Cupid in Africa Part 11

The little Gurkha Subedar smiled brightly, saluted, and said he quite understood-which was rather clever of him, as his Hindustani was almost as limited as was Bertram's. However, he had grasped, from Bertram's barbarous and laborious "_Sub admi_ . . . _sub saman_ . . . _sub chiz_ . . . _tyar_ . . . _bara badji_ . . . _ither se jainga_ . . ." that "all men . . . all baggage . . . all things . . . at twelve o'clock . . . will go from here"-and that was good enough for him.

"Any chance of fighting to-morrow, Sahib?" he asked, but Bertram, unfortunately, did not understand him.

The tall, bearded Sikh Subedar saluted correctly, said nothing but "_Bahut achcha_, _Sahib_," {81} and stood with a cold sneer frozen upon his hard and haughty countenance.

The burly Jemadar of the Very Mixed Contingent, or Mixed Pickles, smiled cheerily, laughed merrily at nothing in particular, and appeared mildly shocked at Bertram's enquiry as to whether he understood. Of _course_, he understood! Was not the Sahib a most fluent speaker of most faultless Urdu, or Hindi, or Sindhi, or Tamil or something? Anyhow, he had clearly caught the words "all men ready at twelve o'clock"-and who could require more than a nice clear _hook.u.m_ like that.

Jemadar Ha.s.san Ali looked pained and doubtful. So far as his considerable histrionic powers permitted, he gave his rendering of an honest and intelligent man befogged by perfectly incomprehensible orders and contradictory directions which he may not question and on which he may not beg further enlightenment. His air and look of "_Faithful to the last I will go forth and strive to obey orders which I cannot understand_, _and to carry out instructions given so incomprehensibly and in so strange a tongue that Allah alone knows what is required of me_"

annoyed Bertram exceedingly, and having smiled upon the cheery little Subedar and the cheery big Jemadar, and looked coldly upon the unpleasant Sikh and the difficult Ha.s.san Ali, he informed the quartette that it had his permission to depart.

As they saluted and turned to go, he caught a gleam of ferocious hatred upon the face of the Gurkha officer whom the Sikh jostled, with every appearance of intentional rudeness and the desire to insult. Bertram's sympathy was with the Gurkha and he wished that it was with him and his st.u.r.dy little followers that he was to proceed to the front. He felt that they would follow him to the last inch of the way and the last drop of their blood, and would fight for sheer love of fighting, as soon as they were shown an enemy.

After a somewhat depressing breakfast, at which he found himself almost alone, Bertram arrayed himself in full war paint, packed his kit, said farewell to the ship's officers and then inspected the troops, drawn up ready for disembarkation on the well-decks. He was struck by the apparent cheerfulness of the Gurkhas and the clumsy heaviness of their kit which included a great horse-collar roll of cape, overcoat or ground-sheet strapped like a colossal cross-belt across one shoulder and under the other arm; by the apparent depression of the men of the Very Mixed Contingent and their slovenliness; by what seemed to him the critical and unfriendly stare of the Sherepur Sikhs as he pa.s.sed along their ranks; and by the elderliness of the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth draft. Had these latter been perceptibly aged by their sea-faring experiences and were they feeling terribly _terra marique jactati_, or was it that the impossibility of procuring henna or other dye had caused the lapse of brown, orange, pink and red beards and moustaches to their natural greyness? Anyhow, they looked distinctly old, and on the whole, fitter for the ease and light duty of "employed pensioner" than for active service under very difficult conditions against a ferocious foe upon his native heath. His gentle nature and kindly heart led Bertram to feel very sorry indeed for one bemedalled old gentleman who had evidently had a very bad crossing, still had a very bad cough, and looked likely to have another go of fever before very long.

