Soldiers Three - Part 2

Next morning there was no flat-iron in Simon’s Bay, only a little smudge of smoke off Cape Hangklip to show that Mr. Davies, the second-class engine-room artificer, was giving her all she could carry. At the Admiral’s house, the ancient and retired bo’sun, who had seen many Admirals come and go, brought out his paint and brushes and gave a new coat of pure raw pea-green to the two big cannon-balls that stood one on each side of the Admiral’s entrance-gate. He felt dimly that great events were stirring.

And the flat-iron, constructed, as has been before said, solely for the defense of rivers, met the great roll off Cape Agulhas and was swept from end to end and sat upon her twin-screws and leaped as gracefully as a cow in a bog from one sea to another, till Mr. Davies began to fear for the safety of his engines, and the Kroo boys that made the majority of the crew were deathly sick. She ran along a very badly-lighted coast, past bays that were no bays, where ugly flat-topped rocks lay almost level with the water, and very many extraordinary things happened that have nothing to do with the story, but they were all duly logged by Bai-Jove-Judson.

At last the coast changed and grew green and low and exceedingly muddy, and there were broad rivers whose bars were little islands standing three or four miles out at sea, and Bai-Jove-Judson hugged the shore more closely than ever, remembering what the Lieutenant of the “Mongoose” had told him. Then he found a river full of the smell of fever and mud, with green stuff growing far into its waters, and a current that made the flatiron gasp and grunt.

“We will turn up here,” said Bai-Jove-Judson, and they turned up accordingly; Mr. Davies wondering what in the world it all meant, and the Kroo boys grinning. Bai-Jove-Judson went forward to the bows and meditated, staring through the muddy waters. After six hours of rooting through this desolation at an average rate of five miles an hour, his eyes were cheered by the sight of one white buoy in the coffee-hued mid-stream. The flat-iron crept up to it cautiously, and a leadsman took soundings all around it from a dinghy, while Bai-Jove-Judson smoked and thought, with his head on one side.

“About seven feet, isn’t there?” said he. “That must be the tail end of the shoal. There’s four fathom in the fairway. Knock that buoy down with axes. I don’t think it’s picturesque somehow.” The Kroo men hacked the wooden sides to pieces in three minutes, and the mooring-chain sank with the lasst splinters of wood. Bai-Jove Judson laid the flat-iron carefully over the site, while Mr. Davies watched, biting his nails nervously.

“Can you back her against this current?” said Bai-Jove-Judson. Mr. Davies could, inch by inch, but only inch by inch, and Bai-Jove-Judson sat in the bows and gazed at various things on the bank as they came into line or opened out. The flatiron dropped down over the tail of the shoal, exactly where the buoy had been, and backed once before Bai-Jove-Judson was satisfied. Then they went up stream for half an hour, put into shoal water by the bank and waited, with a slip-rope on the anchor.

“Seems to me,” said Mr. Davies deferentially, “like as if I heard some one a-firing off at intervals, so to say.”

There was beyond doubt a dull mutter in the air. “Seems to me,” said Bai-Jove-Judson, “as if I heard a screw. Stand by to slip her moorings.”

Another ten minutes passed and the beat of engines grew plainer. Then round the bend of the river came a remarkably prettily built white-painted gunboat with a blue and white flag bearing a red boss in the centre.

“Unshackle abaft the windlass! Stream both buoys! Easy, astern. Let go, all!” The slip-rope flew out, the two buoys bobbed in the water to mark where anchor and cable had been left, and the flat-iron waddled out into midstream with the white ensign at her one mast-head.

“Give her all you can. That thing has the legs of us,” said Judson. “And down we go!”

“It’s war — bloody war. He’s going to fire,” said Mr. Davies, looking up through the engine-room hatch.

The white gunboat without a word of explanation fired three guns at the flat-iron, cutting the trees on the banks into green chips. Bai-Jove-Judson was at the wheel, and Mr. Davies and the current helped the boat to an almost respectable degree of speed.

It was an exciting chase, but it did not last for more than five minutes. The white gunboat fired again, and Mr. Davies in his engine-room gave a wild shout.

“What’s the matter? Hit?” said Bai-Jove-Judson.

“No, I’ve just seized of your roos-de-gare. Beg y’ pardon, sir.”

