Flashman on the March: From the Flashman Papers, 1867-8 by George MacDonald Fraser

Author:George MacDonald Fraser [Fraser, George MacDonald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, Fiction, Humor, Adventure, Military
ISBN: 9781400044757
Google: UV4rAAAAYAAJ
Publisher: Alfred A. Knopf
Published: 2005-07-15T21:55:01+00:00

Any doubts I might have had about the military bandobast of the Wollo Gallas were banished entirely in the next few hours when I conferred with their commanders. They were as expert and brisk in planning as their queen had been in negoti ation, grasped Napier’s requirements at once, and knew exactly how to satisfy them. By the time we were done I was confident that whatever the hazards of taking Magdala, the Gallas would do their part to the letter.

There were four of them in the great airy apartment where Fasil, their general in chief, had his head-quarters. He was a mercenary, of the Amoro Galla tribe, notorious for their bravery, ferocity, and hatred of Christians, and didn’t he look it? He was a tall grizzled veteran whose hawk profile was marred by a dreadful sword-cut which had cleft both cheeks and the bridge of his nose; his style was all Guardee, sharp with authority and sparing with words. His two immediate sub ordinates were surprisingly young, hard-case stalwarts commanding infantry and cavalry respectively, full of bounce and confidence of which Fasil was sourly tolerant—not a bad sign. I don’t remember their names. Fourth man in was Masteeat’s son, Ahmed, a lively, hand some stripling who had inherited his mother’s lazy smile without her indolence, for he was restless with energy. He seemed to be Fasil’s a.d.c. In attendance there were half a dozen scribes taking notes.

What impressed me at first sight even more than the men was the great scale model, six feet by three, which occupied the centre of the room. It was an exact representation of Magdala and the country round, and beat any sand-table I’d ever seen. I doubt if any military academy of Europe or America could have shown better—and these were the primitive aborigines whom Punch depicted as nigger minstrels.

I made a sketch of it, and if you study it along with my descrip tion you’ll understand why I examined it with mounting alarm, for it was clear to me that if Theodore defended his amba like the pro fessional soldier he was reputed to be, Napier’s command was looking disaster in the face.

Until now, you see, all I knew of Magdala was what the croakers said: that it was impregnable if resolutely defended—but that’s been an old soldier’s tale since Joshua’s day, and I’d been ready to believe that the shave (* Rumour.) was exaggerated. I wasn’t prepared for that sand-table, if it was accurate. Fasil swore it was, to the inch, having been made by their best engineers and artists months earlier, when Masteeat had contemplated an attack on the place.

“And would have taken it, garrisoned by sheep as it is!” cries young Ahmed. “But Menelek and Gobayzy came snapping at our ankles like the dogs they are!”

“I could take it now, prince, if her majesty wishes,” brags the infantry wallah, with a cocky grin at me. “Why leave it for the British, who may not restore it to her majesty afterwards?”

“Since when are you a politician?” growls Fasil.

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