"Blimey! Jeeves, why is this tea cold?" asked Byron Ferr-Batim , wrinkling his nose in disgust as he quickly replaced his still full cup back on the saucer. Steam swirled from the cup like ghosts on parade.
"Sir, it is hot, just as you insist it be. Indeed, it cannot be hotter unless you drink it directly from the kettle," his long-suffering man-servant replied in a measured voice, a slight sniff punctuating his opinion of his master's request. Jeeves stood adjacent to the table, impossibly thin and angular in his formal black suit, with a pointed nose like a knife edge. The eyelids drooped with a impertinent condescension, the neck crooked as if expecting no argument, and the head turned slightly away from Ferr-Batim . Indeed, from all appearances, that was the end of the conversation, no matter how Ferr-Batim stewed in his overstuffed chair.
"Impudent rascal! 'Tis cold I say. Now, bring some proper hot tea, or I'll ship you back to that god-forsaken country of yours." Ferr-Batim plucked at an imaginary speck of lint, then leaned forward in his chair. His bright red smoking jacket, cut from the same cloth as that used for British uniforms, contrasted sharply with the deep maroon of the chair and the forest green of the library curtains. The black and brown book covers added to the contrast between the live and the dead. By design, the room faced west, allowing the fading rays of the day to stream through the panes of windows, highlighting the favorite chair Ferr-Batim habitually sat in for afternoon tea. Today, as with most days, no one came to visit the retired officer, leaving him to his books and tea.
"Sir," Jeeves answered, "that would be Bristol. I was born and raised in Bristol."
"Quite." Ferr-Batim waited, confident in his posture and posturing. Despite the bantering and authoritative undercuttings, they were possibly the only combination of personalities that would work for each of them. They were as dependent on each other as they were sure of their positions, and Ferr-Batim, long retired from Her Majesty Queen Victoria's Army, knew precisely where a retired army officer and gentleman ranked. He was also, as Jeeves knew and understood, a bit daft.
"In any event, I shall prepare with all speed a new pot of hot tea." Jeeves' voice dripped with faux fawning--not that Ferr-Batim would notice.
"Splendid, but do make sure it's hot. Do you know how hot I want it, Jeeves? Do you know how hot?"
"Enlighten me sir," Jeeves said quietly, reaching for the silver tray on the table. With long-practiced ease he lifted it without making a sound--not a rattle of cup on saucer, not a clink of spoon upon tray.
"What? What's that?" Ferr-Batim demanded. "I can't hear you. You know that's my bad ear. Boxers and all that."
"I said," and here Jeeves raised his voice, "enlighten me on how hot you wish your tea to be."
"Boiling hot. I want it as hot as it was at Dar-es-Salaam. As hot as that hellish desert in the Sudan. As hot as a demon's breath off the dunes," said Ferr-Batim, that faraway look beginning to dim the volume and bluster in his tone. He leaned back in the chair, his voice even and strong, his gaze fixating on his old uniform hanging in a clear glass case like some museum display. He could, if he wished, open the case and put the uniform on again. As his mind rewound to the past, yearsdropped from his shoulders. "Have I ever told you about the Mahdi at Dar-es-Salaam? Quite the adventure. I was only a lieutenant back then. Young, you know."
"I live for your recollections, sir."
"And damn glad I was for the posting," Ferr-Batim noted with some pride, puffing his chest out and sitting straighter in the chair. "Not easy with a German name. Without proper British heritage, they cock their head and squint their eye at you. Now, I was born and raised British, and can't help the name, but it's a good name. Grand-dad came here after kicking ol' Boney to Saint Helena. The British sure appreciated the German names back then."
"So I believe," Jeeves whispered with a nod, and made to withdraw with a half step backward. Yet, out of habit, he halted upon hearing Ferr-Batim speak.
"It was 1881, no, 1880, or was it 1882? Anyway, this barbarian of a Mahdi was raising Cain with his shrill voice and bad breath. Miserable savage, he. Obviously spent too much time in the desert, I say. Everyone will hear voices if they're in the desert too long." Ferr-Batim shifted in his chair, unconsciously running a finger between his collar and neck.
"Egyptians, you see, bloody awful troops at times, marched out to squash this Mahdi and his band of desert dervishes. Botched the entire operation. That Egyptian rabble couldn't keep a square if you planted their feet in the sand. No matter, really, but Bagshot was with 'em. Some sort of temporary posting, I understand. You know the buzzards--we call 'em buzzards, you know--well, you know the buzzards were wretched when even ol' Binky couldn't keep them together. They broke, were slaughtered, and Bagshot got captured. You might say 'bagged,'" and Ferr-Batim twittered, then continued.
"Well, not proper, you understand, a British officer under lock and key, among the savages. Not proper. Insult to her Majesty. So we rounded up some lads and were ready to go when strange things started to happen. It's supposed to be a snap you see, march up to that miserable dung-hill of a town, fire a few rounds, unlock ol' Binky's cell door, and post a small garrison. End of story, right? Should have been, had we moved out right then.