“Right O! Just the half a fraction of a point more.” The wheel turned under the steady hand, as Bai-Jove-Judson watched his marks on the bank coming in line swiftly as troops anxious to aid. The flat-iron smelt the shoal water under her, checked for an instant, and went on. “Now we’re over. Come along, you thieves, there!”

The white gunboat, too hurried even to fire, was storming in the wake of the flat-iron, steering as she steered. This was unfortunate, because the lighter craft was dead over the missing buoy.

“What you do here?” shouted a voice from the bows.

“I’m going on. Hold tight. Now you’re arranged for!”

There was a crash and a clatter as the white gunboat’s nose took the shoal, and the brown mud boiled up in oozy circles under her forefoot. Then the current caught her stem by the starboard side and drove her broadside on to the shoal, slowly and gracefully. There she heeled at an undignified angle, and her crew yelled aloud.

“Neat! Oh, damn neat!” quoth Mr. Davies, dancing on the engine-room plates, while the Kroo stokers grinned.

The flat-iron turned up-stream again, and passed under the hove-up starboard side of the white gunboat, to be received with howls and imprecations in a strange tongue. The stranded boat, exposed even to her lower strakes, was as defence-less as a turtle on its back, without the advantage of the turtle’s plating. And the one big blunt gun in the bows of the flat-iron was unpleasantly near.

But the captain was valiant and swore mightily. Bai-Jove-Judson took no sort of notice. His business was to go up the river.

“We will come in a flotilla of boats and ecrazer your vile tricks,” said the captain with language that need not be published.

Then said Bai-Jove-Judson, who was a linguist: “You stay o where you are o, or I’ll leave a hole-o in your bottom o that will make you much os perforatados.”

There was a great deal of mixed language in reply, but Bai-Jove-Judson was out of hearing in a few minutes, and Mr. Davies, himself a man of few words, confided to one of his subordinates that Lieutenant Judson was “a most remarkable prompt officer in a way of putting it.”

For two hours the flat-iron pawed madly through the muddy water, and that which had been at first a mutter became a distinct rumble.

“Was war declared?” said Mr. Davies, and Bai-Jove-Judson laughed. “Then, damn his eyes, he might have spoilt my pretty little engines. There’s war up there, though.”

The next bend brought them full in sight of a small but lively village, built round a whitewashed mud house of some pretensions. There were scores and scores of saddle-coloured soldiery on duty, white uniforms running to and fro and shouting round a man in a litter, and on a gentle slope that ran inland for four or five miles something like a brisk battle was raging round a rude stockade. A smell of unburied carcasses floated through the air and vexed the sensitive nose of Mr. Davies, who spat over the side.

“I want to get this gun on that house,” said Bai-Jove-Judson, indicating the superior dwelling over whose flat roof floated the blue and white flag. The little twin screws kicked up the water exactly as a hen’s legs kick in the dust before she settles down to a bath. The little boat moved un easily from left to right, backed, yawed again, went ahead, and at last the gray blunt gun’s nose was held as straight as a rifle-barrel on the mark indicated. Then Mr. Davies allowed the whistle to speak as it is not allowed to speak in Her Majesty’s service on account of waste of steam. The soldiery of the village gathered into knots and groups and bunches, and the firing up the hill ceased, and every one except the crew of the flatiron yelled aloud. Something like an English cheer came down wind.

“Our chaps in mischief for sure, probably,” said Mr. Davies. “They must have declared war weeks ago, in a kind of way, seems to me.”

“Hold her steady, you son of a soldier!” shouted Bai-Jove-Judson, as the muzzle fell off the white house.

Something rang as loudly as a ship’s bell on the forward plates of the flat-iron, something spluttered in the water, and another thing cut a groove in the deck planking an inch in front of Bai-Jove-Judson’s left foot. The saddle-coloured soldiery were firing as the mood took them, and the man in the litter waved a shining sword. The muzzle of the big gun kicked down a fraction as it was laid on the mud wall at the bottom of the house garden. Ten pounds of gunpowder shut up in a hundred pounds of metal was its charge. Three or four yards of the mud wall jumped up a little, as a man jumps when he is caught in the small of the back with a knee-cap, and then fell forward, spreading fan-wise in the fall. The soldiery fired no more that day, and Judson saw an old black woman climb to the flat roof of the house. She fumbled for a time with the flag halliards, then finding that they were jammed, took off her one garment, which happened to be an Isabella-coloured petticoat, and waved it impatiently. The man in the litter flourished a white handkerchief, and Bai-Jove-Judson grinned. “Now we’ll give ‘em one up the hill. Round with her, Mr. Davies. Curse the man who invented those floating gun platforms. Where can I pitch in a notice without slaying one of those little devils?”

