Yesterday's Promise (37 page)

“Trouble is everywhere, friend Derwent. Maybe you're missing the life of a vicar after all.”

“I don't think I'm called as a vicar… I don't have the way with words. I haven't changed my mind about getting land and some gold, either. But I admit to missing Grimston Way. And Evy. Wonder how she's doing? Must have gotten her music school by now.”

Rogan forced Evy from his mind. He ignored Derwent's musing. “Trouble…is certainly bound to come to Rhodes's company. What worries me most is the hotheads in charge of the new colony.”

“Aye, for sure. That Dr. Jameson is sure to cause trouble, if you ask me.” Derwent shook his head again.

“If we're not careful, Jameson could do something reckless and virtually hand a lighted match to the indunas to set the whole thing ablaze. All it would take is for something to go badly, followed by a dark utterance from the Umlimo to stir the indunas to action.”

“Aye.” Derwent looked again toward the Matopos. “Still, it's only the beauty of the Creator's handiwork I see.”

Rogan agreed. The sun shining through the spiraling mist cast the hills in a rosy glow that looked peaceful.

“It's just like the devil to take the good things that God made and
try to get people to use them in ways that are twisted and destructive,” Derwent said.

How true, Rogan thought as they rode into camp, but what about his own life? Could he keep his desires and ambitions from leading him in paths that were dark?

The Pioneer Column was ready to move out. Nothing, it seemed, would halt the expedition now. Their destination was Mount Hampden—before the seasonal rains came.

The first horseman splashed across the Motloutsi River, followed by the Pioneer Column, their wagons and oxen, and a host of African laborers.

After months of planning, the expedition had finally begun. The BSA had leaped over the two Boer Republics—the Transvaal and the Orange Free State—as well as Lobengula's Matabeleland. Their intent was to form a new country between the Limpopo and Zambezi rivers three hundred miles north of the Transvaal. It would be called Rhodesia, in honor of Cecil Rhodes. After crossing the river, the long Pioneer Column was soon enveloped in a great dust cloud, which trailed behind them, visible for miles, until it was at last borne away by the wind.

The company moved forward, and wagons creaked and shuddered under heavy loads. Arcilla groaned as she thought of the weeks of riding in a wagon that lay ahead. Each bump and clank of the springless axles jarred her teeth as wagon wheels jostled across the expansive empty veld and over rocky stream beds. The dry season brought dust everywhere. Unlike the children of Israel who were safely led by God's pillar of cloud, everyone in this column was hounded by the swirling clouds of dust. From the first covered wagon to the men bringing up the rear—all were smothered in dust. For one of the few times in her life, Arcilla prayed without her prayer book, “Oh God, help us, protect us, and help Peter to be wise. In the name of our Savior, amen.”

In July the Pioneer Column reached Tulie, where they began construction of their first fort, a place of rest for those who would follow in coming years to join the new colony of Rhodesia.

“Sorry you came along, Miss Bley?”

Darinda, weary and exhausted, was looking on the ground where she'd lost a button from her jacket, knowing she'd not likely find it or get another to replace it in a very long time. She straightened and looked up at Captain Ryan Retford astride his horse. It was irksome that he looked confident, relaxed, and at home in such wild territory. His hair glinted in the sun, and she found the cleft in his chin attractive. The last time she had talked to him was on the other side of the Limpopo weeks ago. She had parted from him in a rage, humiliated by her indiscretion that he so bluntly pointed out. Since then she had stayed far afield of him, Parnell, and Rogan Chantry as well. She refused to even think about the ruddy map. So far it had only caused trouble for her.

“I'm not in the least sorry, Captain,” she said coolly.

He smothered a smile and touched his hat in salute, his dark blue eyes glinting with humor. “I suppose not. If you ever need any help with anything, just call.”

“I'll manage on my own, thank you.”

“This is a far cry from Cape House.”

“If you will excuse me?” She started to sidle past him.

“I understand why you've avoided me on the trek, Miss Bley, but what's happened between you and Parnell Chantry?”

“That, Captain, is none of your business.” And she brushed past.

