The covenant - James A. Michener [434]
Another soldier who had seen Buller at the War Office in London contributed: 'He's past sixty, I think, and gotten frightfully fat. Must have weighed eighteen stone when I saw him.'
A major newly arrived said, 'Only hearsay, but I believe the Staff was sharply divided about accepting him. Some wanted younger, harder drivers like Kitchener or Allenby. Others wanted trusted older men like Lord Roberts. There was grave suspicion that Buller might not be up to the challenge.'
'Then why was he chosen?' Saltwood asked, scribbling rapidly to keep up with the flow of words.
'It was the general impression,' the newcomer said, 'that he was a good fellow who deserved a shot at high command.' He coughed, then added, 'He's never led an army, you know.'
'Why would they give such a man so important a job?'
'Well, he had been around a long time and it was his turn.'
A young Englishman who knew considerable about his country's military system, and who was obviously perplexed by the appointment of Buller, said reflectively, 'It just occurred to me. Take all the leading generals assigned to this campaign. Not one has ever led his troops against an enemy that wore shoes.'
This extraordinary statement produced a thoughtful silence, broken by Saltwood, who asked, pen still in hand, 'What do you mean?'
'They've fought barefooted Afghans, and barefooted Egyptians, and barefooted Sindi. "Shoulder-to-shoulder, men, and drive the pagan blighters back to the hills." I know nothing about the Boers, but I believe they wear shoes.'
'They do,' a South African conceded. 'But essentially they're a rabble. Buller should have no trouble with them.'
'But a rabble with shoes,' the young Englishman warned.
It was an older English officer who gave Saltwood the most helpful information: 'I knew him in England, after his days of glory in the field. He had only two objectives. Build the best army possible. Do everything to protect the welfare of the troops. I'm told in recent letters that he wasn't the unanimous choice of either the War Office or the cabinet, but he was a good choice. He had many Boers in his unit when he fought out here against the Zulu. He'll respect them.'
It was with this body of conflicting opinions that Frank Saltwood approached Buller's room that October morning, and before he had been with the general two minutes, he realized that all his research had been useless. Frank's major problem was understanding what the general was saying, for he had trouble pronouncing words because of his missing teeth, and those he did say were often lost in his mustache. Frank wondered if he had heard the opening words correctly.
'Glad to have you, young fellow. What I mean . . . hhmmph . . . you're to fetch me an iron tub.'
'Did you say iron tub, sir?'
'What I mean, if I have to go to the front meself. Man must have his bath, what?'
'You mean a tub to carry with you, sir?'
'Yes, damnit, what I mean, a man can't go dirty on bivouac, can he?'
He also wanted a mobile kitchen so large that it would require an entire wagon and eight mules. He wanted a feather bed with extra blankets: 'Don't want the cold to impede us, do we, hhmmph?' After a whole morning of this, in which Saltwood jotted down enough items to fill a small store, the general asked abruptly, 'How far to Stellenbosch?'
'The train might get you there and back in a day. But there are no troops, enemy or . . .'
'Damn. Well, you know, in London and all that.'
Saltwood was quite lost until Buller mumbled, 'Trianon, you know. One of the really good wines of the world. I shall want fifty dozen of their best sparkling wine.'
'That would be six hundred bottles, sir.'
'Six hundred is what I want.'
That would require an extra wagon and eight more horses, but when Frank