The side of the slope was speckled with men returning in a disorderly fashion to the river front. Behind them marched a small but very compact body of men who had filed out of the stockade. These last dragged quick-firing guns with them.

“Bai Jove, it’s a regular army. I wonder whose,” said Bai-Jove-Judson, and he waited developments. The descending troops met and mixed with the troops in the village, and, with the litter in the centre, crowded down to the river, till the men with the quick-firing guns came up behind them. Then they divided left and right and the detachment marched through.

“Heave these damned things over!” said the leader of the party, and one after another ten little gatlings splashed into the muddy water. The flatiron lay close to the bank.

“When you’re quite done,” said Bai-Jove-Judson politely, “would you mind telling me what’s the matter? I’m in charge here.”

“We’re the Pioneers of the General Development Company,” said the leader. “These little bounders have been hammering us in lager for twelve hours, and we’re getting rid of their gatlings. Had to climb out and take them; but they’ve snaffled the lock-actions. Glad to see you.”

“Any one hurt?”

“No one killed exactly, but we’re very dry.”

“Can you hold your men?”

The man turned round and looked at his command with a grin. There were seventy of them, all dusty and unkempt.

“We sha’n’t sack this ash-bin, if that’s what you mean. We’re mostly gentlemen here, though we don’t look it.”

“All right. Send the head of this post, or fort, or village, or whatever it is, aboard, and make what arrangements you can for your men.”

“We’ll find some barrack accommodation somewhere. Hullo! You in the litter there, go aboard the gunboat.” The command wheeled round, pushed through the dislocated soldiery, and began to search through the village for spare huts.

The little man in the litter came aboard smiling nervously. He was in the fullest of full uniform, with many yards of gold lace and dangling chains. Also he wore very large spurs; the nearest horse being not more than four hundred miles away. “My children,” said he, facing the silent soldiery, “lay aside your arms.”

Most of the men had dropped them already and were sitting down to smoke. “Let nothing,” he added in his own tongue, “tempt you to kill these who have sought your protection.”

“Now,” said Bai-Jove-Judson, on whom the last remark was lost, “will you have the goodness to explain what the deuce you mean by all this nonsense?”

“It was of a necessitate,” said the little man. “The operations of war are unconformible. I am the Governor and I operate Captain. Be’old my little sword.”

“Confound your little sword, sir. I don’t want it. You’ve fired on our flag. You’ve been firing at our people here for a week, and I’ve been fired at coming up the river.”

“Ah! The ‘Guadala’. She have misconstrued you for a slaver possibly. How are the ‘Guadala’?”

“Mistook a ship of Her Majesty’s navy for a slaver! You mistake any craft for a slaver! Bai Jove, sir, I’ve a good mind to hang you at the yard-arm!”

There was nothing nearer that terrible spar than the walking-stick in the rack of Judson’s cabin. The Governor looked at the one mast and smiled a deprecating smile.

“The position is embarrassment,” he said. “Captain, do you think those illustrious traders burn my capital? My people will give them beer.”

“Never mind the traders, I want an explanation.”

“Hum! There are popular uprising in Europe, Captain — in my country.” His eye wandered aimlessly round the horizon.

“What has that to do with — ”

“Captain, you are very young. There is still uproariment. But!” — here he slapped his chest till his epaulets jingled — “I am loyalist to pits of all my stomachs.”

“Go on,” said Judson, and his mouth quivered.

“An order arrive to me to establish a custom-houses here, and to collect of the taximent from the traders when she are come here necessarily. That was on account of political understandings with your country and mine. But on that arrangement there was no money also. Not one damn little cowrie. I desire damnably to extend all commercial things, and why? I am loyalist and there is rebellion — yes, I tell you — Republics in my country for to just begin. You do not believe? See some time how it exist. I cannot make this custom-houses and pay the so high-paid officials. The people too in my country they say the king she has no regardance into Honour of her nation. He throw away everything — Gladstone her all, you say, pay?”