“Wait—”

She slowly turned. He'd swung down from his saddle and picked something up from the ground.

“Looking for this, Miss Bley?”

He walked up to her and extended his palm. Her golden button gleamed in the sunlight.

He
would have to be the one to find it. Darinda snatched it from him and was turning away when she glanced up at his face. As his dark blue eyes flicked over her, she felt herself flush. She jerked her shoulder at him and walked away.

“You are welcome,” his calm, amused voice followed after her.

She gritted her teeth.

After building the fort at Tulie, the Pioneer Column pushed forward, mindful of the inclement weather to come.

The Ngwato laborers hacked out bush for the wagon roads. The pioneers rode and marched along this track, sweating in the southern hemisphere winter sun, alert for possible surprise attacks by Lobengula's impis.

At night Rogan helped Mornay and Derwent hobble the horses. Peter and Captain Retford oversaw the grouping of the wagons to form a laager. Each evening before darkness closed in, the men set up the naval searchlight and fired up the steam engine to power it throughout the long night.

Rogan and Parnell helped lay charges of dynamite farther back so that the explosions thundered a stern warning to the Ndebele. Rogan had seen the impis secretly following at a distance, ominously shadowing the column.

Arcilla snuggled deeper into the blankets inside the wagon. “Suppose they break through?”

“Don't worry, darling. We've posted guards all around the laager.”

“Peter, I feel sick. I want to go home to England.”

“Arcilla, my dearest, we cannot go home. This is our new home. Things will be better at Fort Salisbury, I promise.”

Arcilla was sure things would be worse. She longed for Aunt Elosia, pampering her again as her mother had. She remembered her charming bedroom at Rookswood and how all the maids—even chatterbox Lizzie, Mrs. Croft's niece—would rush to meet her every whim. Now she woke up to warmed-over mealies and dark, bitter coffee. No wonder she was getting thin. “I'll die here,” she told herself one night as she listened to the calls of the wild animals. “They'll bury me in Mashonaland.”

By August Frederick Selous had halted the Pioneer Column at Lundi. This was south of the main mountain range that Rogan had studied on Henry's map. The range separated the bush veld from the high plateau of Mashonaland.

Rogan and Derwent climbed through the bush to explore. When they reached the summit, Rogan pointed at the open veld below.

“This is it, all right,” Rogan said. “This is one of the areas that Henry drew on the map.” Frederick Selous had called this area Providential Pass, since it opened up the main range.

They trekked still deeper into what they called the Zambezi region, though the Zambezi River itself was far distant. On the sixth of August, they resumed their steady advance and reached the main plateau on the fourteenth. Here they built a second fort and named it Fort Victoria, and in September they reached their destination, the site chosen for the new British colony, in sight of Mount Hampden, and christened it Fort Salisbury, after the British prime minister.

The next day Rogan took part in the official ceremony to commemorate the end of a long journey and the beginning of a new British colony. He stood with Peter and Arcilla, Sir Julien, Darinda, and Parnell. The entire Pioneer Column soon gathered, with Lieutenant Colonel Pennyfather dressed in full military garb. They stood solemnly as the officers of the British South Africa Company hauled out two Union Jacks: one belonging to the Cape government and the other to Her Majesty Queen Victoria's Government of Great Britain.

They located the straightest tree and trimmed its branches. Then they all stood at attention as the flags were solemnly hoisted. Two seven-pound cannons shot off a twenty-one gun salute. Mr. Balfour, the chaplain of the five-hundred-man BSA police, prayed for God's blessing and gave thanks.

Arcilla felt a tingle of excitement run down her spine as a deafening cheer reverberated across the veld. Peter stood beside her with his shoulders back and a glow in his eyes. “This will one day be called Rhodesia,” he told Arcilla, pride and pleasure in his voice. He drew her aside and planted a kiss on her forehead. “We made it, my dear. I told you we would. We'll be happy here. You will try, won't you, Arcilla?”

“I'll try, Peter. I promise you I'll do my best.”

“Darling, that's all a man could ever ask of his beloved wife.”

“Oh, Peter…” She went into his arms, and Peter enfolded her closely.