MAKING TRACKS – Chapter Four – Dublin Castle

CHAPTER FOUR – DUBLIN CASTLE

 

The next day, Monday, was spent checking over his luggage to make sure he had all the stuff he would need for the voyage and for living in the colony, and shopping for any missing items which included a sun hat and a tropical jacket. He had seen such items in Rhodes’ wardrobe in Oxford. He ate sparingly that evening, determined to get a good night’s sleep before catching an early morning train from the Great Western railway station at Paddington.

It was still dark when Percy Ashenden left his hotel on Tuesday morning and climbed aboard a Hansom cab which he had booked to take him and his trunk to Paddington Station. Arriving at the station, he found it was already teeming with people intent on finding their train and their carriages for the journey they were to make. The notice board told him that the train for Bristol and Exeter was due to leave from Platform 1 at 7.00 am and summoning a porter he supervised the transfer of his trunk from the pavement where the Cabbie had deposited it and the loading of it into the baggage van at the end of the train. Settling into his reserved seat in a First Class compartment, Percy opened his copy of The Times newspaper which the hotel had obligingly provided, and as he started to read, the guards whistle sounded, there was a general slamming of doors, and with a jerk the train started to move on its journey to the South West coast of England. 

Percy had not experienced travel on the Great Western Railways broad gauge before. He was used to the gauge that the majority of the railway companies had adopted as a standard, four foot, eight and a quarter inches. He was amazed at the speed that his train attained for most of the first leg of his journey, from Paddington to Bristol. Furthermore, the stability of the carriages was something new to him. The carriage was divided into compartments with face to face bench seats, richly upholstered with freshly laundered antimacassars on the headrests, and with a corridor running the length of the carriage at the side of the compartments. At the end of the carriage was a small kitchen in which a steward was able to brew coffee, tea, and even some alcoholic beverages. Shortly after leaving Paddington Percy had ordered a cup of coffee from the steward, and was gratified to find it hot and strong, almost compensating for the early start to his morning.

Sharing his compartment was an elderly gentleman and a young lady who was introduced as his niece. There was also a clergyman, judging by his dress, of some degree of seniority in the Church.  

The weather outside was overcast with cloud, and droplets of rain ran down the windows of the carriage, although it was not raining as such. The trees were still without leaves, standing in stark contrast to the verdant landscape of cultivated fields and grazing cattle. The exhaust from the chimney of the locomotive swept over the train, occasionally covering Percy’s carriage in a white, opaque cloud that only served to emphasise their indomitable progress towards Bristol. 

For some time after the train pulled out of Paddington and gathered speed leaving the streets and houses of the “London Villages” behind there was silence in the compartment, and Percy was able to read his newspaper without distraction. However, the clergyman was clearly the voluble sort, and suddenly said, addressing Percy, “I say, don’t I know you?”

Percy put his newspaper down, and looked at the clergyman. “I’m terribly sorry”, he said in reply, “but I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m sure I would remember you if we had.” 

The clergyman slapped his knee, “Got it!” he exclaimed, “Oriel ’76. You were in the boat; friend of that bounder Cecil Rhodes. By golly, I should know you. I coached you for the bumping races.”

“Oh”, said Percy, mortified that he hadn’t recognised the man, “but you were, er, uhm, not so, ahem, portly in those days.” To Percy’s relief the clergyman roared with laughter. “Portly’s the right word “, he said, “too much of a good thing at the Archbishop’s table, I’m afraid. I was college chaplain in those days. Now I am archdeacon to the See of York.”

It was at this point that the elderly gentleman intervened. “Oriel, did you say? Why, I was a commoner in Oriel in, let me see, 1805. Yes, I was a young lieutenant in Wellington’s staff. He thought I needed to hone up my Spanish and French languages. He wanted me to be able to infiltrate the enemy lines and if necessary, pass m’self off as a French or Spanish officer. Not exactly playing the game by the rules, but that was Wellington’s way, y’know.” 

“My goodness, “said Percy, “Were you at Waterloo?”

“Yes, I was” replied the man. “I was a colonel by then, but still attached to Wellington’s staff. People don’t realise it, but transportation was the most important element in waging warfare. Bravery is all very well, but unless you can get horses and supplies to the battleground, your chances of making a decisive victory  are negligible. That at the end of the day was the difference between our troops and Napoleon’s. But, by George, these steam locomotives will change the nature of warfare in favour of ordnance, supply lines and so on. You mark my words, railways will dictate how the next campaign will be conducted.”

Although the train passed through several stations, including Swindon, the headquarters and workshops of the Great Western Railway, it did not stop until it arrived at Bristol, Temple Meads  after a journey of 1 hour and 55 minutes. Here it was necessary for Percy to change trains to take him to Exeter, where he would again take a third train from Exeter to Dartmouth. His trunk would be looked after by the railway staff, as it was labelled for the “Mail Boat” as were sacks of postal items coming from the London Royal Mail sorting depots too late for the Southampton sailing.

The next train to Exeter after his arrival at Bristol was departing at ten o’clock, so that Percy had time to take some breakfast in a restaurant provided for this purpose in the precincts of the station.

Having bade farewell to his fellow passengers, Percy was surprised to find himself once again sharing a compartment with the colonel and his niece. After exchanging exclamations of pleasant surprise, Percy asked if they were travelling only to Exeter, or were they travelling further on. The niece, who had not said anything in any of the earlier conversations, blurted out, “Yes, we’re going a long, long way further. In fact,” she said, “We’re taking the Mail Boat to South Africa!”

“Let me guess,” said Percy, “Would that be the Dublin Castle, by any chance?”

Her uncle looked none too pleased by this exchange of confidences, and remonstrated to her to the effect that she should not broadcast their business to all and sundry. She looked suitably chastised, but was able to give Percy a small smile without her uncle seeing, which compensated Percy for being classed by that august personage as “Sundry”.  

 The train to Exeter from Bristol was slower and less comfortable than the London to Bristol flyer, and stopped at every station that the tracks passed through. After a journey of close to three hours, they arrived in Exeter, where some of the carriages were dropped, and a shorter train continued to Newton Abbot, Torquay and Paignton. In summertime, these trains would be packed with visitors to the Devon and Cornish seasides, but in February there were so few travellers that wagons were dropped as the train progressed its Southerly route, until only one passenger wagon and one goods van remained for its last leg from Paignton to Dartmouth. This was just as well, as the gradients on this section were a steep 1 in 60 in places, as the railway climbed through densely wooded country, crossing a couple of deep gorges over soaring viaducts until the summit was reached at Churston. From here the train descended again toward the River Dart entering the Greenway tunnel for a quarter of a mile, emerging to be greeted by the sight of the estuary populated by ships of all shapes and sizes, among which Percy could discern the red funnels with the black band of the Castle Line vessel that would be his board and lodging for the next 22 days.

Here was another surprise for Percy. Dartmouth Station had no railway running into it. The line from Paignton terminated at Kingswear, on the East bank of the River Dart estuary, and Dartmouth station was built on the West bank of the river, all ready to receive trains that never arrived. Instead, passengers for Dartmouth were taken by ferry across the water, to disembark at a wharf next to the Dartmouth Station buildings. The bridge which was intended to connect the railway between Kingswear and Dartmouth had proved too expensive to build, even for Brunel! This was another lesson learnt by Percy; only plan what you can afford to build. 

Percy supervised the handling of his trunk from the ferry boat to the wharf-side where the Dublin Castle was moored, ready for the collection of mail and parcels and passengers that had arrived by rail. There were two gangways leading from the wharf to the ship’s rail, one with an upward slant for First Class ticket holders to attain the upper deck, and the other slanting downward into the side of the ship providing access to the lower decks for second class passengers and emigrants, who were intent on making a new, and hopefully better, life for themselves in the Colony. Percy was surprised to see that his fellow passengers from the train-ride down from London, the elderly colonel and his niece with whom he had shared the First Class compartment, were only boarding the vessel at the second gangway, while he, himself, was welcomed by the Purser at the top of the first gangway. Although he hardly gave the matter another thought, at that time, he was later to count it with another incident he recalled from the train journey. That was, when the ticket inspector approached their compartment, the Colonel had to suddenly “answer a call of nature”, and when the ticket inspector asked to see their tickets, the niece promised her uncle would bring them to him after he had finished his “business”. To Percy’s later recollection, the uncle omitted this courtesy.

Percy was shown to his cabin by a steward who would act as his butler for the duration of the voyage. Having ascertained that all was up to Percy’s expectations, the steward advised Percy that he would be expected to join the Captain’s table for dinner that evening, and he would meet other First Class passengers in the adjoining lounge for a pre-prandial cocktail at six o’clock sharp! He then set about unpacking clothes from Percy’s trunk and placing them in appropriate drawers and wardrobes, and suggesting that he should press the dinner suit and shirt that Percy would be wearing for dinner. With his life on board apparently being fully taken care of by his steward, Percy decided to take a stroll around the deck and watch the preparations being made for the voyage. 

The breeze was fresh with the smell of the sea assailing his nostrils as he noted the urgency in the stevedores stowing of the last of the cargoes. An officer of the ship’s company engaged him in conversations, all the while monitoring the progress being made. 

“ The Captain wants us to get away as soon as possible”, he shouted, above the noise of the windlass lifting another bale of canvas material, “There’s a likelihood of this breeze freshening, and giving us a rough ride out of port.” 

“Avast there” he shouted, as the bale narrowly missed the head of one of the gangers supposedly guiding the cargo to its assigned position in the hold. “The last thing we need at this time is a casualty. Captain would have a cadenza! Get that man outa there” he shouted at the leader of the gang. “ He’s a bloody liability.”

“It doesn’t help, “ he explained to Percy, “but it relieves my feelings!”

Percy continued his walk and came to the head of some steps going down to the lower deck. There was a chain slung between the hand rails, with a notice hanging from it carrying the legend “FIRST CLASS PASSENGERS ONLY PERMITTED ABOVE THIS CHAIN.”  He assumed it was permissible for First Class passengers to descend the steps below the chain, but decided there was little to be gained by exploring further at this time. As he was turning away, he saw the Colonel and his niece standing on the deck below. 

“Hallo there”, shouted the colonel, giving a wave. “  I say, there’s been a bit of a mix up. We booked a First Class passage, but they’ve put us with the Hoi Polloi . I’m getting it sorted out. Hope to join you soon.” So saying he led his niece away towards the stern of the ship.

Percy turned away from his vantage point, and observed that the wisps of white smoke that had been emanating from the two red funnels had changed to a black billowing cloud that was lifted high and away from the ship by the rising breeze. At the same time the open hatches to the hold were sliding shut, and the stevedores were leaving the vessel.

“Cast off forrard” came the shout from the young officer who had engaged Percy in conversation, and was standing in the bows of the ship. Percy heard the ring of the bridge telegraph to the engine room, and he heard the hiss of steam and the rumble of the pistons moving in the engines below decks. The nose of the ship slowly swung away from the wharf-side.

“Cast off aft” came the call from another officer standing on the after deck when the bows of the vessel were well clear of the wharf. The taffrail was crowded with passengers waving and calling out to the well-wishers on the shore as the rumble of the engines changed to a throb and the water behind the stern counter was churned into a white froth by the ship’s propellers. Now they were moving between the shores of the River Dart, past the headlands and into the English Channel. Now the effect of the shore breeze was felt more strongly, and the vessel rose and fell with the swell being created by the weather. 

“It is not such an unpleasant sensation”, thought Percy, for whom this would be the first time he had been on the high seas. Although he had been on a trip “around the bay” at Whitby, such excursions were only contemplated when the weather was calm, while he was now undertaking a voyage that would continue “come hell or high water”. At this stage, the gods were being kind to Percy, and for the next 24 hours Percy was given a gentle introduction to the joys of sea travel.

Thus it was that, with a keen appetite and rising excitement, at six o’çlock Percy made his way from his cabin to the First Class Lounge to receive a “cocktail “ that had become a fashionable substitute for the traditional “sherry before dinner”. He was among the first to arrive, and had time to look around at the opulent furnishings that were favoured by the Castle Shipping Company for their Royal Mail Ships. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling lit by the new-fangled electric bulbs and the ceiling was further decorated with gilded mouldings of cherubim and seraphim blowing the four winds. On the walls were paintings of the main ports of call and well known seascapes such as the Bay of Naples and Mount Vesuvius. Gradually the room filled up with his fellow passengers, and then, much to his delight, Cecily and her aunt appeared at the doorway. Unfortunately, Percy was in the middle of a conversation with a large, florid gentleman and his diminutive wife and was obliged to lend a polite ear to the florid gentleman’s reminiscences of the first time he had made an ocean voyage. Percy heard how the General, for that was who he was, had rounded  the Cape of Storms, as the Cape of Good Hope had been known. “ only in those days”, he had said, “ It was under sail. On my way to India y’know. A young, unmarried subaltern in those days.”

