There wasn't really anything to see now. We were trekking at a gentle pace with a general sense of going nowhere. We were moving only from blackness into more blackness.

It soon became tedious. Only the occasional yelping of a jackal disturbed the night. The stars must have been brilliant if I had looked, but I rode with my eyes down.

We were about two hours into the march when I heard a horse approaching from behind me. I turned towards it, expecting an officer bringing news. But it was no messenger. It was Stewart's pony with him folded over her neck, sweetly unaware of his unprompted advance. He had fallen asleep in the saddle and his horse had simply gone on at her own pace.

I knew many men dozed off on these night marches and I couldn't blame them. They were wearisome. It was almost a shame to wake Stewart, but he had to fall back. We couldn't have a sleeping private leading the regiment.

I pulled Troy over and, when I was close enough, stuck a boot into Stewart's thigh. He started so violently that he almost tore himself out of his saddle. He looked about him in bemusement and fumbled for a salute when he realised who had woken him.

"Sir?"

"Try to keep the line, young Stewart." I even allowed myself a smile.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." He turned sheepishly and trotted back to find his section. A few of the men whistled irreverently as he passed.

Amused, I returned to my position. Weston was smoking a cigarette. He had watched the whole encounter, but said nothing. He never spoke much, my major. He was an observer and a thinker rather than a talker. And he never missed a thing. His eye fell on everything with the same reserved emotion. I don't recall ever seeing him smile. His authority was beyond question, precisely because it was so understated. He did nothing unnecessarily or extravagantly. I admired his character. I also envied the thickness of his moustache.

We rode without halt until just before dawn. I hadn't intended to stop at all, but a corporal from one of the advance parties came in with word from his sergeant. He delivered the news to Lieutenant Smith. It didn't appear urgent, but the corporal was troubled. Smith brought him over to me.

"Sergeant Baker has come across a burnt-out native kraal, sir. Corporal Peters here says it's still smoking."

"A native squabble do you think, corporal?"

He hesitated. "We thought so at first, sir, but we found Mauser cartridges. It must 'ave been Boers."

"Going after cattle thieves, I suppose. The Kaffirs should learn to keep their hands to themselves."

Peters shrugged. "Most likely, sir. The place 'as been wrecked. Brother Boer must 'ave been mad. Something really got up 'is nose."

"Are any of them still there, corporal?"

"The place is deserted, sir. They must 'ave bolted. The Boers killed a lot of the animals too. And I'd bet they made off with the cattle."

I disliked the idea of raiding native villages. I thought they should be left out of the war. But if they had been stealing cattle, then I suppose they got what they deserved. All the same, I thought I should see the place for myself.

"I think you should take me there, corporal. Smith, you'll come with us." I turned to Weston. "Follow with the regiment, major. We can call a rest there."

The kraal was in a shallow valley cut by a stream. We could see the smoke well before we reached it. Not a hut had been spared. The roofs had collapsed and the walls were black and starting to crumble. The destruction was alarming, but for us, coming in from the cold night, the heat of the smouldering fires was welcome.

A few bewildered goats wandered through the ruins. They were the lucky ones. The charred bodies of their kin lay scattered amongst the huts. Not even the chickens had been spared. Their carcasses lay everywhere. The Boers had been thorough and ruthless.

The paths between the huts had been churned up by wheeling horses and fleeing feet. But it didn't look like the scene of a fight. I saw no bodies, no blood and no bullet holes in the walls. It seemed that the Boers had intended only to scare the blacks. They had probably been firing into the air.

I had dismounted to look around when Sergeant Baker came riding up. He looked solemn. His eyes were heavy. He climbed down from his horse with exaggerated weariness.

"Good morning, sir." He spoke without enthusiasm.

"Good morning, sergeant. It looks as if the Boers had a score to settle with these cattle thieves."

Baker sniffed. "I don't think this was about animals, sir. The Boers was looking for someone." He paused. "I'm afraid they found 'im."

"Sergeant?"

"Your scout, sir. The one called John. We found 'is body in the grass be'ind the 'uts. Looks to me like 'e was executed."