As he watched the piling-up of square-sided boxes of rations, oblong boxes of ammunition, sacks, tins, bags and jars, bundles of kit and bedding, cooking paraphernalia, entrenching tools, mule harness, huge zinc vessels for the transport of water, leather _chhagals_ and canvas _pakhals_ or waterbags, and wished that his own tight-strapped impedimenta were less uncomfortable and heavy, a cloud of choking smoke from the top of the funnel of some boat just below him, apprised him of the fact that his transport was ready. Looking over the side he saw a large barge, long, broad, and very deep, with upper decks at stem and stern, which a fussy little tug had just brought into position below an open door in the middle of the port side of the _Elymas_. It was a long way below it too, and he realised that unless a ladder were provided every man would have to drop from the threshold of the door to the very narrow edge of the barge about six feet below, make his way along it to the stern deck, and down a plank on to the "floor" of the barge itself.

When his turn came he'd make an a.s.s of himself-he'd fall-he knew he would!

He tried to make Jemadar Ha.s.san Ali understand that two Havildars were to stand on the edge of the barge, one each side of the doorway and guide the errant tentative feet of each man as he lowered himself and clung to the bottom of the doorway. He also had the sacks thrown where anyone who missed his footing and fell from the side of the barge to the bottom would fall upon them and roll, instead of taking the eight feet drop and hurting himself. When this did happen, the Sepoys roared with laughter and appeared to be immensely diverted. It occurred several times, for it is no easy matter to lower oneself some six feet, from one edge to another, when heavily accoutred and carrying a rifle. When every man and package was on board, Bertram cast one last look around the _Elymas_, took a deep breath, crawled painfully out backwards through the port, clung to the sharp iron edge, felt about wildly with his feet which were apparently too sacred and superior for the Havildars to grab and guide, felt his clutching fingers weaken and slip, and then with a pang of miserable despair fell-and landed on the side of the barge a whole inch below where his feet had been when he fell. A minute later he had made his way to the prow, and, with a regal gesture, had signified to the captain of the tug that he might carry on.

And then he sat him down upon the little piece of deck and gazed upon the sea of upturned faces, black, brown, wheat-coloured, and yellow, that spread out at his feet from end to end and side to side of the great barge.

Of what were they thinking, these men from every corner of India and Nepal, as they stood shoulder to shoulder, or squatted on the boxes and bales that covered half the floor of the barge? What did they think of him? Did they really despise and dislike him as he feared, or did they admire and like and trust him-simply because he was a white man and a Sahib? He had a suspicion that the Sikhs disliked him, the Mixed Contingent took him on trust as an Englishman, the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth kept an open mind, and the Gurkhas liked him-all reflecting really the att.i.tude of their respective Native Officers. . . .

In a few minutes the barge was run alongside the Kilindini quay, and Bertram was, for the second time, climbing its stone stairs, in search of the Military Landing Officer, the arbiter of his immediate destiny.

As he reached the top of the steps he was, as it were, engulfed and embraced in a smile that he already knew-and he realised that it was with a distinct sense of pleasure and a feeling of lessened loneliness and unshared friendless responsibility that he beheld the beaming face of his "since-long-time-to-come" faithful old retainer Ali Suleiman.

"G.o.d bless myself please, thank you, _Bwana_," quoth that gentleman, saluting repeatedly. "_Bwana_ will now wanting Military Embarkation Officer by golly. I got him, sah," and turning about added, "_Bwana_ come along me, sah, I got him all right," as though he had, with much skill and good luck, tracked down, ensnared, and encaged some wary and wily animal. . . .

At the end of the little stone pier was a rough table or desk, by which stood a burly officer clad in slacks, and a vast spine-pad of quilted khaki. On the tables were writing-materials and a ma.s.s of papers.

"Mornin'," remarked this gentleman, turning a crimson and perspiring face to Bertram. "I'm the M.L.O. You'll fall your men in here and they'll stack their kits with the rations and ammunition over there. Then you must tell off working-parties to cart the lot up to the camp. I've only got two trucks and your fatigue-parties'll have to man-handle 'em.

