Yesterday's Promise (35 page)

Rogan was thinking not of cricket but of the godly old missionary Dr. Jakob van Buren and asked Peter about him.

“Jakob van Buren? Yes, he's a relative of Heyden,” Peter said when Rogan mentioned the man. “He's from Holland, I think. Julien seems to think so, and mentioned it. He treats lepers, I believe. A brave man, from all I hear, and well respected in the area. His station was actually started by some English missionary back in the sixties. He'd been inspired by David Livingstone's expedition up the Zambezi to establish missions along the river. Unfortunately, that fellow was killed by the Africans. Jakob took over and has done quite a work there.”

“Do you know Heyden van Buren? He's related to Julien's first mining partner at Kimberly, Carl van Buren.”

“I met him briefly in London when I came to marry Arcilla. Heyden was with the Kruger delegation back then, but I've seen Heyden recently as well.”

Rogan peered at him from beneath his hat, keenly alert now. “You saw him recently? Where? Kimberly?”

“No, actually it was Capetown. Strange you should mention Heyden. He spoke of a recent visit to Jakob van Buren. It was quite a trek for him. Some Boer guide brought him in. Sounds rather like your uncle Henry.”

Heyden had gone to the Zambezi…

“What was Heyden doing in Capetown?”

“He was on his way to London to see his cousin.” Peter looked at him thoughtfully. “The girl who played the piano, wasn't it? Very lovely young woman, as I recall.”

Rogan frowned and toyed restlessly with the reins he held. “Did he say why he was going to visit her?”

“No. Is it important?”

Rogan had no ready answer. How could he admit how important it was to him, while also realizing he had no right to pursue Evy? But knowing that Heyden, whom he personally distrusted, would have access to Evy added to his frustration.

“I intend to visit Jakob van Buren when we get to the Zambezi region,” Rogan told Peter. It was troubling to know that Heyden had recently visited the mission station. Had Heyden learned from Jakob that Dumaka had stolen the Black Diamond from Henry Chantry? Rogan began to think Heyden may have been told the same things that Julien had relayed to him back in April.

Peter changed the topic to the two hundred pioneers who had joined the venture. “They're risking their lives, just as we are. One can only think they are willing to do so for love of Mr. Rhodes and England.”

Rogan winced. “Come, come, Peter. Don't wax too eloquent on his part, or theirs. I'll wager they're drawn by the three-thousand-acre spreads to be given away free.”

“They'll be working hard for those acres, I can assure you. They'll be cutting the road all the way to Mount Hampden.”

Rogan also saw hundreds of Africans hired for menial tasks. There were 350 Ngwato laborers, who would be hacking and clearing a road for the 2,000 oxen pulling 117 ox wagons.

They would work, all right. They all would. They would earn their farmland and their gold.

Along with the pioneers were five hundred men of the newly formed British South Africa Company police, who were being paid high wages to set up a security force in the new colony.

Earlier that morning, Rogan had inspected a naval searchlight powered by a steam engine that was to be pulled in one of the wagons by sturdy oxen.

“The nights will be long, sir,” the man had said gravely. “Long, dark, and risky. This light will enable us to protect our camp from surprise attacks.”

Right. Lobengula might decide the Company Pioneer Column was invading his territory after all, despite his earlier grudging consent. The old chieftain just might plan a surprise night attack by his impis.

Cecil Rhodes had already decided to bypass the much sought-after “road from Bulawayo,” so as to try to avoid trouble with Lobengula. Instead, they would be cutting a path for the oxcarts along an old hunting track known by Frederick Selous and Mornay. It was believed the track would lead them right into Mashonaland.

“The British Government has agreed with this less obtrusive route. They've thrown their diplomatic support behind us,” Peter said.

Rogan felt impatient with the whole thing. “I've always thought the old hunting track Mornay had in mind would serve us better than wrangling with Lobengula. It may have been the route Henry took with Mornay's father. Too much time's been wasted trying to negotiate. As it stands now, we may have already stirred up unnecessary trouble.”

“Well, the Company's come around to see it that way now,” Peter said. “Selous is a strong individual and was rather uncommunicative about the route he intended to take.”

Rogan pulled his hat lower. “We should make use of every moment of peace we have with the Ndebele to get moving. The farther away from Lobengula we get, the better for the expedition. I don't trust him or his impis.”

Rogan rode with Peter to the head of the column, where the lead men were gathered waiting for the arrival of a British official from Kimberly to send them on their way with the government's fanfare.

Rogan saw Dr. Jameson ahead. The doctor impressed him as a man who might act impulsively and at times, perhaps, unwisely. A forward push into hostile, unexplored country demanded cool-headed leadership. Mr. Rhodes, however, trusted Jameson and had sent him along as his special emissary from Kimberly. Jameson held perhaps the highest credential in the Pioneer Column. He alone carried Rhodes's power of attorney as managing director of De Beers. Peter answered to “Dr. Jim,” and then to Sir Julien.

Julien was waiting for them at the head of the column, along with Parnell and Captain Retford.

“This is Rogan, my younger nephew,” Julien told the group of men.

Rogan leaned across his horse and briefly shook hands with Lieutenant Colonel Pennyfather, young Frank Johnson, the contractor who'd been hired to arrange the journey, and the pathfinder Frederick Selous.