I'd heard that the Boers were shooting our scouts, both white and black, but I had had no experience of it myself. I had certainly never considered that John might be in any danger because of what he was doing. It was innocent enough work, really. He had no training or instruction in it, and he was never armed. He simply kept an eye out for us. I couldn't imagine how the Boers even knew of him, never mind considered him dangerous enough to imagine they had to track him down and kill him.

I said, "Take me to him, sergeant." My mouth was dry.

John had been left where Baker had found him. His hands were tied behind his back and his jacket was ripped under his left arm where it appeared someone had grabbed him. By the way he had fallen and the glaring exit wound in his back I guessed he had been kneeling and shot from close range. One side of his face had collapsed into the grass and there was blood on his temple where it looked as if he had been hit with a rifle butt.

It was his face that drew me, though. His expression was disarming. Despite the way he had died, he looked peaceful. I had seen the bodies of many men during the war and most had fallen looking tense, scared, alarmed. But this curious black fellow was almost smiling. It was, I might say, as if he had died knowing some great secret and was humoured that no one would ever know what it was.

I approached the body and stood over it. Was this exaggerated retribution really necessary? I wondered. What was it about the natives that produced such an overflow of emotion from the Boers? They loathed them with a fervour that was beyond me.

I knelt down and eased John's face out of the grass. A few stalks stuck to the dry blood on his forehead. He was almost completely cold. I could see where the bullet had entered his chest, aimed straight at the heart. He would have died instantly.

I was still holding his head when Corporal Peters alerted us that the regiment was in sight. I raised my eyes to see the first line of men spilling over the nearest hill. They were an impressive sight with the sun just rising behind them. They stretched along the skyline, rolling towards us like a wave approaching the shore.

There would be work to do when they arrived. John deserved a decent grave and I would like patrols to be sent out to see if the Boers were still nearby. They had denied me my most useful scout and that annoyed me.

I turned and made for my horse. I thought I should meet Weston as he came in. The Boers were so elusive that we would have to act fast if we were going to catch them. We also needed to alert General Methuen that they were active here. He might want to move in immediately.

Lieutenant Smith was holding Troy for me, stroking his neck.

"Are we expecting the whole regiment here, sir?" He sounded uncharacteristically anxious.

"Certainly. And I'd like you to put together a patrol as soon as they arrive. See if you can find who's out there."

"Yes, sir." He paused and took his hand from the horse's neck. "But what about the girl?"

I froze. I had forgotten Shannon. She had been displaced in my mind by the urgency of command. And now she would be coming down with the rest of the men, tucked into her wagon. But she shouldn't see this. A girl had no place amongst the burnt huts. She mustn't be confronted with a dead body.

I should immediately have told Smith to hurry to her and make sure she came no closer. It would have been the right thing to do. But I didn't want to concede to my mistake. He must have seen that he had unsettled me, but I blustered through it.

"I'll see to her," I said. "I want the wagons to stay just below the hill."

I suppose I knew I couldn't fool him. He knew me too well. I had been so aware of the girl for the past few days that I hadn't imagined she could slip my mind so easily.

I swung up onto Troy's back and glanced at the approaching regiment. They were still far enough away.

"Major Weston will bring the men in," I said to Smith. "They can rest until I get back."

"Shouldn't I rather deal with the wagons, sir? You should stay here."

"It's no problem, lieutenant. I'll take care of it." Even as I said it, it sounded stupid. It wasn't my duty.

I gave Troy a nudge and cantered for the wagons. I would catch them in time and stop her from coming too close. I would keep her from seeing the mess. It would be fine. I would rectify my mistake. No harm would be done.

* Extract from a work in progress

Patrick Cairns was born in Tshwane in 1978 and has never met any aliens. He has, however, spoken to more than one American. He grew up in the village of Irene, opposite a dairy farm, and when he was five he had a girlfriend called Dominique. After school he went to Rhodes University to study Anthropology, Journalism and Jack Daniels. He writes plays, short stories, children’s stories and recipes.

LitNet: 12 September 2005

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