You'll have to ginger 'em up or you'll be here all day. I don't want you to march off till all your stuff's up to the camp. . . . Don't bung off yourself, y'know. . . . Right O. Carry on. . . ." Bertram saluted.

Another job which he must accomplish without hitch or error. The more jobs he _could_ do, the better. What he dreaded was the job for the successful tackling of which he had not the knowledge, ability or experience.

"Very good, sir," he replied. "Er-where _are_ the trolleys?" for there was no sign of any vehicle about the quay.

"Oh, they'll roll up by and by, I expect," was the reply. Bertram again saluted and returned to the barge. Calling to the Native Officers he told them that the men would fall in on the bunder and await further orders, each detachment furnishing a fatigue-party for the unloading of the impedimenta. Before very long, the men were standing at ease in the shade of a great shed, and their kits, rations and ammunition were piled in a great mound at the wharf edge.

And thus, having nothing to do until the promised trucks arrived, Bertram realised that it was terribly hot; suffocatingly, oppressively, dangerously hot; and that he felt very giddy, shaky and faint.

The sun seemed to beat upward from the stone of the quay and sideways from the iron of the sheds as fiercely and painfully as it did downward from the sky. And there was absolutely nowhere to sit down. He couldn't very well squat down in the dirt. . . . No-but the men could-so he approached the little knot of Native Officers and told them to allow the men to pile arms, fall out, and sit against the wall of the shed-no man to leave the line without permission.

Jemadar Ha.s.san Ali did not forget to post a sentry over the arms on this occasion. For an hour Bertram strolled up and down. It was less tiring to do that than to stand still. His eyes ached most painfully by reason of the blinding glare, his head ached from the pressure on his brows of his thin, but hard and heavy, helmet (the regulation pattern, apparently designed with an eye to the maximum of danger and discomfort) and his body ached by reason of the weight and tightness of his accoutrements.

It was nearly two o'clock and he had breakfasted early. Suppose he got sunstroke, or collapsed from heat, hunger, and weariness? What an exhibition! When would the men get their next meal? Where were those trolleys? It was two hours since the Military Landing Officer had said they'd "roll up by and by." He'd go and remind him.

The Military Landing Officer was just off to his lunch and well-earned rest at the Club. He had been on the beastly bunder since six in the morning-and anybody who wanted him now could come and find him, what?

"Excuse me, sir," said Bertram as Captain Angus flung his portfolio of papers to his orderly, "those trucks haven't come yet."

"_Wha'_ trucks?" snapped the Landing Officer. He had just told himself he had _done_ for to-day-and he had had nothing since half-past five that morning. People must be reasonable-he'd been hard at it for eight solid hours damitall y'know.

"The trucks for my baggage and ammunition and stuff."

"Well, _I_ haven't got 'em, have I?" replied Captain Angus. "Be reasonable about it. . . I can't _make_ trucks. . . Anybody'd think I'd stolen your trucks. . . . You must be _patient_, y'know, and _do_ be reasonable. . . . _I_ haven't got 'em. Search me."

The Military Landing Officer had been on his job for months and had unconsciously evolved two formulae, which he used for his seniors and juniors respectively, without variation of a word. Bertram had just heard the form of prayer to be used with Captains and unfortunates of lower rank, who showed yearnings for things unavoidable. To Majors and those senior thereunto the crystallised ritual was:

"Can't understand it, sir, at all. I issued the necessary orders all right-but there's a terrible shortage. One must make allowances in these times of stress. It'll turn up all right. _I_'ll see to it . . ." etc., and this applied equally well to missing trains, mules, regiments, horses, trucks, orders, motor-cars or anything else belonging to the large cla.s.s of Things That Can Go Astray.

"You told me to wait, sir," said Bertram.

"Then why the devil _don't you_?" said Captain Angus.

"I am, sir," replied Bertram.

"Then what's all this infernal row about?" replied Captain Angus.