“Yes, that’s what we say,” said Judson with a grin.

“Therefore they say, let us be Republics on hot cakes. But I — I am loyalist to all my hands’ ends. Captain, once I was attache at Mexico. I say the Republics are no good. The peoples have her stomach high. They desire — they desire — a course for the bills.”

“What on earth is that?”

“The cock-fight for pay at the gate. You give something, pay for see bloody row. Do I make its comprehension?”

“A run for their money — is that what you mean? Gad, you’re sporting, Governor.”

“So I say. I am loyalist, too.” He smiled more easily. “Now how can anything do herself for the customs-houses; but when the Company’s mens she arrives, then a cock-fight for pay at gate that is quite correct. My army he says it will Republic and shoot me off upon walls if I have not give her blood. An army, Captain, are terrible in her angries — especialment when she are not paid. I know, too,” here he laid his hand on Judson’s shoulder, “I know too we are old friends. Yes! Badajos, Almeida, Fuentes d’Onor — time ever since; and a little, little cock-fight for pay at gate that is good for my king. More sit her tight on throne behind, you see? Now,” he waved his hand round the decayed village, “I say to my armies, Fight! Fight the Company’s men when she come, but fight not so very strong that you are any deads. It is all in the raporta that I send. But you understand, Captain, we are good friends all the time. Ah! Ciudad Rodrigo, you remember? No? Perhaps your father, then? So you see no one are deads, and we fight a fight, and it is all in the raporta, to please the people in our country, and my armies they do not put me against the walls. You see?”

“Yes; but the ‘Guadala’. She fired on us. Was that part of your game, my joker?”

“The ‘Guadala’. Ah! No, I think not. Her captain he is too big fool. But I think she have gone down the coast. Those your gunboats poke her nose and shove her oar in every place. How is ‘Guadala’?”

“On a shoal. Stuck till I take her off.” “There are any deads?”

“No.”

The Governor drew a breath of deep relief. “There are no deads here. So you see none are deads anywhere, and nothing is done. Captain, you talk to the Company’s mens. I think they are not pleased.”

“Naturally.”

“They have no sense. I thought to go backwards again they would. I leave her stockade alone all night to let them out, but they stay and come facewards to me, not backwards. They did not know we must conquer much in all these battles, or the king, he is kicked off her throne. Now we have won this battle — this great battle,” he waved his arms abroad, “and I think you will say so that we have won, Captain. You are loyalist also. You would not disturb to the peaceful Europe? Captain, I tell you this. Your Queen she know too. She would not fight her cousins. It is a — a hand-up thing.”

“What?”

“Hand-up thing. Jobe you put. How you say?”

“Put-up job?”

“Yes. Put-up job. Who is hurt? We win. You lose. All righta?”

Bai-Jove-Judson had been exploding at intervals for the last five minutes. Here he broke down completely and roared aloud.

“But look here, Governor,” he said at last, “I’ve got to think of other things than your riots in Europe. You’ve fired on our flag.”

“Captain, if you are me, you would have done how? And also, and also,” he drew himself up to his full height, “we are both brave men of bravest countries. Our honour is the honour of our King,” here he uncovered, “and of our Queen,” here he bowed low. “Now, Captain, you shall shell my palace and I shall be your prisoner.”

“Skittles!” said Bai-Jove-Judson. “I can’t shell that old hencoop.”

“Then come to dinner. Madeira, she are still to us, and I have of the best she manufac.”

He skipped over the side beaming, and Bai-Jove-Judson went into the cabin to laugh his laugh out. When he had recovered a little he sent Mr. Davies to the head of the Pioneers, the dusty man with the gatlings, and the troops who had abandoned the pursuit of arms watched the disgraceful spectacle of two men reeling with laughter on the quarter-deck of a gunboat.

“I’ll put my men to build him a custom-house,” said the head of the Pioneers, gasping. “We’ll make him one decent road at least. That Governor ought to be knighted. I’m glad now that we didn’t fight ‘em in the open, or we’d have killed some of them. So he’s won great battles, has he? Give him the compliments of the victims, and tell him I’m coming to dinner. You haven’t such a thing as a dress-suit, have you? I haven’t seen one for six months.”

That evening there was a dinner in the village — a general and enthusiastic dinner, whose head was in the Governor’s house, and whose tail threshed at large throughout all the streets. The Madeira was everything that the Governor had said, and more, and it was tested against two or three bottles of Bai-Jove-Judson’s best Vanderhum, which is Cape brandy ten years in the bottle, flavoured with orange-peel and spices. Before the coffee was removed (by the lady who had made the flag of truce) the Governor had sold the whole of his governorship and its appurtenances, once to Bai-Jove-Judson for services rendered by Judson’s grandfather in the Peninsular War, and once to the head of the Pioneers, in consideration of that gentleman’s good friendship. After the negotiation he retreated for a while into an inner apartment, and there evolved a true and complete account of the defeat of the British arms, which he read with his cocked hat over one eye to Judson and his companion. It was Judson who suggested the sinking of the flat-iron with all hands, and the head of the Pioneers who supplied the list of killed and wounded (not more than two hundred) in his command.

“Gentlemen,” said the Governor from under his cocked hat, “the peace of Europe are saved by this raporta. You shall all be Knights of the Golden Hide. She shall go by the ‘Guadala’.”

“Great Heavens!” said Bai-Jove Judson, flushed but composed, “that reminds me I’ve left that boat stuck on her broadside down the river. I must go down and soothe the commandante. He’ll be blue with rage. Governor, let us go a sail on the river to cool our heads. A picnic, you understand.”

“Ya — as, everything I understand. Ho! A picnica! You are all my prisoner, but I am good gaoler. We shall picnic on the river, and we shall take all the girls. Come on, my prisoners.”

“I do hope,” said the head of the Pioneers, staring from the verandah into the roaring village, “that my chaps won’t set the town alight by accident. Hullo! Hullo! A guard of honour for His Excellency the most illustrious Governor!”

Some thirty men answered the call, made a swaying line upon a more swaying course, and bore the Governor most swayingly of all high in the arms as they staggered down to the river. And the song that they sang bade them, “Swing, swing together their body between their knees”; and they obeyed the words of the song faithfully, except that they were anything but “steady from stroke to bow.” His Excellency the Governor slept on his uneasy litter, and did not wake when the chorus dropped him on the deck of the flat-iron.

“Good-night and good-bye,” said the head of the Pioneers to Judson; “I’d give you my card if I had it, but I’m so damned drunk I hardly know my own club. Oh, yes! It’s the Travellers. If ever we meet in Town, remember me. I must stay here and look after my fellows. We’re all right in the open, now. I s’pose you’ll return the Governor some time. This is a political crisis. Good-night.”

The flat-iron went down stream through the dark. The Governor slept on deck, and Judson took the wheel, but how he steered, and why he did not run into each bank many times, that officer does not remember. Mr. Davies did not note anything unusual, for there are two ways of taking too much, and Judson was only ward-room, not foc’s’le drunk. As the night grew colder the Governor woke up, and expressed a desire for whiskey and soda. When that came they were nearly abreast of the stranded “Guadala”, and His Excellency saluted the flag that he could not see with loyal and patriotic strains.

“They do not see. They do not hear,” he cried. “Ten thousand saints! They sleep, and I have won battles! Ha!”

He started forward to the gun, which, very naturally, was loaded, pulled the lanyard, and woke the dead night with the roar of the full charge behind a common shell. That shell mercifully just missed the stern of the “Guadala”, and burst on the bank. “Now you shall salute your Governor,” said he, as he heard feet running in all directions within the iron skin. “Why you demand so base a quarter? I am here with all my prisoners.”

In the hurly-burly and the general shriek for mercy his reassurances were not heard.

“Captain,” said a grave voice from the ship, “we have surrendered. Is it the custom of the English to fire on a helpless ship’?”

“Surrendered! Holy Virgin! I go to cut off all their heads. You shall be ate by wild ants — flogged and drowned. Throw me a balcony. It is I, the Governor! You shall never surrender. Judson of my soul, ascend her insides, and send me a bed, for I am sleepy; but, oh, I will multiple time kill that captain!”

“Oh!” said the voice in the darkness, “I begin to comprehend.” And a rope-ladder was thrown, up which the Governor scrambled, with Judson at his heels.

“Now we will enjoy executions,” said the Governor on the deck. “All these Republicans shall be shot. Little Judson, if I am not drunk, why are so sloping the boards which do not support?”