To be fair to the General, Percy found the General’s story quite interesting, and he had just got to the point of describing his first tiger hunt, when the bell went to call every one into the dining saloon. This was another rather opulent room, occupying the whole width of the ship, with windows on each side, and with twelve round tables spread over the floor space. Each one seating eight people, and a long, rectangular refectory table before the front bulkhead, seating sixteen. This was the Captain’s Table, and it was considered an honour among the passengers to be invited to sit for dinner at the Captain’s Table. Percy had been advised by his steward that he was to be accorded that honour on this evening, and he found his place, marked with a card bearing his name, one seat removed to the right, or starboard side, from the captain’s seat. To his joy, he saw that the name on the card on the next place starboard of his was that of Lady Cecily Fitzpatrick.

“Well, Good evening, at last” said Percy to Lady Cecily, “I am so glad to have a chance to speak to you. It seems such a long time since we chatted at Lady Fitzpatrick’s”

“Three whole days”, she replied, “ but then, I’ve only known you for four.”

Percy wasn’t sure what to say next, but Lady Cecily saved his embarrassment by asking about his journey down from London. Percy described his fellow passengers from the train journey and how he had seen them on board the ship, but among the emigrant passengers who travel steerage. In telling the story, he divided his attention between the captain on his left and Cecily on his right. When he repeated the Colonel’s statement about there being a mix-up over the class of his reservations, the captain gave a snort.

 “Mix-up, by God! beg pardon Ma’am,” to Cecily. “Castle Line doesn’t mix-up its reservations, no Sir!” Then he gave a short laugh, “I’ll tell you what that was about, tho’ it’s hardly dinner-time conversation. I’ve known about these two for a while. Other Captains have warned me about them, and if I’m not mistaken, your description fits the bill.”

The steward, who was hovering behind the Captain, poured a glass of wine for him to taste. After taking a good draught, the Captain gave a nod, and the steward proceeded to fill the guests’ glasses. The Captain waited until all the glasses were charged, then rose and gave the loyal toast,

 “The Queen”. 

The men all stood, and repeated the toast, while the ladies remained seated.

 By this time all attention was on the Captain.

“These two people are Russian. Oh, he speaks English just like a well educated Englishman, and he has the gestures and demeanour of the same. I believe his Mother was an English governess in the household of his father, who was a Prince. Princes are two a penny, in Russia. The girl is the grand-daughter of his father, so is, in effect, truly his niece. Her real name is Princess Radziwill. Apparently they live in exile and have no visible means of support, and have turned to crime, namely theft and blackmail.”

“Goodness me,” remarked Cecily, “Do you really think these two are as you have described? What can you do about it? Put them ashore on some deserted island?”

“Yes, I say,” said the General, who happened to be sitting opposite the Captain, “You’ve got to do something.”

The Captain paused before replying. 

“I cannot say or do anything on mere suspicion, and that, after all, is all that I have said amounts to. In fact, I am probably out of order in having said anything to you folk, and I’d be obliged if you wouldn’t noise it abroad. However, be careful if you are approached in any way by either of them, and take nothing at face value.” 

The rest of the dinner was passed in convivial conversation, for Percy both with the General and his wife, opposite, and with Lady Cecily, next to him. The Captain, a man of few words, seemed happy to allow the discussions to flow around him without his intervention.

The Captain brought the dinner to a close when he rose at eleven o’clock and the rest of the diners made their way to their cabins. Percy wished lady Cecily “Good Night” at the door to the cabin she shared with her aunt, who was hovering in close attendance preventing Percy from returning the pack on the cheek given by Lady Cecily, and he made a small bow to each lady. His own cabin was several doors further forward from theirs, and as he made his way along the companion way, he found the floor moving below his feet. He stopped, and steadied himself against the wall, thinking he had perhaps made too free with the wine, but a further roll of the ship confirmed that they were now broaching the Atlantic waters off the Lizard. 

Percy managed to get to his cabin, where he removed his jacket and tie, and loosened his collar, and fell across his bed. No sooner had his insides come to terms with the novel sensation of dancing a tango, than there was a loud knocking at his door. 

“Go away!” he shouted, “Leave me alone!”

The knocking was repeated, and a female voice called, “Help me, please”

“What on earth….?” Thought Percy, thinking it must be Lady Cecily. He staggered his way to the cabin door and released the latch. The door was thrust open and a dishevelled Princess Radziwil barged her way past him into the room.

“What………….?”expostulated Percy

“My uncle,” gasped the girl, “He’s going to beat me. He says I have disgraced him with my behaviour. I was only being kind to a fellow passenger. Shut the door. Don’t let him in.” and she threw herself onto the bed, weeping convulsively.

She was clearly in a state, with her dress falling off her shoulders, and torn at the back. Percy didn’t know what to do.

He moved to comfort her, and barely a second passed before the door, which had failed to latch properly, was thrust open again, and the uncle strode in. He stopped in mid stride, looked at Percy, looked at the girl lying across the bed, face up having turned herself over, and appeared to stagger back. Immediately behind him was another passenger. Half turning towards him and half turned to Percy, he uttered the classic words, 

“What is the meaning of this?  George” addressing the man with him, “Do you see what this blackguard is about? He has enticed my niece to his cabin, with blandishments and promises, and is intent on having his way with her. Why, he’s even torn her dress in his determination to have her!”

Poor Percy was at a loss for words. He remembered the Captain’s words from the dinner table. What should he do?

Percy gathered his wits and crossed to the bell push that would call his steward.

“Why have you done that?”shouted the uncle, “This disgraceful scene will be all over the ship if your steward sees it.” He toned his voice down to a more conciliatory level “I am sure we can come to an arrangement, and George will keep quiet, won’t you George? Close the door, George. I’m sure my niece is as much to blame as you are, Sir. She’s a beguiling little thing. I suggest you tell your steward you made a mistake and send him away” For a moment they held each other’s gaze, then Percy said, 

“What are you suggesting, in that case?”

“”Well,” drawled the Uncle, “George here will need to be paid off to keep his mouth shut. That, unfortunately, is the only way with the lower classes where George comes from. Say fifty pounds now and fifty pounds when he gets off the ship. Then my niece will need a new dress to replace the one you’ve torn” (Percy could scarcely contain his indignation at the effrontery of this), “And as for me,” he spread his hands, “I am of the forgiving nature. Your friendship is enough for me.” 

“Oh, very clever” thought Percy, “Nothing I can, in the apparent circumstances, claim is extortion, And then he will come to me. ‘Can you lend me this?” and ‘Can you just make it a round figure, Old Chap?’ and all the time suspending a sword of Damocles over my head.”

There was a knock at the door. The steward. Percy moved to open the door, and the uncle took his arm, “Remember,” he whispered, “They’re notorious gossips.”

Percy opened the door a small amount, as if preparing to send the steward away with some excuse for calling him unnecessarily.

“Ah, Steward,” said Percy, “I have a small problem.” He opened the door wider. “These passengers are from the lower deck. They appear to have lost their way. Would you mind escorting them to their own quarters? Oh, and by the way, I think I had better inform the Purser tomorrow that his security arrangements need some attention.”

In one fell swoop Percy had ensured that the steward would be circumspect in what he told his shipmates, the Purser’s wrath being legendary, and the wind had been taken out of the tricksters’ sails, and as for George, poor chap, he had been duped as much as the tricksters hoped to hold Percy to ransom.

As the steward ushered the party from Percy’s cabin, the uncle turned to Percy and said, “You will regret this, my fine Popinjay. Just you see” and his niece gave Percy a sheepish grin. George, wondering what had happened, trundled after them.

Falling once again across his bed, Percy’s thoughts, as he slid still almost fully clothed, thankfully into a welcome sleep, were that he doubted very much if that night’s escapade would be kept secret for very long.

Waking up a few hours later, Percy found himself still in the same clothes that he’d worn for dinner, minus the jacket, tie and collar. Heaving himself from the bed, he steadied himself against the outside wall of his cabin and peered through the porthole. He could distinguish the horizon beyond the white-capped waves that seemed to race past the glass, occasionally splashing against it, and as he watched, the sky slowly lightened as the dawn approached. Making a lunge for the bell push, he was once again thrown onto the bed by the roll of the ship. He gave a groan. This would never do. He knew this was sea-sickness, and he knew there was little he could do about it, except perhaps pray, but that did not make it any easier to bear. His steward gave a knock on the door, and let himself in with a pass-key. 

“Feeling a bit rough, are we sir? Well, never mind. After a night like last night you’ll maybe want a bit of peace and quiet, eh? Now I’ll bring you some nice hot water, and you get into the bath, and soon you’ll be as right as rain.” So saying, the steward departed to return a few minutes later with two buckets of steaming hot water. He drew from a closet beyond the bed a bath tub much like a large drawer and emptied the two buckets into it. Behind the tub, in the alcove from which it had been produced, there was a stop-cock set into the bulkhead and a short flexible hose that could reach the bath. From this, the steward drew cold water for the bath, letting it run while he fetched two more buckets full of piping hot water from his quarters. He unwrapped a bar of soap provided in the cabin amenities, placed a fresh, warm towel on a rail set inside the closet’s door, and satisfied that all was properly arranged, he withdrew saying, 

“Call me when you have finished bathing, sir, and have towelled yourself down, and I’ll bring you a basin of fresh hot water and give you a shave if you could put out your brush and razor.”

After he had gone, Percy took off the rest of his clothes and sank gratefully into the steaming hot bath, which somehow alleviated the worst of the symptoms of sea-sickness, and over-indulgence.

An hour later, freshly shaved and dressed in crispy-clean linen and his good tweed suit, Percy made his way to the dining room where he thought that a slice of dry toast and a cup of freshly brewed coffee for breakfast might just be the thing to settle his stomach and stimulate his mind. 

Early as it was, being only 9.00 a.m. by the ship’s chronometer set in the wall, he found Lady Cecily already tucking into a plate of devilled kidneys and fried tomatoes, apparently oblivious to the effects of the vessel’s corkscrewing progress. Giving Percy a big smile, she beckoned for him to join her at the table and, after he had sat and given his order to the steward, she turned to him, with a broad smile, almost a grin saying,

“I believe you had a visitor last night? No wonder you look so seedy this-morning. Now, I want to hear all about it.” 

 ‘How on earth did you hear about it?”, protested Percy, and took a sip of his coffee while he gathered his thoughts. “I’d rather you told me what you heard,” he went on, and raised a quizzical eyebrow at Cecily.

There was a pause, as he held her gaze. Cecily broke first, and said, “Well, if truth be told, I heard very little. As I was coming to the breakfast room, I passed a couple of stewards, and they were saying something about young ladies shouldn’t throw themselves at young gentlemen.”

She was blushing furiously.

“ I thought they were talking about me, you being the young gentleman in question, and I told them rather sharply to mind their tongues.”

“Oh, it’s not you m’lady, we was talking about,” (she affected a North-country accent,) “It were that young Russian trollope, beggin’ yer pardon, miss. She whose uncle thinks he’s Prince Thingmajig and is travelling steerage with the emigrants.”  

“That’s all I know.”

Percy gave her a smile, and rather bravely took her hand in his. 

“I wouldn’t have minded if it had been you” he said, “Although I’m not sure I would have been so happy if it had been your aunt who had burst in on us!” and he related the whole story to Cecily from start to finish, including the fact that he’d slept the night away in his day clothes.

Somehow, their rather formal, if cordial enough, relationship took on a more relaxed nature from this point on and they spent the next few days enjoying each other’s company and conversation, and when Cecily’s aunt was distracted, holding hands, each gazing fondly at the other. The hours were hardly idle, as the ship’s purser arranged a wealth of past-times for the passengers, and as the weather warmed up with the ship approaching the Tropics, the crew constructed a plunge bath using sail-cloth and tarpaulins. This was mainly for the use of male passengers, but no one seemed to be offended when one or two of the more forward girls joined in.

 

CHAPTER FIVE - CANARY ISLANDS

After six days at sea, Percy woke in the early hours to the clatter of chains and the shouts of the seamen, and hauling himself up to his porthole, looked outside to see a large number of ships at anchor in the shadow of a huge mountain rising from the sea. There were already small boats plying to and from the dockside to the anchored ships, fetching and carrying stores and cargoes, and an official looking launch flying the Spanish national emblem at its stern was headed directly towards the Dublin Castle. 

Not wanting to miss a minute watching this bustling activity, Percy hastily pulled on a shirt and a pair of baggy tennis trousers, and raced upon deck, looking more like an impoverished lascar seaman than the scion of a wealthy Yorkshire family. Finding his friend, the second mate, he asked where they were, and was told this was El Gran Canaria, one of the Spanish possessions known in England as the Canary Islands. Theirs was the only steamship present, and the rest was a forest of masts and furled sales. 

Percy sought out the ship’s officer in charge of the loading of stores and goods from the wherries, and asked if he might go ashore. He was told there was no objection, but he must be back on board by 3.00pm or he would be left behind. In the breakfast room he found Cecily already seated and, despite his attire, joined her in their early breakfast. 

“Well, what have you been up to?” she asked, looking askance at his unshaven face and rough clothes.

“I’ve been up on deck,” said Percy, “watching all the comings and goings. The second mate told me it was alright to go ashore, as long as we got back on board by three o’clock –

“We?” interrupted Cecily, “Who are We?”

“Oh, you’ll come too, won’t you? And your aunt, of course. It’ll be an adventure. The natives speak Spanish, don’t you know?”

Cecily looked at him quizzically. If she’d had her mother’s lorgnettes, she would have be surveying him disapprovingly through them. Suddenly she burst into peals of laughter.

“Of course we’ll come,” she said. “Why did you think I was so early at breakfast? Aunt Grace and I had already made up our minds to explore the town, and only needed a male companion to protect us. You’ll do fine, but please, put on some clothes more in tune with an English gentleman.”

They arranged to meet at the davit that let down to the small boats alongside the bigger vessel an hour later, giving Percy time to finish his breakfast, complete his ablutions, and dress in an off-white linen suit, a white shirt and a cravat in the colours of his Oxford college, setting on his head a Panama hat.

Looking every inch an English gentleman abroad, he presented himself to Cecily and her aunt at the appointed time at the side of the ship where personnel could embark and disembark into dhows that supplied a taxi service between ship and shore. At the shore side was a rough wooden landing stage standing some three feet higher than the gunwale of the dhow, the tide being on the ebb, and  Percy handed Cecily and her aunt out of the dhow before himself stepping up to the platform. There were other passengers walking around who had also ventured ashore, to savour the chance to expand their surroundings from the confines of the ship, especially the emigrants’ berths.

Percy and the ladies walked slowly up to what was evidently the main street, consisting of wooden and corrugated iron buildings, each one the home of a trader importing and exporting goods from the colony. The smells of spices and coffee pervaded the atmosphere, and many of the buildings were open at the front, where the goods were placed on display. The frontage was lined with palm trees, which gave protection from the sun, which was already high in the sky. The ladies had brought sunshades with them, and these helped them to remain cool as the day grew hotter.

As lunchtime approached, the three travellers looked for somewhere suitable to eat. In one of the buildings they could discern tables and chairs inside near the back wall, and a brazier in one corner over which a man stirred a large copper pan from which arose an aroma as enticing as it was strange to the their senses. They went deeper into the room, and sat down at one of the tables, several being already occupied by what were evidently citizens of the town. A young man, a waiter apparently, approached their table, and said something that Percy didn’t understand. He stared hopelessly around, looking for help, but no one else was interested in these three foreigners. He pointed at the man stirring the pan. 

“Paella” said the waiter

“ Three”, said Percy, holding up three fingers.

Suddenly, Miss Fitzpatrick spoke to the man.

“Por favour, queremos una botella de vino tinto y tres vasos.”

Percy could only look on in amazement. 

“Just because I’m a maiden aunt doesn’t mean I am only good for interfering in my niece’s romances. In fact, I’m not a maiden at all. I had a Spanish lover once!”

Cecily gasped, Percy was dumbstruck, and Grace went on, 

I was in Spain at the time of the Peninsular wars, Father being in Wellington’s army, and, by the time we left, I could speak Spanish like a native. She then answered the unspoken question, “He was killed, in the war.” 

(…………..to be continued)

 

“He was attached to my father’s regiment as a liaison officer, and, to put it simply, we were thrown together rather more often than was wise. In those days, Society was much less hidebound than it has since become, and it is quite possible that, had he not been killed, we would have married. Nonetheless, we couldn’t show our affection for each other too blatantly and I had to hide my increasing fluency in the Spanish language from the family’s friends and acquaintances. Even my brother, your father Cecily, was unaware of our deep attachment, and I am sure that, if your mother had learned about it, she would not have been comfortable appointing me to be your chaperone on this trip. In speaking those few words in the Spanish tongue, I felt the years fall away, and I was back in Corunna speaking them to my lover.”

The waiter was back at their table with the bottle of wine and three glasses, and the trio watched expectantly as he pulled the cork from the neck of the bottle. The glasses were filled, and Miss Fitzpatrick, Aunt Grace, lifted hers and proposed a toast.

“To a delightful journey, and fond memories” she said, enigmatically.

The waiter brought a large dish of the paella to their table, and they served themselves from it onto wooden platters, enjoying the rich aroma of spices that were released with each spoonful. Afterwards, Percy could not remember what they had spoken about while they ate, but he did remember quaffing the wine and ordering a second bottle. Thus it was that as 3.00pm approached, the travellers paid their account, pounds sterling being a most acceptable currency, and dashed for the landing stage where the dhow was waiting to take them back to the Dublin Castle.

“Just made it, then,” remarked Percy’s friend, the second mate who was officiating at the return of passengers, helping the ladies with a steadying hand as they transferred from the dhow to the deck of the ship. 

“We’ve had a super time,” replied Lady Cecily, staggering a little, and the ladies giggled their way to their room. 

“Had a bit too much wine,” said Percy, unnecessarily, “Better lie down for a bit” and so saying he made his unsteady way after the ladies.

It was not until the next day, by which time the Gran Canaria was a smudge on the northern horizon as the ship ploughed its way southwards, that Percy and Lady Cecily met at breakfast again. Being young, the after effects of an excess of vino tinto had completely dissipated with a good night’s sleep, lulled by the gentle roll of the ship as it made its way into the Tropics. It was hardly surprising that “an understanding” had been reached between them, and their conversation developed a familiarity, bordering on intimacy. 

The Equator or Line, as sailors call 0o Latitude, was crossed at almost exactly midday two days later and the sun was blazing down on the deck of the ship where members of the crew were subjecting chosen passengers to the traditional ceremony. Mostly they were chosen from the lower decks, they being more inclined to lose their inhibitions after a shot or two of rum which went with the festivities, but Percy was elected representative of the first Class passengers and took his role very seriously.

Fortunately his friend, the second mate, was appointed the role of Neptune, resplendent in flowing beard, draped with fronds of seaweed collected from the Gran Canaria beaches, bearing his Trident and sitting on a throne of a Giant Turtle shell kept in the ship’s stores for this occasion on each voyage. Beside him stood various members of his court, such as his judge, his barber and his policeman, all members of the crew dressed in their chosen character. Percy was dressed in some of the oldest and most disreputable clothes excavated from the deepest of the ship’s holds, and led a parade, as he had been instructed to, of the lower deck’s “volunteers” past the throne of Neptune, lustily singing “Rule Britannia”. This clearly incensed Neptune, who stood up to harangue the mob, which only encouraged Percy to call on them to sing more lustily than ever. Then Neptune gave a nod to his acolytes, who turned the ship’s fire-hoses onto the rebellious mob. All were soaked in a split second, and some were knocked over by the force of the water. Percy, having been made aware of what would happen, manfully stood his ground, but the fire hoses won and soon all the miscreants were prostrate on the deck, and the hoses turned off. Showing much magnanimity, Neptune ordered his court to help the poor “landlubbers” to their feet and to give every one of them a generous glass of rum to restore his spirits. With much cheering, the newly initiated were led away to change into dry cloths and to continue their celebrations until sundown with food and drink provided by the Shipping Company.

Percy repaired to his own cabin, quite weary after his exertions in leading the mob and fighting the power of the hoses, and gave himself a hot bath before joining his fellow passengers in the Captain’s stateroom.

As he walked through the door, he was met with a round of applause, and, much embarrassed, made his way to the side of Lady Cecily. A glass of a clear liquid was offered to him on a tray held by one of the stewards. “Gin, sir’” murmured the steward, “laced with quinine water. Good for Malaria.” As if making a toast, Percy raised the glass, and took a long sip, tasting its bitterness and burning sensation as it coursed over his tongue and down his throat. It was surprisingly refreshing, especially after the cloying taste of the rum he’d drank in the ceremony. He could get to like it.

Lady Cecily gazed at Percy with adoring eyes. 

“The Captain says you managed to stay on your feet under the fire hoses for longer than any other passenger on his ships crossing the line. Well done! My hero!” she said, giving his arm a squeeze.

“Yes, well done, Sir,” exclaimed the General, joining the trio with an inclination of his head towards the ladies, “By Jove, but that was a fine rendition of that song. Where did you learn it? ”

“We do learn more than a few Latin phrases and mathematical theorems at Oxford, y’know,” replied Percy with a smile. “It was all the rage when I was up. We used to all stand up and sing it at parties and at the end of any entertainment such as formal dinners and the theatre. Cecil Rhodes, a chum of mine who is now a member of the Cape Parliament, wrote additional verses to include his beloved South Africa.”

“Yes,” interjected Lady Cecily, “Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Sullivan even included it in one or two of their operettas.”

The voyage continued as the vessel made its way South. The days grew longer, and the evenings became cooler. A smudge again appeared on the horizon, this time to the South, which resolved itself as the day passed into a rocky island. By nightfall the ship was anchored in a bay from which a small settlement of houses could be seen, dominated on the right by a battery of cannons mounted on a promontory overlooking the bay and the settlement. Using the second mate’s telescope, Percy could see steps cut into the rock climbing their way from the settlement up the cliff-side to the gun battery. This was St. Helena.

“There are six hundred steps which are used for bringing powder and shot to the garrison at the battery”, explained his companion. “This was where Napoleon was incarcerated, and where his corpse is buried. While he was alive, the British government was constantly on the lookout for plots to help him escape, and hence the military presence. We are only dropping off and picking up mail here, so there is no time for you to go ashore and visit the grave, but it has become a bit of a shrine, these days.”

The second mate’s assessment of their brief visit was correct, and before the moon was up they had weighed anchor and had set a south-westerly course for Table Bay.

Six days later, standing at the taffrail, Percy watched the bulk of Table Mountain materialising out of the sea fog, as it was dispersed by the warmth of the rising sun. He felt a presence at his side, and turned to greet Lady Cecily with kiss. “Here we must part company,” she said, sadly, “but not for long, I hope”

“And you will meet your cousin, and maybe he will gain your affection,” replied Percy with a twinge of jealousy. 

“Oh Percy!” she expostulated, “Of course he will gain my affection – and yours too, I hope. But never fear, you will always have a place in my heart. Now, let’s enjoy the excitement of arriving at somewhere strange and exotic together, and we’ll take the future as it comes. You’ll be met by your friend, Cecil Rhodes, and I by my cousin, James Fitzpatrick, and we’ll all have a jolly time of it.”

At the thought of seeing Rhodes again, Percy brightened up. The anchorage in the bay was obscured by a veritable forest of masts, spars and rigging, for much of the sea-borne commerce was still handled by sailing ships and the Alfred off-loading basin where they were to berth, to which they were making way under minimal power, was crowded with such vessels. As the Royal Mail contractor, the Castle Line was given priority, and vessels already occupying the designated berth were quickly moved off. A steam driven power tug-boat came alongside and assisted in manoeuvring the Dublin Castle to its place. Hawsers were thrown and looped around bollards, the bridge telegraph gave a final clang and the noise of the engines died. All was still for some seconds, then a cheer went up and the noise of people jostling their way to the gangways with their luggage in tow set itself up against the cries and shouts from shore to ship from the local population here to welcome friends, relations and newcomers to the City of Cape Town. 

 

CHAPTER SIX - CAPE TOWN

Cecil Rhodes, being already a man of some repute in Cape Town, was not obliged to wait ashore, but had secured permission to come aboard to meet his guest. It was hardly a coincidence that James Fitzpatrick, here to meet his cousin and aunt from England, managed to attach himself to Rhodes and to come aboard with him. As he explained to Percy later, being a banker’s clerk, however lowly, afforded one entrée to all levels of society, and Rhodes and he had a nodding acquaintance. Thus, before any of port officials had embarked to process the ship’s papers, or any of the passengers had disembarked, Rhodes had boarded the ship and spotted Percy and his friends standing at the taffrail.

Bounding up, Rhodes immediately took charge of proceedings. As soon as he and Percy had shaken hands, he clapped his arm about Percy’ shoulders, and turned to introduce him to Mr Fitzpatrick, who was still making his way up to the deck.

“Oh,” said Percy, after the introductions were made, “I think you must be the cousin of Lady Cecily Fitzpatrick with whom I have had the pleasure of making this journey. I don’t believe you have met each other before?” Turning to the two ladies by his side, Percy continued, 

“Miss Fitzpatrick and Lady Cecily Fitzpatrick, may I have the honour of introducing my good friend Mr Cecil Rhodes and his colleague, Mr James Fitzpatrick. Mr Rhodes, Mr Fitzpatrick, Miss Fitzpatrick, Lady Cecily.” The two men inclined their shoulders towards the ladies and dropped their heads, this being a token of a bow, and the two ladies bent their knees slightly and inclined their heads, this being a token of a curtsey.

“Well now,” said Rhodes when the introductions were over, “I shall arrange lunch for the five of us in the Parliamentary Hall, for, say twelve noon, which will be marked by the firing of a cannon on Signal Hill,” pointing up to the mountain, “which will give you time to sort out the effects that you’ve brought with you, in other words your luggage, and then we can discuss your accommodation arrangements. Percy will come with me to my digs so that we can get his programme organised. I trust this meets with your approval? James here will be able to guide you to Parliament, or anywhere else you wish to go.”

And so Rhodes and Percy disembarked, Percy having hurriedly cornered his friend, the second mate, and asked him to see to his luggage, while Lady Cecily and her aunt exchanged family news with James Fitzpatrick and made arrangements for landing and forwarding their luggage to a house he had rented on their behalf in the suburb of Rondebosch, some five miles out of town.

)

 

By the time Percy and Rhodes had collected all Percy’s belongings and stowed them in the Cape Cart which Rhodes had hired for the day, the sun was high in the sky and the small breeze off the water did little to cool the morning. As they turned into Strand Street the boom of the noon-day gun shattered the somnolent atmosphere in the town, and the passers-by, as if mechanically connected, took out their watches to check them. Soon they were going at a good clip along the Main road leading out of town towards the villages of Observatory and Rondebosch. 

“I’ve rented a small house for you on the La Rochelle estate, close to the railway line”, said Rhodes. “It’ll be convenient for your work, which I hope will speed up the extensions of the line to the False Bay coast. Already there are signs that people will choose to live along its route and we could see unprecedented development bringing great prosperity to the area.”

The village of Rondebosch consisted of a couple of trading stores, an imposing church and a railway station. Most of the residents lived on farms and smallholdings in the vicinity, but already some of the houses had clearly been built to reflect the wealth of their owners. This was the place to live, if the hustle and bustle of Cape Town became too much to bear. 

“Wynberg which is further down the line is a more important business centre, and provides homes to the Muslim traders” explained Rhodes, “But for stylish living, Rondebosch is the place to be.”

They pulled up alongside some farmland stretching up towards the mountain that provided Cape Town with its magnificent backdrop, wherever you were. Rhodes contemplated the view in silence for a moment. There was a large rather derelict barn about thirty yards into the property, but otherwise no sign of development.

“I’ve bought it.” said Rhodes. “They call it, around here, the Groote Schuur– that’s Dutch for Great Barn. I’m going to rebuild it as a house in which I can have my friends to stay, to enjoy their company, and administer my businesses. I met a chap in England called Herbert Baker. He’s an apprentice architect with a cousin, Arthur Baker. I want to encourage him to come out here when he has qualified and, like you, do some work for me; and the first thing will be to remodel Groote Schuur. Oh yes, I have some fine plans for this Country.”

Jigging up the horse, they turned off the main road, crossed the railway by a level crossing and drew up beside a cottage set back from the railway by twenty yards of a vegetable patch.

“Don’t worry about tending the vegetables,” said Rhodes, “There’s a boy who’ll do that for you. He’s a sort of mixed breed – a descendent from emigrant muslims who were expelled from the Dutch East Indies and finished up here when Cape Town was still a victualing station for the Navy”

Percy had hardly spoken a word on the journey, rendered dumb in part by Rhodes’ continuous discourse on the delights of Cape Town and in part by the sights and sounds that greeted every yard of their progress.

A dark skinned man dressed in white ducks and a white linen jacket wearing a tasselled fez on his shaven pate emerged from the cottage entrance and took charge of Percy’s belongings, quickly unloading them from the cart and then distributing them between what served as a living room  in the cottage, and what served as a bedroom. Other than these two rooms, there was a kitchen equipped with a wood stove for cooking and a deal table for eating at. There was a lean-to containing washing and waste facilities, the latter being washed into a septic tank by water piped from the water tower that served the locomotives some fifty yards up the line. Set apart was an outhouse that provided accommodation for the servants (there were three) and storage for the various implements required to maintain the property.

Having settled Percy into his new home, Rhodes invited him to join himself and some acquaintances for dinner at a dining establishment they maintained in Long Street, and it was arranged that Percy would come into the town by the train service which was already running from Wynberg to Cape Town every hour until 9.00pm.

Although Percy had met black skinned African people and dusky skinned Indian people while a student at Oxford, they were understood to be princes and maharjis in their own country and were, to a greater or lesser degree, cultured by English standards. He did recall one African who refused, at first, to address the college servants directly because he was a prince! He soon learned his lesson from the head porter! Reflecting on his journey with Rhodes through the streets of Cape Town, and his meeting with the three “natives” appointed to be his house servants, he realised what it is like to be an alien, a foreigner in a strange land. He realised that when he boarded the train for the ride into town, he would be the one recognisably a foreigner, an intruder. As he sat at the kitchen table sorting his papers and books, the man in the white ducks and fez stood silently in the doorway with his hands clasped in front as if waiting for Percy to make a demand of him.

“Look, I say my man, what is your name? What do I call you?” said Percy, turning to face him.

“I am called Arthur” replied the man. “You should call me Arthur, and I should call you Master. I can cook for you and serve you at your table. I will arrange things for you with the local tradesmen, food, household supplies, anything you or the household need. You must give me money, and I will give you a reckoning every week. I will pay the other servants, and make sure they work properly....”

“And how do I pay you?” interjected Percy 

“Oh Master, don’t you worry about that” replied Arthur, “I will pay myself from the money you give me each week” 

“Yes, but, that’s all very well....” Percy started to argue, but thought better of it. He would speak to Rhodes, and find out what the form was. “What are the names of the other servants?” he asked.

“The garden-boy’s name is Prince and the wash-girl’s name is Princess,” said Arthur with a completely straight face, leaving Percy speechless. Fortunately, at that moment a train came past the cottage and speech was impossible against the noise of the locomotive.

“Right,” said Percy, once speech was again a viable means of communication, “I must have a bath, shave and get into town to meet Mr. Rhodes for dinner.” He stood up and Arthur sprang into action. A bath tub was brought into the bedroom, boiling hot water appeared miraculously in pitchers brought from the outhouse, Percy’s shaving kit was laid out on a small table next to the bath tub and a large warm towel was draped over the chair. Arthur took Percy’s trousers and jacket outside to the lean-to from where he returned after fifteen minutes with them pressed and ironed ready for Percy to slip into after his bath. 

“Mmmm.., I could get used to this way of living,” mused Percy. To be continued………

 

Rhodes had told Percy not to dress for dinner, but that it was perfectly acceptable to wear his ordinary day clothes in the evening, as long as ladies were not to be present, and so at six o’clock Percy could be seen on the platform of Claremont station, being the closest to the La Rochelle Estate, scanning the track in the distance for the first signs of his train to Cape Town. Already there were small clouds of smoke rising in the distance and soon the locomotive hauling the train could be discerned, puffing its exhaust steam where the view of the tracks merged into the surrounding veld. A few minutes later, with a hiss of steam the driver brought his train to a halt at the platform, and the sizeable crowd of waiting passengers scrambled aboard the four-wheeled coaches that made up the train. There seemed to be no distinction between travelling classes on this suburban line, as it was known, which did not upset Percy, but he found himself sitting next to a garrulous gentleman of a similar skin colour as his manservant, Arthur. Thus the fifteen minutes of the journey passed without Percy getting a word in edgeways, from which he learned that the line on which they were travelling was to be altered from wide gauge, by which he gathered his informant meant the standard British gauge, to a narrower forty-two inch gauge to accommodate the railways that had been developed up-country; furthermore, the line was to be extended from Wynberg, where it currently terminated, to the False Bay coast and Simonstown. Thus Percy was well briefed on what his job was likely to entail when he entered the premises of the establishment in Long Street chosen by Rhodes for their dinner that evening.

The building consisted of two storeys, with a balcony above the front of the lower storey running along the length of the upper storey, overlooking the street below, and it was here that Rhodes and his friends were gathered, sitting in comfortable wicker chairs, each liberally supplied with the drink of their choice.  The shadows were lengthening as Percy was introduced.

“My good friend, Jameson” said Rhodes, standing up and taking Percy by the elbow, steering him towards the man who was sitting on his right.

“How d’ye do” nodded Jameson, a man of few words evidently, who remained seated.

“Next to him is a visionary” continued Rhodes, “Mister Kipling – a budding poet”

A small, bewhiskered young man with round spectacles, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age, rose from his seat and extended his hand to Percy.

“Mister Rhodes was just telling us about your exploits at Oxford, Mister Ashenden. I must tell you, I would have liked to finish my education there, but my parents could not afford to support me. I doubt, however, if I would have qualified for a rugby blue! I, on my way back to India on a boat calling at Cape Town, when Mister Rhodes waylaid me and asked me to join him for dinner”

The third person to be introduced turned out to be a woman. Somewhat manly looking, she stood up and, like a man, extended her hand to shake Percy’s.

“Schreiner” she said, before Rhodes could make the introduction, “You may call me Olive. Cecil thought you should meet an Afrikaner and I’m the only one on speaking terms with him!”

Percy was offered a seat next to Olive, and was asked by a servant what he would have to drink.

“Do you have a London gin” he enquired, and on being told we most certainly did, he asked for gin, with quinine tonic water and lots of ice. This was the way it had been served on the ship.

Rhodes was discussing some native policy that was occupying his parliamentary colleagues with Jameson, and Kipling was discussing some arcane literary ideas with Miss Schreiner, allowing Percy to savour his G’n’T in relative isolation while watching the passing show on the pavements below his vantage place. He thought about the work that lay before him, and felt a surge of excitement at the chance to get to grips with the task.

The dinner itself was unspectacular, for although Rhodes ate well, he preferred the simpler dishes, and his choice of wines was also commonplace. It was not until after the dinner had been cleared, his cigar lit, and he had a glass of brandy in his hand did Rhodes broach the subject of Percy’s appointment. Olive Schreiner excused herself, although she did take a cigar with her, while Jameson gallantly said he would walk with her, and bade them all “G’night!” Kipling seemed happy to sit quiet and listen to the night sounds, darkness having fallen. The fact that Percy did not have a means of getting back to his cottage didn’t seem to matter to Rhodes at all.

“Here is the deal”, said Rhodes, after Olive and Jameson had disappeared into the night, “You are appointed to my staff to oversee the construction of the railway line from Wynberg, where it presently terminates, to Simonstown. There is also the small matter of re-gauging the track from Papendorf to Wynberg. In addition to this responsibility, I want you to produce a white paper for me to put before Parliament proposing a connecting line from Rondebosch to Hout Bay. You will, of course, need to make a proper survey of the suggested route with estimates for each section. What do you think?”

Percy looked at the shapes that Rhodes had drawn on the tablecloth with a piece of charcoal. It was supposed to be an outline the peninsular, showing the railway lines. What he thought was that the washing girl would not be pleased. 

What he said was, “Why do you think such a line is viable, CJ?”

“Well, y’know, when you were driving and I was stoking that train on Christmas Morning from Grosmont to Pickering, it struck me that the terrain wasn’t so very different from this Constantiaberg portion of Table Mountain, and that if you Yorkshire men thought it worthwhile to build that railway, I might find a Yorkshire man willing to have a go at this one. There are minerals in the mountain, there’s wine and grapes being grown that need transport, and fish to come to Cape Town market. It’s really become a race between constructing a line from Greenpoint along the coast, or from Rondebosch over the mountain.”

Percy pulled a face. “Look here, CJ, I understand that you are good for my salary, as promised, and I have no problem working with you, or for you come to that, but what about the Cape Government Railways? What pull do you have with them? I can’t start putting my nose into their business without a ‘by your leave’”

“Don’t you worry about Brounger” said Rhodes, for that was the name of the Engineer in Chief of the Cape Government Railways, “I’ll square him. He’s got plenty on his plate with taking the Western Line north from Beaufort West towards Kimberly, and the Midland Line from Port Elizabeth to join it, not to mention the Eastern Line they want to develop around East London.

“Brounger?” said Percy, “Why he used to be an engineer on the Moors railway. It was his example that encouraged me to become a railway engineer. I shall look forward to making his acquaintance again.”

Rhodes smiled. “There you are, I said we could square him!”

The three men sat in silence for a while, savouring the sounds of the night-time floating through the open doorway and finishing their brandies.

“Well, I’m off to bed” declaimed Rhodes, and with scant regard for Percy’s or Kipling’s arrangements stomped out of the door and made off to wherever his lodgings were. 

Kipling looked a bit shocked. “Is he always like that – makes a sudden decision and acts on it?” Percy gave a rueful smile and shrugged. 

Kipling continued, “I’ve got a berth on the ship taking me to Bombay. Where are you staying?”

“Rhodes has put a cottage at my disposal near Rondebosch, about five miles from here” replied Percy.

“I’m afraid my boat is leaving in the early hours” said Kipling, “Or I’d offer you a place on the floor.” 

“That’s not a problem. I can easily walk it” replied Percy.

So saying, the two men left the premises and walked together down Long Street. Making their farewells at the corner with Longmarket Street, Percy turned right and Kipling continued towards the docks.

It was a fine night, the sky was clear of clouds and the moon, almost full, had risen over the sea providing plenty of light for Percy to see his way. One or two people were still abroad, and a couple of soldiers on their horses trotted by him. The road was bordered intermittently by buildings, ranging from small cottages to more substantial warehouses. On his right, the ground sloped up to the rocky edifice of the Mountain, while away to his left the reflection of the moon sparkled on the sea. 

Well, thought Percy, it’s been a long day. I wonder what Lady Cecily has been doing. He had been walking briskly for about half an hour, when he heard the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves coming up behind him, and a landau carriage came alongside him. The driver slowed his horses to Percy’s pace, and looked across at him. 

“Have you got far to walk? Can we give you a lift?” he asked.

“No, no, that’s quite alright”, said Percy, “I enjoy walking. It gives me time to think”

As soon as he had finished speaking, a head popped out of the window of the landau, and a feminine voice said, 

“Oh my goodness, it’s Percy! What are you doing, out on the road at this time of night?” 

She withdrew her head, saying to a fellow passenger, “James, we must give Percy a ride in our carriage. He must be exhausted after all he’s been through today!”

“Of course, of course,” came the masculine reply from the interior of the carriage, “It’ll be a squeeze, but open the door and let him in.”

The driver, who had only intended to offer Percy a seat next to himself on the dashboard, was somewhat surprised by this turn of events, and brought the contraption to a halt next to where Percy had stopped at the sound of the feminine voice; for he knew it was that of Lady Cecily. Leaning out of the window, Lady Cecily turned the door handle and pushed the door open to allow Percy to squeeze through into the landau’s interior, where he sat next to Lady Cecily, with James Fitzpatrick sitting opposite them. 

“Your aunt not chaperoning you?” asked Percy archly, feeling more than a twinge of jealousy at the thought of James Fitzpatrick enjoying Lady Cecily’s company, unchaperoned, for the whole day.

“No” responded Lady Cecily, “She claimed a headache and left us early. That’s why I am so glad we came across you walking. Now you can be our chaperone for the rest of the journey!” (...............to be continued)

 

 

The journey continued, in a strained silence, with Percy sitting next to James Fitzpatrick and opposite Lady Cecily. Despite their friendliness while on board the Dublin Castle, both Percy and Lady Cecily were at a loss when it came to making small talk in front of a third party, and James Fitzpatrick was in no mood to help break the ice. He was clearly put out at having to share Lady Cecily’s company with Percy, whom he saw as a rival for Lady Cecily’s affections. He had been quite bowled over by her prettiness and vivacity in the eight or so hours he had been in her company that day, and harboured ambitions of a romantic nature in that regard. After an uncomfortable couple of minutes, Percy and Lady Cecily started together to say something, stopped to let the other speak, started again, and burst out laughing.

“No, please, go ahead,” said Percy, “Mine can wait.” 

In truth, Lady Cecily had nothing in particular to say, and felt embarrassed to ask what sort of day Percy had had – it was such a facile remark. Quickly searching her mind for something more meaningful to ask, she blurted out without further thought, 

“Can you come for lunch tomorrow – it’s Sunday you know?”

“I’d love to,” replied Percy, giving his response as little thought as Lady Cecily had given to the invitation.

Realising she had been a little off-hand towards James Fitzpatrick in making her off-the-cuff invitation to Percy, Lady Cecily gave him one of her winning smiles and said, 

“I hope you can come too, James. You have been such a help to my aunt and me.”

“Yes, yes, of course I’d love to join you for lunch.”

“That’s settled then,” said Lady Cecily, “Now, what was it you wanted to say, Percy dear?” she asked, with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Percy was ready for this. “I was going to say, is there anywhere you’d rather be on a night like this?”

Just then the carriage hit a pot-hole in the road, and lurched suddenly to one side, and stopped dead. Lady Cecily was thrown forward, and to save herself from falling in a heap on the floor, grabbed onto the neckties of the two men. The driver, cracking his whip at the horses, got the wheel out of the hole and the carriage moving again, causing Lady Cecily to fall back into her place and almost throttling the two men as she failed to let go their neckties until the last second. 

“Yes there is,” she said as she regained her composure, “Anywhere where the roads are Macadamised and the coachmen learn to drive properly.”

They arrived at the house where Lady Cecily and her aunt were lodging. It comprised two storeys with a veranda running across the front of the ground floor, and a balcony above, very similar to the building in Long Street where Percy had supped with Rhodes earlier that evening. The house was set back from the road with a short in-and-out driveway encircling a lawn and flowerbeds. Percy and James descended from the carriage with Lady Cecily and solemnly shook hands with her as the household’s major-domo opened the imposing oaken front door for her.

“Goodbye, Boys” she said flirtatiously “I look forward to seeing you both here at, let us say, twelve noon tomorrow? And with that she was gone.

“Well, Mister Ashenden, I can take you on to Claremont if you want, but I have still to return to town...........

“No, no, not necessary, from here I can walk easily. It’s less than a mile, and I can follow the railway track.” replied Percy, and set off at a brisk walk. 

In less than an hour, Percy was fast asleep on his truckle bed, and if he had dreams, they were forgotten when he awoke refreshed to greet a new day when the first of the morning trains rattled its way past his cottage. Percy treated himself to a leisurely breakfast with freshly brewed coffee and eggs and bacon, cooked expertly by Arthur, and toasted bread that had been baked by someone Arthur knew.

Although it was a Sunday, Percy decided it was too nice a morning to spend in Church, and so, after his breakfast, he strolled out of the cottage and found his way to the Camp Ground road. The road passed some well kept grassland where there were about a dozen schoolboys, evidently, kicking a rugby ball about and playing some sort of rough and tumble game. He paused to watch them for a minute or two, when one of the boys gave the ball a mighty hoof that sent it flying straight towards Percy. Instinctively Percy caught the ball and in one fluid movement dropped it at his toe and made a classic drop-kick towards where a goal would have been, had the field been equipped with posts. He had learned this art in his days at Oxford, and just this simple action brought a flood of memories of the many games he had enjoyed while he was there as an undergraduate. 

“Hey, Mister” shouted one of the boys, “Where did you learn to do that? Do you play for Villagers? I bet you do!”

The boys crowded round an embarrassed Percy, one of them having retrieved the ball, and asked him to show them how he made such a kick. They at best could only give the ball a punt, or otherwise a fly-hack on the run. And so for the next forty minutes or so, Percy demonstrated several times how to make a perfect drop-kick, and watched as each boy made his attempt, correcting their mistakes with patience and understanding. Some were naturals, others would never master the art, but that mattered neither to Percy nor to his young acolytes. In the course of his instruction he learned that the boys were pupils at the Diocesan College founded by the Bishop of Cape Town, and known to everybody as “Bishop’s”, and their school classrooms and dormitory were just beyond the field where they had been playing. He also learnt that there was a Rugby Club that held matches on a ground in Claremont, just the other side of the railway tracks from his cottage, which was known as the Villagers, because most of its players came from the villages, such as Claremont, Rondebosch, Wynberg, Seapoint and so on, that were around Cape Town. By the time the boys had trooped off for their compulsory attendance at the Service held in the school’s chapel, Percy had decided he would seek to join the Villagers Rugby Club to once again play the game that had given him so much enjoyment and satisfaction while at University. 

Returning to his cottage, Percy asked Arthur where he might hire a dog-cart, as he felt it would be impolite to arrive for lunch at Lady Cecily’s house smelling of horse, as he would if he rode there, or hot and sweaty if he walked, the day becoming quite warm as it does in February. Arthur shook his head sadly, saying, 

“On a Sunday I cannot think who might be able to help you, Sir.” He brightened, 

“Can you ride a bicycle?” he asked. 

“As it happens, that is one of the many skills at my disposal”, replied Percy with a degree of sarcasm, “But a bone-shaker will render me just as hot and sweaty as if I were to walk”

“Ah, no,” came the rejoinder, “Mr Rhodes left a modern safety bicycle with pneumatic tyres here for your use, he said, in case of need. As you are going to Rondebosch for your lunch appointment and it is downhill all the way, you should arrive as fresh, if not fresher, then when you leave.”

So saying, Arthur led the way to the back-yard where, under a tarpaulin, was a modern bicycle.

Feeling a lot more confident, especially in anticipation of Lay Cecily’s admiring glance when he arrived by bicycle, Percy got Arthur to draw him a cold bath in which he immersed himself and soaped away the sweat and dust that the morning’s exercise had produced. 

Twelve noon saw Percy on his bicycle coasting into the driveway of the house occupied by Lady Cecily and her aunt. He had not expected a reception committee, but the two ladies were standing on the lawn admiring the flowerbeds and so witnessed first-hand his dramatic arrival. Applying bicycle brakes on a gravel driveway without skidding sideways and falling off requires familiarity with the machine that time had not allowed Percy. The bicycle went one way, and Percy went the other. If Lady Cecily had not been standing near the edge of the driveway, Percy would have suffered the embarrassment of sprawling hands foremost onto the grass. As it was, his outstretched arms caught Lady Cecily and bore her to the ground; except, mindful of the impropriety of the situation, Percy executed a twisting motion as they fell so that it was he who finished up on the ground, with Lady Cecily on top. For several seconds the tableau remained frozen. Aunt Grace didn’t know whether to scream or faint, and in the end did neither, but stood there, aghast.

“Well I never did!” exclaimed Cecily, affecting the accent of a Cockney flower seller and pushing herself to her feet with her hands on Percy’s chest somewhat more forcefully than strictly necessary, “Mister Ashenden, whatever next?”

Percy had not fallen on his back quite so heavily since he was tackled head-on while in full flight by the Cambridge full-back in his last ‘Varsity match. On that occasion his sudden deceleration had quite winded him. Fortunately, Cecily’s weight was about half that of the Cambridge full-back, so that he was able to scramble back to his feet with no more of an injury except to his dignity.

“I am so sorry. Are you alright? I do hope you are not hurt. Oh Miss Fitzpatrick” turning to Lady Cecily’s aunt, “Please forgive me for alarming you so. Oh, what an idiot you both must think me?” He paused to regain his breath. Lady Cecily stood with hands on hips, regarding Percy with a cold stare. 

“What do you think, Aunt, can we afford to let this ruffian into our house? Should we, perhaps, serve his lunch in the stables?”

Percy just looked at her, arms hanging at his side. He shrugged his shoulders. “What can I do to make amends?” he said.

“Well, the first thing you can do is to pick up that contraption,” pointing to the bicycle lying on its side across the driveway, “Then you can dust the debris from your clothes, and when you have done that, come round to the veranda at the back the house and pour us all a stiff drink.” So saying Lady Cecily took her aunt by the arm and flounced off the lawn and disappeared around the corner of the house, in which direction, Percy presumed, lay the veranda to which she had referred. (…………..to be continued)

No sooner had lady Cecily and her aunt disappeared around the corner of the house than Percy was shaken from his dejection by the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves and up the drive came James Fitzpatrick mounted on a fine looking hunter. Percy waited until James had reined in beside him, and said,

“I suppose you have been invited for lunch as well, James? I must say, your mode of transport, while not as modern a mine, is certainly better suited to the needs of the moment,” pointing to his cycle lying forlornly on the ground with its handlebars knocked sideways. 

“Well, if you’re going into the mountains, it’s the only way, other than on foot, to be getting where you want to go” retorted James. “ You can hire a hack at the ferriers at the edge of Town for a very reasonable cost.”

Percy got directions from James, as he realised this was just what he would need to undertake the survey of a possible route for his railway to Hout Bay. 

“Come on,” he said, feeling better for having made a decision, “It’s drinks time with the ladies.” 

And so saying he and James, who had dismounted and tethered his horse to a nearby fig tree, followed in the path of the two ladies to the back of the house where a table was set under a sun-shade and a tray boasting a variety liquors with an ice bucket was next to it.

The lunch and the afternoon passed in a pleasant haze of gin, wine and sunshine in the company of the two charming ladies, and it was with some reluctance that Percy excused himself from the party as the sun was setting, realising that he would need to make an early start the following morning. James would be left virtually alone with Lady Cecily, for by this time the aunt was somewhat “hors de combat”, but as Percy had more or less given up any hopes he might have had after the sea voyage in that direction, he saw little point in hanging around any longer.

The next few days saw Percy leasing a small but sure-footed pony from the farrier recommended by James Fitzpatrick, and making several excursions on horseback, starting at Rondebosch railway station, over the mountain to Hout Bay. Initially he followed the well worn rutted road used by the timber wagons collecting wood, but he made notes of the places where a better line should be taken by his railway track. After he had grown thoroughly familiar with the terrain over which his railway would run, he was ready to make a survey in earnest........... (to be continued)

 

After spending the best part of a week riding his pony along the “road” (a well used, rutted cart-track) from Rondebosch Main Road, over Constantia Nek; and from Constantia Nek down to the part of the Hout Bay sea-shore below the East Fort, known as Jamaica Cove, where a jetty had been constructed for loading the Manganese ore mined from the Constantia Berg, Percy had filled his notebook with sketches for where his railway would be laid. In the meantime Arthur, his manservant and general factotum of his household, recruited, on Percy’s instructions, three “natives” to assist Percy in his survey of the line. As they had no given English names, Percy called the Winkin, Blinkin and Nod. 

After completing his initial assessment of the route, Percy and his assistants conducted their survey in earnest over the next few weeks. Carrying a measuring chain (22 yards), a barometer, and his theodolite, Percy, Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod proceeded to lay out marking pegs at chain intervals where Percy showed them. The first couple of furlongs (10 chains) leading from a spur to be taken from the up main line a few yards down from Rondebosch Station swept at ground level past the boundary of the Groote Schuur property that Rhodes had his eye on and parallel with the existing road climbed from 120 foot above m.s.l at the junction with the main line to 300 foot above m.s.l at a steady gradient of 1:60. Each morning Percy would read the barometric pressure at the junction, and by referring to some tables, he could identify at which marking peg the ground-level of his route had increased by 50 feet. He would then smooth out the elevation of the track using his theodolite and identify where an embankment or a cutting needed to be made. At every 8 furlongs, or 80 chain lengths, Percy erected a mile post. Initially the going was easy, the ground level rising at a steady gradient along a straight line parallel with the established road, but from milepost three the team faced the steeper slopes of the mountain system. Their target was a pass, or nek, where the established road found its tortuous way between the back of the main Table Mountain and a continuation of the system known as Vlakkenberg,. The natural vegetation being fynbos, did not greatly impede their progress, but it was nevertheless hot and tiring work. By aiming to traverse the ground by the smoothest possible transition from one fifty foot height marker to the next, Percy mapped out a route that gave him an average gradient of 1:30 from mile post three to milepost five. Where the road had been cut into and out of the gullies that were a feature of the terrain, Percy planned to construct bridges and cut-aways. However, the Nek itself was a ridge that rose sharply on both sides from 650 to 700 feet above m.s.l., and Percy resolved to drive a tunnel at the 650 feet level through this barrier.

The route from the tunnel exit, after an initial embankment and cut-away, followed a relatively smooth natural fall in the ground level as it skirted the Vlakkenberg, and allowed the rail-track to descend at a steady gradient of 1:60 until levelling out for the final quarter mile into the station and loading facilities to be established at Jamaica Beach.

It was after five weeks of intensive labour, measuring, driving stakes and marking them that Percy felt he had enough information to take his proposed route, with estimates for the earthworks, the bridges and the tunnel, to Cecil Rhodes for his approval. Thus it was that on a Monday morning, early in April 1877, Percy Ashenden could be seen, walking up walking through the Company Gardens to meet Rhodes in the library of the Cape Colony Parliament. (To be continued.............)

 

Having caught the early morning train from Rosebank, Percy had plenty of time in hand before his meeting with Rhodes, and so he found himself a bench on Government Walk in the shade of a Kaffirboom, or Erythrina as it is more correctly called, and started to mull over how best to present his proposal. The Walk was quite busy with people moving in both directions; men hurrying to meetings, messengers carrying satchels with mail, women with parasols engaged in fascinating gossip, and all the time squirrels and pigeons busily running hither and yon. Occasionally Percy, who was staring unseeingly into the middle distance as he thought his way through his work, would focus on someone or something that caught his eye, only to once again unfocus.

“Great Heavens,” he exclaimed, as his eyes focussed on a young lady and her older companion who were some twenty feet away. He leapt to his feet, clutching his satchel with the details of his proposal to his chest. 

The young lady and her companion, who had been in the middle of an animated conversation, stopped at the sound of Percy’s voice, and stared at him. No one said a word, and for several seconds they just stood looking at each other. The other passers-by felt obliged to skirt around the trio, despite there being sufficient space between the man and the ladies to drive a horse and buggy through. It was Lady Cecily who broke the spell, when she turned to her aunt and said, in a voice that carried, 

“Is that man staring at us? How very impertinent of him?”

Percy took some steps towards the ladies, and gave a sort of stiff bow, as much as his satchel would permit.

“It’s me..or should I say, it is I, Percy Ashenden. I do apologise if I startled you. I didn’t expect to see you today”.

“ And when, if I may ask,” cut in Aunt Grace, “did you expect to see us?” She let the question hang in the air. She did not need to add that five weeks had passed without a word from Percy, and, without putting too fine a point on it, she, and more particularly her niece, had every right to feel affronted. 

Percy looked up in the air, and to the left and to the right, seeking for inspiration. Lady Cecily was tapping her foot impatiently. Aunt Grace watched him like a snake mesmerises its prey (To be continued.............)

After several seconds of mute hostility, Lady Cecily’s countenance dissolved into a woeful pout as she burst out,

”How could you and James both desert us in that way? What have we done to be treated in so cavalier a fashion?”

“Now, my dear” interposed her aunt, “You mustn’t let your emotions get the better of you” and turning on Percy she said with more than a touch of asperity, “I think you owe us an explanation, young man!”

All Percy could focus on was that Lady Cecily’s indignation was directed as much at James Fitzpatrick, her cousin, as it was to himself, and this led him, looking first at Lady Fitzpatrick and then at Lady Cecily to respond by saying, “What has happened that you think James has deserted you? I realise you have every right to be upset with me for apparently not giving you a thought for five weeks, although I assure you, you were very much in my thoughts while I was clambering over the rocks and traipsing through the fynbos, but I thought you would find James much more agreeable company than me, and you’d scarcely notice my absence.” 

 At this, Cecily burst into tears, and her aunt stepped up to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. 

Percy didn’t know what to say and just looked helplessly at this tableau of which he appeared to be the unwitting cause. Cecily mastered her emotions enough to speak, saying between sobs, 

“It’s all my fault, I suppose. After you and James had taken your leave from our luncheon party that day, when we last saw you, James returned later that evening, somewhat the worse for wear if you get my meaning, and declared his undying love for me, and asked me to be his wife. Apart from the impropriety of his proposal, and his somewhat inebriated state, for both of which I belaboured him at length, I told him I didn’t love him, that I was sworn to another, and that I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth. ‘I suppose you love that bounder Percy Ashenden’ he said, ‘Well, if I can’t have his girl, I’ll take his name, and maybe have more luck with the next pretty thing.’ I didn’t dare tell you, Auntie, or I think you might have had poor James horse-whipped, and he meant no harm by it”

 “Well, now you tell me,” said her Aunt. “I have heard that he’s gone up country to seek his fortune on the goldfields, but that’s all I know.” (To be continued.............)

Percy would be running late for his meeting with CJR if he stopped to talk with Lady Cecily and her aunt, much as he wanted to hear more about this Lothario to whom, it appeared, Lady Cecily had given her heart, but he also did not want to make himself even more unpopular than he already was by dashing off without a by-your-leave. What to do? 

“Ladies,” said Percy, somehow managing to collect his wits, “Will you do Mr Rhodes and  me the honour of taking some Morning Tea in the Parliament members’ library, to which I am on my way for important business discussions?” 

Percy knew that only Members of Parliament and their invited guests enjoyed access to the Library, so that it would be probable that neither Lady Cecily nor her aunt had ever been invited to this male dominated sanctuary, and it was a privilege that would flatter their suffragette tendencies. Whatever Rhodes might have to say about the matter, Percy surmised, he was much too much a gentleman to make an issue about it in front of the ladies themselves.

Lady Cecily was already regretting her emotional outburst, and turned on her heel dragging her aunt around with her, saying, over her shoulder, to Percy, 

“Come on then! We mustn’t keep Mr Rhodes waiting. I assume this the right way” 

So saying, she made a bee-line for the Parliament building at the edge of the Gardens leaving Percy to catch up as best he could. 

They entered the lobby of the building, where they were stopped by the Master at Arms who asked what their business was in the House. Percy took charge and explained that he and the two ladies were guests of Mr Cecil Rhodes, member for Barkly West, and had an appointment with him in the Members’ Library at ten o’clock and, it now being five minutes past, would the kind gentleman not delay them further but show them to their destination?

The Master at Arms “marched” ahead of the party along the corridor, passed through a large, leather covered door, into a room lined with shelves of leather bound journals, and furnished with large leather upholstered armchairs, which were unoccupied in the main, with the exception of that one containing the bulk of Cecil Rhodes. Although only expecting Percy, and already slightly put out that he was late, Rhodes was sufficiently impressed by the escort of the Master at Arms to suppose that the two ladies that seemed to be accompanying Percy Ashenden, were Ladies of Distinction, as indeed in their own lights, they were, to overcome his irritation and putting on his best Oxford Accent bade them welcome and offered tea all round. 

Percy was well aware that Rhodes’ bonhomie might be short-lived if they didn’t get down to business quickly enough, and suggested, after they had sipped their tea, that the ladies might like to withdraw and meet him for luncheon later in the day. 

“If I may make a suggestion,” interjected Rhodes, “The Mount Nelson has just been bought by the Castle Shipping Line and made into an hotel. I am told they serve an excellent “al fresco” lunch by a swimming pool, which has been installed in the gardens – the first one I know of in the town.  It is just a short walk from here, and I will arrange for one of the parliamentary messengers to show you the way”. 

So saying, he called one of the servants lolling in the doorway, and gave him instructions to accompany the two ladies to Mount Nelson.

“Well now,” said Rhodes, after the ladies had departed, “What have you got to show me?”

Percy spread out before the two of them his diagrams representing the survey he had made of the possible route for a railway line from Rondebosch to Hout Bay, and proceeded to explain to Rhodes his suggestions for the civil engineering that would be required to bring the concept to fruition.

 (To be continued.............)

Rhodes contemplated all the evidence of Percy’s hard work as he sat back in his chair and appeared to muse on proposals for the railway line that it contained. Percy waited expectantly for Rhodes’ next move. Rhodes emerged from his reverie, 

“Time for a spot. What about a brandy, ou maat” dropping into the Afrikaans slang he liked to affect; and giving Percy no time to demur, he called one of the footmen over and gave him the order. Rhodes again adopted that faraway look that typified his thought processes while they waited for the drinks. After the drinks were brought on a tray, together with the bottle, Rhodes took a goodly draught from his glass, then, setting it down on the floor by his foot, leant forward decisively and said to Percy, 

“I want you to go North, way beyond Kimberly and the railhead, and push through to Lobengula’s kraal. This is strictly between the two of us. I have obtained a concession from Lobengula to mine for minerals over a portion of his sphere of influence occupied by the Mashona tribe, over whom he has dominance. I am in the process of having a bill guided through the Westminster parliament that would establish a Company by Government Charter which would be subject to British jurisdiction over this area of land. This will enable a group of selected families to settle on the land, become self-sufficient and bring law and order and other accoutrements of civilisation in place of cattle rustling, blood feuds, feast and famine. Prosperity will be assured when a railway network connects the hinterland with the British coastal ports, such as those already established in the Cape Colony, and Natal. There is already a treaty between the British government and the king of the Bechanas, guaranteeing the Protectorate status of the area North and West of Kimberly, so that the way is clear of legal obstacles to the concept. What d’you think?” 

As usual, Rhodes left his audience to join up the dots, which Percy did with alacrity. 

“So,” said Percy, after a few moments of silence, “This Hout Bay survey was a test? You never intended to build a spur to Hout Bay? You just wanted to see if I was up to it? Good enough to manage a real job. Well I’m not going to flog my way through the bush again, just to satisfy your overblown ego. No thank you!” He rose to his feet. “I‘m going to join my real friends for lunch at the Mount Nelson, and I’ll tell the management to send you the bill.” 

He lifted his glass of brandy from the table, and drained it in one long draught, before storming past the recumbent figure of Rhodes. The great man stared into his glass for a minute or two after Percy had flounced out and with a rueful grin acknowledged to himself that he handled that rather badly. “I think I might, perhaps, invite myself to this luncheon party,” he mused to himself, “I’ve got a feeling that young lady may achieve more with her seductive charms than I can achieve with any number of fine words and visionary extravagance.” Emptying his glass, Rhodes made his way to the cloakrooms, collected his hat and plonking it on his head at a jaunty angle, strolled off in the direction of the Hotel. Arriving at the foyer of the hotel, he scribbled a note on the back of one of his visiting cards and, giving it to a page boy, instructed him to pass it on to the Maitre d’hotel in the Dining Room with the request that he give it to the Lady Cecily Fitzpatrick. When the Maitre d’hotel placed the silver tray with the card face down upon it in front of Lady Cecily, she slowly read the message out loud “May I join your party?” and turning the card over, exclaimed, “Why, it’s from Mr Rhodes. Of course he may join us, mayn’t he? Mr Rhodes,” she called, “We’re over here. Please do join us” 

Having just rowed with Rhodes, Percy was not in any mood to be conciliatory towards him, especially as the large shot of brandy started to have its effect. But Rhodes bent himself willingly to the task of charming Aunt Grace, recognising that this would be conducive to Percy making headway with Lady Cecily which he discerned was in both their minds, even as they affected otherwise. The party retired from the table after a delicious luncheon, topped off with strawberries, meringue and cream, to take coffee in the lounge overlooking the gardens, where Rhodes cleverly engineered the seating so that he could engage Aunt Grace in one conversation, leaving Percy and Lady Cecily to make their own exchanges. 

“I was really quite miserable while you were gone,” admitted Cecily, “and James’ attention only made me worse” 

“But I thought you told James you had given your heart to someone else, which was why he left. Couldn’t this other person help?” 

“Well, he wasn’t here, was he?” As she said this, she blushed and looked away. Percy looked perplexed. 

“I don’t understand,” he said. “While I was working, I kept thinking about you, and how jealous I was of James, and what I could do to win you from him, and I come back only to find he has gone but has been replaced by someone else, who isn’t here....” 

“But he is here!!” exclaimed Cecily. “He is here, now!” 

Slowly it dawned on Percy that it was he whom Cecily favoured. She had put her hand out and grasped his. “You silly-billy” she said. “I’ve loved you ever since we met on the ship” 

Now it was Percy’s turn to blush. “ I’ve felt the same way about you,” he whispered, trying not to alert Aunt Grace and Rhodes, “but I didn’t dare say anything – you being a baronet’s daughter and me being just a farmer’s son – a rich farmers son,” he couldn’t help adding. 

Rhodes affected not to have heard their confidences, and with a clearing of his throat, addressed himself to Cecily. 

“I feel you ought to know something about our good friend Percy, here. He is a bright, sensible and charming young man, and I value his friendship dearly, but is he adventurous enough for a spirited young lady like you?” 

“Hey, hold on a minute” interjected Percy hotly. Rhodes ignored his interruption. 

“Why, I have just suggested he might like to explore a bit of the country up North, do a little hunting, for the pot, naturally, which I would finance because I rate him so highly, and he turned me down! Rhodes warmed to his theme. “It’s clear to me now, why he turned down the offer – he wants to be close to you, dear Lady Cecily, and I can understand why.” He paused and had that faraway look in his eyes. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you go with him?” Turning to Aunt Grace, “I do beg your pardon, Miss Fitzpatrick, of course the suggestion is completely out of order. That could only happen if they were man and wife, and time is of the essence.” He did not explain why there was any urgency to his suggestion, and the excitement engendered by the prospect of trekking in the bush like the Voortrekkers they had heard so many stories about, allowed Lady Cecily and Aunt Grace to overlook this omission, and, of course, Percy was already aware that in Rhodes’ mind, when he decided upon a course of action it had to be done straightaway..................to be continued

 

The lunch rapidly degenerated into a bargaining session.

“I shall only take up your offer if Lady Cecily comes with me”, said Percy

“I shall only go with Percy if we are already married”, said Lady Cecily

“I am lady Cecily’s guardian while she is in South Africa, and I shall say whom she may marry and whom she may not!” said Aunt Grace.

“But Aunt Grace, you surely can’t hold anything against Percy” expostulated Lady Cecily.

“That’s as may be,” responded Aunt Grace, “But what will your mother say?”

Rhodes held up his hand. “It seems to me”, he said, “That there is no obstacle to us resolving this matter except Lady Fitzpatrick’s agreement (here he was referring to Cecily’s mother). I shall cable her forthwith, and I am sure she can be squared.” 

Rhodes called one of the waiters over, and soon he was followed by the Hotel Manager. 

“Please send this cable to Lady Fitzpatrick, (what is her address, Lady Cecily?)” – a pause – “32, Russell Square, London WC1.”

“Mr Percy Ashenden has proposed marriage stop Grace happy stop I accept stop CJRhodes best man stop Please give us your blessing stop Your affectionate daughter, C.”

“Well”, said Rhodes, “that should do the trick. We must wait and see”

While Rhodes was busy orchestrating these arrangements, Percy and Cecily were huddled together exchanging “Do you really.....What if.........Are you serious.......I love you and that’s all that matters...........I love you too.........”and so on.

Other parties lunching at the hotel were at a loss to understand the hilarity coming from the corner table, but some, recognising Rhodes, accepted that something important was going on, and that Percy and Lady Cecily were a couple of significant standing in Cape Town Society!!

Percy and Cecily realised that they had a lot of work to do before they embarked on the next great adventure of their lives, always assuming Lady Fitzpatrick would raise no objections, and so they excused themselves when lunch had been concluded from the company of Aunt Grace and Cecil Rhodes, to arrange an appointment with the Cape Town Magistrates Court, and the Registry Office, to ensure that by the time they boarded their train to Kimberley, they would be travelling as man and wife.

Percy continued to live in his rented cottage by the railway line, and every day visited Lady Cecily at the house in which she and Aunt Grace were living. It was two days after the lunch with Rhodes that a telegram was received at the house, and it read as follows.

“Thanks be to God stop Fitzpatrick stop”

“I think she is giving her agreement” said Percy, when he read the telegram. “Most definitely” said Aunt Grace.

Cecily took the yellow paper with its imprinted message and studied it for a long time. “It’s more than her agreement – it’s her blessing. It’s giving God her thanks for my future happiness. How else could she say it?” 

There followed a frenetic period of discussions with Rhodes, planning the route that they would take through the territories in the North, and completing the documentation for their marriage in Cape Town (to be continued..................)

 

Cecil Rhodes and Aunt Grace were witnesses to a short ceremony in the offices of the registrar at the City Hall where Percy and Cecily were pronounced “man and wife”. Without further ado, they boarded the Mail-boat train from Cape Town station to Kimberly, where Rhodes had put his private coach at their disposal, and joyfully consummated their union as the train chugged its way through the Karoo wilderness. It was a three day journey to Kimberley where Percy had booked hotel rooms by telegraph in a hotel which, while constructed from wood and corrugated iron, was comfortable and the food was good. Another recently built hotel was much more pretentious and, together with the Kimberly Club, were the only brick buildings in town. Everything else was built of corrugated iron and wood, many being just shanties. On their first day at the hotel they met a man called Farmer who had been a passenger with them on the Dublin Castle, and over a drink he asked Percy if he played rugby. Percy said, with admirable modesty, that “yes, he had played a game or two”, whereupon Farmer said “there are several teams playing around Kimberley; would you care to play for the Kimberly Club, where I am a member?” Percy was delighted, and, and having brought his togs with him, borrowed a jersey for a practice game, in which he took the equivalent of the modern fly-half position, rather than his winger position which he held at University. 

The Kimberly football fields, or rather grounds, unlike the Cape Town fields, had no grass; they consisted of knobbly, hard-baked red earth, and when a player fell or was collared, he was apt to have the skin taken off his knees and elbows. Percy had not been warned about this, and lost a lot of skin in his first game, but he played twice a week for the Kimberly Club team while preparing for the trek, where he was welcomed as an overseas player and was able to give his fellow players some useful tips, having himself had some useful experience playing amongst the hefty Yorkshire teams. As fly-half, he was expected to get his three-quarters away, failing which he was expected to fall and lie with the ball until his forwards had time to get over him. He never kicked for touch if he could help it. That was considered funking!

Meanwhile, the happy couple bought two full-sized buck wagons, half tented for sleeping in, and each to take a load of 70,000lbs. Within the tents were “cartels”, frames with interlaced raw hide riempjes stretched on them to take a mattress. Choosing the oxen required to haul these wagons from the herds of local farmers took a lot of care. All the oxen were supposed to be salted for lung sickness, the curse of the veld! This was achieved by taking a piece of lung from an animal that had died of lung sickness and inoculating the tails of the oxen to make them immune. Some of them died after inoculation, but most of them lived, although frequently the inflammation set up caused the lower part of the tail to fall off. Many oxen in Kimberley could be seen with short tails. Although it took up a lot of their time, they managed to assemble two spans of sixteen oxen and eight spare, making forty in all.

Having secured their wagons, Percy and Cecily settled down to the task of purchasing supplies for their trek, which might last more than a year. It was intended that these supplies would supplement the game which they expected to “bag” as they trekked. Their stores consisted of rough milled boer meal in 200lb bags, mealie flour, sugar, salt, tea, coffee beans, cases of bully beef, tinned milk, jams and pickles, curry powder, bags of onions, bags of potatoes, two barrels of Cape Brandy, cases of whisky, and a case of champagne for arrival at their ultimate destination, Lobengula’s kraal known as Gubulawayo. They also carried beads, native blankets and bales of blue cloth for trading with the local population en route. 

They had some difficulty getting suitable horses as, like the oxen, they had to be “salted” for the dreaded horse sickness. They managed to get four, plus a “shooting” pony. Such a pony is trained to stand still when the reins are dropped on its neck, so that its rider can shoot accurately from the saddle, and if the reins are trailed on the ground, it will remain there while its rider stalks his quarry on foot. 

It also took a while to locate satisfactory drivers for the oxen, but the two they eventually employed turned out to be excellent, and good with the ox whip. This consisted of a thin bamboo stick about four metres long, with a lash of giraffe skin about another five metres, and a thin lash, called a voorslaag, at the end. During their first drive, the drivers entertained Percy and Cecily with a demonstration of their accuracy with this formidable weapon by swotting a fly from the ear of the lead ox! 

The wagons were carefully packed, with all the heavy goods in the belly of the wagon, including the valuable cases of whisky and champagne, so as to be difficult to get at and prevent pilfering. Two large bucksails which could be laced down to the wheels by eyelets for covering each wagon in case of rain completed their inventory, and after two months they were ready to start their trek

After five days in Mafeking, it was time for the trekkers, as they now regarded themselves, to move on into the wilder country through Bechuanaland. Here the population was predominantly tribal, in contrast to the mixed bag of Boer settlers, Indian traders, Portuguese storekeepers and Colonial residents who, with its itinerant natives, occupied the territory that they had already come through. The paramount chief in this country was a fellow who went by the name Khama, and the travelers had been advised to make sure that they paid their respects to him in person as early as possible in their trek to avoid unnecessary confrontation with the young warriors who roamed the land looking for trouble. Khama, himself, was reported to be a convert to the Christian faith, having adopted a Scottish missionary as his chief adviser and consequently had placed a prohibition on all forms of alcohol, including the native beer. This edict was enforced on all travelers through his land, and the young warriors would stop and search any wagons passing through their territory. Naturally, any prohibited liquor found was confiscated by the warriors, who then made themselves gloriously drunk on any they found. Percy and Cecily were well informed of this custom, and had bought a stuffed Python in Kimberly before they set off, which lay in the well of the main wagon on top of their crates of Whisky and Champagne. 

For the next few days the party trekked through the bush, using the rough tracks of earlier travelers, and the sun by day or the stars by night, to ensure they were heading in the right direction, and making notes and sketches as they went. They noted as they passed the names given to the native kraals, Ramathlabama, Pitsani, Ramoutsa and Gaberones. The bush, which had been dry and thorny, gradually became more lush as they came closer to the confluence of the Marico, Notwani and Crocodile rivers. Here they set up camp with the intention of staying for several days to give the oxen the benefit of the lush grazing and for Percy to replenish the stores, using his shotgun on the abundance of sand-grouse and small buck. The river was running pretty full, and nearly 100 yards wide in places. It could only be crossed at one place under these conditions, where there was a rocky reef mid-stream providing the foundation for the span of a bridge. But that was to be in the future. At this juncture the most important consideration was the chance it gave for Percy and Cecily to have a proper bathe after days of washing themselves and their clothes in a bucket. The first job was to find a pool and clear it of crocodiles, which was achieved by the two drivers for the oxen, the two voorlopers and the cook beating the water in and around the pool with big heavy sticks cut from the nearby trees. The nearby hippos were less of a concern, as they were unlikely to make an attack and preferred the deeper water. The boys were perplexed by Percy and Cecily wishing to immerse themselves completely in the water as their own acquaintance with the medium was rudimentary and to a large extent accidental, and seldom extended beyond the occasional washing of clothes. Somewhat concerned for Cecily’s modesty, Percy was relieved when the boys showed little interest in staying near the pool and wandered back to the wagons, leaving their employers free to take full advantage of the pool’s embraces.

They had now trekked over 120 miles from Mafeking and some 350 miles from Kimberly. 60 miles to the West was Shoshong where Khama held his parliament and which could be considered the capital of Bechuanaland. While Percy and Cecily were camped at the rivers’ confluence, they had ridden for exercise some distance downriver a few miles and found where a tributary joined from the west and they reckoned it had its source at Shoshong. By following this tributary, Percy decided that he and Cecily could ride the distance to Shoshong on their ponies easily in two days and be back after a week, having paid their obeisances to Khama. Having made packs of cooked bird meat and bread for the journey, the following day before dawn the couple set off for Shoshong. The course of the river was pretty straight running slightly north of west, and they had covered the first 30 miles before it became too hot. Choosing a shady spot among the trees, they relaxed for a few hours until the sun was almost gone below the horizon, giving them a couple more hours in the saddle before stopping for the night. They made a small fire and boiled a couple of pints of river water which made a passable brew when boiled with the crushed coffee beans for five minutes, and made the bread and meat easier to digest. After a few hours sleep wrapped in their saddle blankets, they were roused by the dawn chorus of guinea-fowl and wood pigeons. Ten minutes later they had saddled their ponies and were on their way before the sun was up. They managed the remaining distance to Shoshong without making a stop, except to allow the ponies some water from the river, and found it to be a collection of round and square thatched huts, randomly built around a much bigger dwelling that was clearly where Khama stayed. It was centred about a hundred yards from the river’s edge and had a tin roof.  As Percy and Cecily approached this settlement, they were met by a hoard of little children, all stark naked, who ran alongside their ponies, grabbing at their stirrups and getting under their hooves so that it was a miracle no-one got injured. As they dismounted at the front of the big house, a native man of medium height and build emerged from its doorway. He was neatly dressed in European trousers and a jacket, wearing a wideawake hat with a blue spotted puggaree and a neck-tie and pin at his throat. While it was not unusual for the local natives to wear odd items of European clothing, to see the whole outfit on one man made quite an impression on Percy and Cecily. To cap it all, Khama, for that was who it was, extended his right hand to Percy and made a small bow in the direction of Cecily, saying as he clasped Percy’s hand, 

“You are most welcome to my house, such as it is, Please, do come inside, out of the heat, and enjoy a glass of lemonade.” He spoke in well modulated tones, without a trace a regional English accent, and deferred to Cecily as a lady, unlike most of the natives and Boers in those parts. He turned and led the way into a large room furnished with a dozen well made wooden chairs set around an oak table that would not have disgraced company board room. Percy muttered his appreciation of the courtesy Khama was showing them, saying,

 “It’s very good of you to receive us, unannounced, so to speak. I do apologise if we have distracted you from your duties as the Paramount Chieft in your lands.”

“Not at all, not at all,” replied Khama, “My daily duties are simple, and to tell the truth, somewhat boring, consisting mainly of settling disputes and collecting baksheesh.” He laughed, “My people pay me to leave them to their own devices most of the time.”

He became serious. “Tell me,” he said, “I am told the good Cecil John Rhodes wants to build a railway line across my country. Can this be true?”

“Well, actually,” Percy started to reply, “ahem, that is precisely why I am here. I happen to be a railway engineer and Rhodes has commissioned me to make a survey of a possible route from Kimberley to Gubulawayo. The best route would seem to be a straight line from Mafeking to Plumtree which traverses your fiefdom, if I can use that Scottish concept. So, I would like to be able to tell Mister Rhodes that you would agree, in principle, to give your approval for his railway track to be laid across your lands.”

“ And,” responded Khama, with a sly grin, “There would be baksheesh to be paid, of course?”

“ You seem to have a remarkable grasp of business matters, Chief Khama,” interrupted Cecily before Percy could respond, “You also speak and understand the English language with an aptitude not often found, in my experience, even among Englishmen. May I ask how you acquired such skills?” 

“ Ah, milady, would you believe me if I told you I attended school in England? 

   Oh, to be in England, now that April’s there, 

   And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware, 

   That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf round the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf, 

   While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough, 

   In England – now. 

We were given those lines to learn by heart, written by a well regarded poet of the time, Robert Browning. You may have heard of him? Reading William Shakespeare and translating Caeser’s Gallic Wars were all in a day’s work, as you might say. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to complete my education with a University degree, as my father died and I had to come back to Darkest Africa to take the reins. But still, it’s not all bad. The weather is good, and the hunting is better. And occasionally I get to surprise visitors with my knowledge.”

 “Well, you certainly gave me a surprise, a very pleasant surprise,” said Cecily. “What else are you going to surprise us with.”

“I have a bathroom with a proper bath that you are welcome to use, and I hope you will stay with us for a few nights, although I appreciate that your husband needs to get on with his survey. And I will lend you one of my best warriors to act as guide and protector as you travel through Lion country. At sunset tonight we shall have a feast and some dancing in the Boma. Now I have paperwork to attend to, believe it or not and I am sure you will want that bath and to have a rest after your horseride.”

Khama ushered the couple into another room, where, as promised, was a bath, some English soap and proper towels embroidered with the words ‘Property of Savoy Hotel London’, and beyond that another room equipped with a large double bed, on which were laid kaftans for the evening wear. Shortly thereafter a young girl entered the room carrying an enamel jug, full of hot water, curtseyed and emptied the jug into the bath tub. This was repeated three times, after which the couple were left to their own devices.

Towards the late afternoon, the four young girls came into the bedroom and indicated with mime gestures that Percy and Cecily should go with them. Putting on the kaftans, the couple followed the girls to the boma, from which emanated the sound of drums being beaten rhythmically and some sort of horn being blown similar to the sound of an oboe. In fact, more than one horn was in evidence, each one carrying its own register, resulting in quite an eerie effect that a composer might use to indicate a haunted graveyard. There were lots of shouting, whistling and ululating associated with changes in the rhythm of the drums, and as they entered the boma a great shout went up, and then dead silence. In the centre of the boma a fire blazed away, from which coals were being extracted to place in a pit, under a spit, on which the carcass of a kudu bull was being gently roasted. Beyond the spit, seated on a dais about two feet above the ground, was Khama, his head crowned by a head-dress of Ostrich feathers and his European outfit given way to the skin of a leopard. This was an aspect of African culture that Percy and Cecily had not, in all their time in the Cape Colony, been exposed to, and it was all rather thrilling, and not a little frightening at times, as tribal battles were re-enacted in front of them in dance form. By the time the dancers had stamped their last stamp, banged their last drum and beaten their last shield with their knobkerries, Percy and Cecily were both so emotionally drained that it took all their effort to stumble their way from the boma, and into bed. 

The following morning, Khama was once again dressed in his European clothes and was sitting at his table with some official looking papers in front of him as Percy and Cecily came into the room. They were dressed in clothes that had been washed and pressed by Khama’s servants while they had slept. 

“Ah, good morning, my good friends, please do sit down and help yourselves to some fruit and biltong.”  

The choice of fruit, which included dates and figs and small bananas, made a welcome change from their customary diet which was dictated by the stores they had provisioned for the wagon journey. They were also offered some goat’s milk and even cheese of a sort. While they were eating, a white man came into the room but both the newcomer and Khama maintained a polite silence while they ate, but when they were sipping an infusion of some sort of herb that had been poured for them from a rather battered silver tea-pot, Khama broke his silence and spoke. “Please allow me to introduce a very good friend of our tribal people, Mister McKenzie. He has brought my people into the light of your God’s word as it is written in your Bible and that is why I will not allow liquor to be made or sold in my lands.”   

The white man nodded to Percy, and made a small bow and doffed his hat to Cecily, and passed over a sheet of paper in which were written in a cursive script a number of paragraphs. It was headed, in capital letters “PETITION”. He did not speak. Khama continued, “ I want you to take this message to our mutual friend Cecil Rhodes,” he said, “Myself and other chiefs of the people who are living in peace on this land which is open to the sky in every direction you look, do not want to be made to fight with the Boers. Yet with their continuous trekking they are a threat to our way of life and we cannot allow them to squeeze our people out of our historic lands. We have had correspondence through Mister McKenzie and Doctor Livingstone” (missionaries to the native population in Southern Africa) “with your parliament in London and we are planning to send a delegation, led by myself, to persuade the British Government to declare a Protectorate over our lands. We want our Protectorate to be administered for the benefit of its black population by the Government of the Cape Colony, under the aegis – I think that is the word – of Queen Victoria. Now, we know that Mister Rhodes is also in negotiation with the British Government to establish a Chartered Company to administer and finance on their behalf, Africa north of the twenty-second parallel, which, Mister McKenzie tells me would include our lands. That will be almost as bad as having the Boers as neighbours. We have no objection to Mister Rhodes and the Cape Parliament looking after our interests, but a Chartered Company would wish to exploit their rights over our lands and that would be to my people’s impoverishment.”

At this juncture the White man spoke, with a distinct Scottish brogue, 

“I don’t doubt the British Government will look favourably on our petition. Firstly, there are many members of Parliament who are suspicious of Rhodes’ intentions, and secondly, because it will be administered from the Cape, it will not be a drain on their Treasury and, finally, it will curb some of Rhodes’ vaunting ambition, such as his railway from Cape Town to Cairo.”

Percy and Cecily had listened to the two men’s speeches in silence. Now they were clearly expected to give some sort of reaction. Cecily was the first to speak.

“Well now, Chief Khama and Mister McKenzie,” she started, putting on a broad Irish accent, “Mister Rhodes may be disliked by many people, both in Cape Town and in London, and I am sure your own position has only been taken for altruistic considerations, but he has a habit of getting his own way by one means or another, as Percy and my marriage and our presence here is testament. We thank you, Chief Khama, for your hospitality, and you, Mister McKenzie, for your forthright opinions. We feel greatly refreshed by our visit to your kraal, but must now return to our wagons and continue with our assessment of Mister Rhodes’ railway proposals. Don’t you agree, Percy”

“As usual, my Dear, you have hit the nail on the head. We have much to do, and much to think about,” he stood up, as did Cecily, “So, Chief Khama, if we may take our leave of you and your fine house, we will saddle our ponies forthwith and be away.” He gave a nod in the direction of McKenzie and, with the petition in one hand and Cecily in the other, they went outside to where their ponies were tethered. 

While they were busy saddling the ponies, they were joined by Khama and a young warrior who, Khama explained, was to run with them and guide them through the lion country ahead of their trek. The sun was already high when they were ready to ride, so they only rode a short distance downriver from the kraal where, after about five miles, they found some well shaded pools, and decided to wait there for the rest of the day until the sun was low in the sky.
“Well,” said Percy, as soon as they had settled in a shady spot “I don’t think CJ is aware of this delegation going to London. He won’t be too pleased if he can’t have control of the territory where he’s taking his railway. The route we have surveyed so far is self evidently the only choice available that avoids Kruger’s Boer republic, and he needs to be in control of the land through which it passes. He could start laying tracks tomorrow, but he needs to be assured of a right of way. I think it is more important that we get back to Kimberley and apprise him of this situation, than we carry on trekking towards Matabeleland, writing notes and making sketches.”

“I think you’re right,” responded Cecily, “and any way, I was getting fed up with living in an ox-wagon! Let’s get back as fast as we can to the place where the wagons are outspanned, and make a plan.” With the sun low in the sky, and a course of action decided upon, the riders were able to put in two hours riding at a good pace, reckoning that if their guide became physically distressed, he could catch up in the darkness. As it was, he soon gave up running at their stirrups, and, to their relief, they did not see him again. It was fortunate that the moon was bright and almost full, so that by alternately making a fast trot for two hours and resting for an hour, they made the outspan before the sun was too high the following morning. As their camp came into view, they were surprised to see a number of other wagons and a Cape cart in the vicinity and a number of men and women standing by. As they dismounted and handed their ponies’ reins to their voorlopers, a thickset man with a rampant beard stepped forward from the group and introduced himself. As his vernacular was Afrikaans, it was with some difficulty that Percy made out what he was saying, but the gist was that he and his family, which seemed to include a large number of blood relatives, were making their way to the Transvaal Republic, having been displaced from the nascent Republic of Stellaland by the machinations of the British and Cape Governments and the interference of Scottish missionaries in Bechuanaland. The discovery that Cecily was Irish and not British considerably assuaged their antipathy to the couple, and laid the ground for some friendly bargaining. Thinking as one, it dawned on Cecily and Percy that if they could secure the use of the cart and a pair of horses from the voortrekkers, they could get back to Kimberly in less than half the time it would take otherwise. Percy explained to the patriarch that an emergency had arisen which necessitated a return to Kimberley, and would he consider an exchange involving the Cape cart, say, for an ox wagon. After some haggling involving the oxen needed to draw the ox wagon and the horses for the Cape cart, it was eventually agreed that Percy and Cecily could take the Cape cart and four horses in exchange for an ox wagon and eighteen oxen. The two drivers and the voorlopers and the cook were not wanted by the Afrikaaners, so Percy put them in charge of the remaining ox wagon and oxen to make their way back to Kimberly at their own pace. By this stage in their trek half the stores they had laid in had been consumed, and what remained easily fitted into one wagon and the Cape cart. 

By the time everything had been settled, the sun was low in the sky, the drivers and voorlopers had inspanned the oxen and the party set off back along the trail towards Kimberly. For the first two scoffs, Percy and Cecily drove the Cape cart and kept pace with the ox wagon, to make sure that the boys established a sensible routine. Thereafter they took the Cape cart at a good pace in four-hourly scoffs with the result they arrived in Kimberly four days later as the sun was rising.(to be continued………)