Bertram felt that he understood exactly how children feel when, unjustly treated, they cannot refrain from tears. It was _too_ bad. He had stood in this smiting sun for over two hours awaiting the promised trucks-and now he was accused of making an infernal row because he had mentioned that they had not turned up! If the man had told him where they were, surely he and his three hundred men could have gone and got them long ago.

"By the way," continued Captain Angus, "I'd better give you your route-for when you _do_ get away-and you mustn't sit here all day like this, y'know. You must ginger 'em up a bit" (more formula this) "or you'll all take root. Well, look here, you go up the hill and keep straight on to where a railway-bridge crosses the road. Turn to the left before you go under the bridge, and keep along the railway line till you see some tents on the left again. Strike inland towards these, and you'll find your way all right. Take what empty tents you want, but don't spread yourself _too_ much-though there's only some details there now. You'll be in command of that camp for the present. . . . Better not bung off to the Club either-you may be wanted in a hurry. . . . I'll see if those trucks are on the way as I go up. Don't hop off till you've shifted all your stuff. . . So long! . . ." and the Military Landing Officer bustled off to where at the Dock gates a motor-car awaited him. . . .

Before long, Bertram found that he must either sit down or fall down, so terrific was the stifling heat, so heavy had his accoutrements become, and so faint, empty and giddy did he feel.

Through the open door of a corrugated-iron shed he could see a huge, burly, red-faced European, sitting at a little rough table in a big bare room. In this barn-like place was nothing else but a telephone-box and a chair. Could he go in and sit on it? That dark and shady interior looked like a glimpse of heaven from this h.e.l.l of crashing glare and gasping heat. . . . Perhaps confidential military communications were made through that telephone though, and the big man, arrayed in a singlet and white trousers, was there for the very purpose of receiving them secretly and of preventing the intrusion of any stranger? Anyhow-it would be a minute's blessed escape from the blinding inferno, merely to go inside and ask the man if he could sit down while he awaited the trucks. He could place the chair in a position from which he could see his men. . . . He entered the hut, and the large man raised a clean-shaven crimson face, ornamented with a pair of piercing blue eyes, and stared hard at him as he folded a pinkish newspaper and said nothing at all, rather disconcertingly.

"May I come in and sit down for a bit, please?" said Bertram. "I think I've got a touch of the sun."

"Put your wacant faice in that wacant chair," was the prompt reply.

"Thanks-may I put it where I can see my men?" said Bertram.

"Putt it where you can c.o.c.k yer feet on this 'ere table an' lean back agin that pert.i.tion, more sense," replied the large red man, scratching his large red head. "_You_ don' want to see yore men, you don't," he added. "They're a 'orrid sight. . . . All natives is. . . . You putt it where you kin get a good voo o' _me_. . . . Shed a few paounds o' the hup'olstery and maike yerself atome. . . . Wisht I got somethink to orfer yer-but I ain't. . . . Can't be 'osspitable on a basin o' water wot's bin washed in-can yer?"

Bertram admitted the difficulty, and, with a sigh of intense relief, removed his belt and cross-belts and all that unto them pertained. And, as he sank into the chair with a grateful heart, entered Ali Suleiman, whom he had not seen for an hour, bearing in one huge paw a great mug of steaming tea, and in the other a thick plate of thicker biscuits.

Bertram could have wrung the hand that fed him. Never before in the history of tea had a cup of tea been so welcome.

"Heaven reward you as I never can," quoth Bertram, as he drank. "Where on earth did you raise it?"

"Oh, sah!" beamed Ali. "Master not mentioning it. I am knowing cook-fellow at R.E. Sergeants' Mess, and saying my frien' Sergeant Jones, R.E., wanting cup of tea and biscuits at bunder P.D.Q."

"P.D.Q.?" enquired Bertram.

"Yessah, all 'e same 'pretty dam quick'-and bringing it to _Bwana_ by mistake," replied Ali, the son of Suleiman.

"But _isn't_ there some mistake?" asked the puzzled youth. "I don't want to . . ."