“Ah yes. The young man who'd been planning a private expedition to the Zambezi,” Pennyfather said. He was an older man of dignified face and bearing and sat tall in the saddle.

So he knows too
, Rogan thought.
I suppose they all do now
.

“Too bad we didn't meet first,” Frank Johnson said with a meaningful grin, shaking hands with Rogan, who was near his age.

Dr. Jameson did not look pleased by Johnson's remark.

“Well, gentlemen, we're all in this together now. Whatever gold Henry Chantry discovered there in the seventies is needed by the Company, and we'll mine and transport it out by building a railroad. I doubt you or Frank could have pulled that off on your own.”

“Not necessarily,” Rogan said. “Chantry resources and determination could have accomplished more than Mr. Rhodes may think.”

Sir Julien threw back his dark head and laughed.

“But alas!” Rogan smiled pleasantly at Dr. Jameson. “Her Majesty's
award of a Royal Charter goes without dispute. As you say, sir, we're in this together—just as long as forty percent of the gold goes to the map owner, I will give the BSA little trouble.” Rogan continued to smile as Jameson's hard eyes flickered.

Then Jameson laughed too. “Julien and Rhodes agreed. Forty percent. Who am I to protest? We need you along, Rogan.”

Frank Johnson chuckled and relaxed into his saddle, and Captain Ryan Retford grinned at Rogan. But Peter said quickly, as though Rogan's banter might ruffle feathers, “And you know Mornay's good friend, Frederick Selous, our chief pathfinder.”

Selous, a nice-looking man with a walrus mustache, was a stalwart South African with a shiny reputation and had a confident, quiet way about him.

“Mornay tells me you're a better pathfinder than he,” Rogan said. “For a Frenchman to admit such a thing takes rare humility, so he must be right.” Rogan shook Selous's hand.

The others laughed when Mornay, seated on his horse behind Selous, sniffed loudly and said something in French.

The brief introductions done, the conversation continued between the officials.

Frederick Selous then spoke up. “If all proceeds as planned, we should be beyond Bulawayo and as far northeast as Mount Hampden before the rains come!”

“Here comes the official brass Mr. Rhodes said he'd send from the Cape,” Parnell told Rogan.

Rogan's leather saddle squeaked as he turned to squint against the burning sun and dust.

Major General Methuen, apparently oblivious to the film of dust that covered his dressy red-and-gold uniform, came cantering toward them, as though just leaving a parade ground at the Cape. Behind him followed a large group of soldiers and African servants, all of them in parade dress as well. The Pioneer Column lined up for the final and formal send-off. Rogan sat in his saddle beside Peter and Mornay. Derwent was farther down the column among the pioneers. Rogan felt the wind blowing against him and the warm sun on his back, and he blinked against the dust that seemed to stir constantly. The wagons were neatly in line, and he glanced to see his sister sitting with straight shoulders and thought,
Well done, Arcilla
. Darinda, too, and Alice were at attention.

Then came a roll of drums, a blast of trumpets, and a show of colors. The Union Jack snapped proudly in the breeze, with the BSA flag alongside it, and then the guns fired a salute.

The official formalities over, Rogan turned his horse aside to go check on his supply wagon.

Derwent came riding up from his spot in the column. “Mr. Rogan, it's one of the Ndebele indunas. He's come from Bulawayo with a message
from Lobengula, but he's asking to speak only with you outside camp. His name is Jube.”

Peter was listening, but the others had not overheard. It was just as well, since Rogan did not want Julien to follow and confront the induna, especially if Jube actually was Dumaka.

“I'll bring Retford and come with you,” Peter said quietly.

Rogan, with Peter, Captain Retford, and Derwent, rode outside the camp to some white rocks that jutted upward like bleached bones. The wind whipped up the dust around the horses, and the sky appeared like an iron shield.

They waited astride their horses, keeping a watchful eye on the rocks around them. A few minutes later, Rogan saw Jube, the same induna he'd met at Bulawayo some two months earlier, step out from behind the largest white boulder. He was tall and dark. The leopard-skin draped over his shoulders moved in the wind. His hair, touched with gray, looked like a skull cap.

“I'll talk to him alone.” Rogan swung down from the saddle and left the reins with Derwent.

Jube came toward him at the same moment, leaving three impis back among the white rocks.

Rogan stopped, seeing a slithering movement in the shade of a rock. A poisonous serpent watched him. The wind tugged at Rogan's leather hat. He kept a safe distance, while also trying not to give Jube the wrong impression.

After several cautious moments, the serpent slid away into low brush.

Rogan walked to where Jube stood.

“I see you, Jube.”

Jube came toward him. He was very tall, well over six feet, thin and sinewy, and the skin on his fine facial features was drawn smooth and
tight, giving his features the appearance of chiseled marble. As before he was unsmiling.

“The Ndebele king wants to know why there are so many warriors at Motloutsi. Has the king committed any fault, or has any white man been killed, or have the white men lost anything that they're looking for? How is it that the doctor agreed at Bulawayo to dig only at a place pointed out by the king?”

“I am not in command of this expedition, Jube. The decisions are not in my hand. I can tell them my ideas, but the doctor speaks for the white men. They say your king has signed a treaty for them to dig for gold. To dig for gold, we need oxen and wagons, and white men and Africans to work for us. We go far from your king's kraal at Bulawayo, beyond the Limpopo, to the land of the Shona people.”