"Captain Chambers received a request from Major Harper, who had heard from Colonel Drey about escorting the Bosnian Wild Circus to the town of Dar es Salaam. What they were going to do, I have no idea, but the request was granted. You see, the Reverend Tollison was accompanying Sir Halston the archaeologist and his wife. A shrew of a woman, by the by. Bah! It was all such a muddle. So, if you can imagine, our expedition to recapture Dar es Salaam and release ol' Binky was turned into a bloody circus...literally.
"And now, and bless my soul, had I known what would occur, I would have put my foot down, but I was young and had married quite young too. My wife Emmanthea and daughter Penelope were with me at the post, and since they had struck up a close friendship with Sir Halston's family, they wanted to go as well. It was all an adventure you see, to see something new...a grand trip as it were. No troubles. And Sir Halston wanted it too.
"I know now such frills and encumbrage means nothing but trouble. No discipline, you see. Problems galore. I mean, the Bosnian Circus had a big bear! In the desert! Can you imagine? A great big bloody bear wandering around the desert like a walking fur coat.
"But Captain Chambers really had no recourse. When you get a request like that from higher up, well, you snap to and do your duty. It was chaos, pure chaos, organizing the civilians. No discipline. No bloody discipline.
"At least we managed to snag a detachment of cavalry for some scouting. Sir Halston, fancying himself some great military strategist, requested them. That helped, so I can't complain. It was Egyptian cavalry, but better than nothing. A couple of the Queen's own Household Guards officers were temporarily attached as well.
"We finally marched out of the gate. Well, marched is quite the opposite of what really happened. The lads were in tight order, of course, and the flying column of the Lights proved smart enough, but the bloody Circus strung out like they were in a parade. Lollygagging about, waving to the Arabs, and kicking up such a clamor, Cairo could hear us. And Sir Halston and the women thought they were on some grand jaunt, dressed in their Sunday finest with long skirts and rainbow-colored parasols. Hmmmpf, what a sight.
"We hadn't gone a mile or two when we had to wait for them to catch up. And then to try and form a proper square, well, just try to keep some order and move out. In the end, we kicked the Circus out of the square and told 'em to keep up. Smelly mess, those Bosnians, and bear manure everywhere you stepped. Smartest thing Captain Chambers did. I shudder to think what it would be like with them inside the square at Dar es Salaam.
"But it was hot, so bloody hot, with a dry wind playing hide and seek with the sand. Not a sandstorm, mind you, but get caught at the wrong moment and the sand grains bite and bite and bite, like a million mosquitos. It feels like you are being flayed alive. It blinds you too, so you can't see too well. It's not quite as bad as a sandstorm, but we did lose Private Peppers once on a march. Back in '84 or '85 I think, or was it '83? Was there in the column after lunch, but not there at tea time. Bloody awful mess. Never found him. Lot of explaining you understand."
Jeeves shifted his weight. "Shall I find you another spot of tea?"
"What? Have you brought tea?"
"Yes, sir. But it seems far too tepid to serve."
"Good man, Jeeves. Very observant. The only way to serve tea is hot. As hot as...As hot as..."
"As it was at Dar es Salaam?"
"Well put! God, that was hot. So, bloody hot," Ferr-Batim rambled. "The Devil himself could not make Hell any hotter. Ah, poor Emmathea. So pale and thin, and such delicate features. How the sun pounded on her, but she forebore such privations without complaint. Oh, she could have a fire in her eye when she put her mind to it. Not to mention a fire in her tongue. When that heathen of a Bosnian juggler made improper talk to our daughter Penelope, she grabbed a switch from the camel driver and flayed that boy thrice over, all the time letting him know in no uncertain terms to stay away from our daughter! And then she pelted the running dog with his own juggling balls! Now that was a sight to see. Or at least would have been, for I was with the lads and only came by at the end. That heathen was running for his life as Emma lobbed cannonballs at him!" Ferr-Batim chuckled a bit at the memory, but then drew serious.
"Oh Emma, how I miss you. I wish you were here to grow old with. To see our beloved Penelope grow up and to hear the din and racket of the grandchildren. Damn, damn, damn that poison dart!" Ferr-Batim sighed. "It was hot in the jungle too, but it was a different kind of heat. Wet. Sticky. Dripping. Pungent with rotting leaves and tree trunks. The desert is dry. Parched. A dessicated wasteland of sand and rock.
"Eventually, we found that miserable sluggish trickle of a river and marched along it. Even then, no more than some scrawny bush or half-dead shrubbery could claw its way out of the sand. It's amazing there was water at all, but that's how it was. You know, I once chided the Reverend about the heat. I said to him, 'Reverend, there must be a Devil because we're marching through Hell. It can't get any worse.'
"Well, Reverend Tollison is a pleasant enough chap, but when you start treading upon his Biblical toes, he can be quite the officious little bastard. I was just making pleasant conversation, a bit of a toss away, you see? Well, this hamster puffs up faster than an insulted Cobra and says, 'A rather ill-conceived opinion, is it not, Lieutenant? No hardship on this mortal sphere can ever compare to the consignment of your soul to Satan's grasp.'
"The effrontery of it all! Hmmpf. Changing a whisicality into some sort of theological humbuggery. Not how it's done. Bad form. