Ladysmith by Giles Foden

Author:Giles Foden
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: South African War, Historical - General, Ladysmith (South Africa), Historical, Siege, English Historical Fiction, Fiction, Literary, 1899-1900, Sieges, 1899-1902, Ladysmith (South Africa) - History - Siege, British, Historical fiction, War & Military, Fiction - Historical, War, History
ISBN: 9780375409202
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2000-03-28T01:33:34.617000+00:00

Twenty-Four

The pain and smell from his wounded leg were appalling. Having been on the point of recovering from a fractured ankle, Muhle Maseku was now back in his hut, nursing the bullet wound in his thigh. Truly, the gods were not on his side. Doctor Sterkx, for whom he had to thank Wellington’s escape from execution, had told him he was very lucky the bone had not been shattered. The bullet had passed straight through the flesh, causing most damage on its exit at the back of the thigh, ripping through sinew and muscle before embedding itself in the ground.

Sterkx had dressed the wound, but could not spare any medicine for the pain. It rendered Muhle almost unable to think, but all the time he hung on to one thing: as he had lain on the blood-soaked ground after Major MacBride had shot him, half-listening to the discussion between Joubert, Sterkx and the Major about Wellington’s fate, he had realized that if Wellington was to be freed, he ought somehow to communicate to his son a place where they could make a rendezvous. He could see Wellington a little way away, struggling between two of MacBride’s men, but every time he himself had tried to sit up, another of the men had kicked him back down.

His mind had raced. He had to find some way to fix a location in Wellington’s mind. But neither of them knew the area well and this, with the added disadvantage that everywhere was crawling with Boer sentries, made the task almost impossible. Just as they were about to take Wellington away, to send him back to Ladysmith, it had come to him.

“I will meet you at the isivivane,” he had shouted out in Zulu, from beneath the white man’s boot.

From across the camp had come Wellington’s answering voice. “At the isivivane, Father.”

And then another voice. “Shut up, kaffir.”

All this Muhle rehearsed as he lay—once more—in this damned hut. The isivivane: the reference was to the lucky’ heap of stones placed at the edge of a path as it entered strange territory. There would have been many such piles in the area, but at least it narrowed things down a little. Now all he had to do was escape from the Boer camp himself and that, he knew, was no easy task, especially with a wounded leg. He toyed with the idea of asking Sterkx for help, but reckoned that although the good doctor might be prepared to save a life, he would never do something that might be conceived of as betrayal. Unless…unless…Sterkx had mentioned that his wife was a prisoner in Ladysmith: if Muhle promised to get a message to her, perhaps the doctor would help him.

He put it to Sterkx when he came in to look at his dressing, which was soaked and stained with an ominous discharge.

“Doctor, first of all I wish to thank you for saving the life of my son. For this I am eternally in your debt.”

Bending over him, Sterkx shrugged.

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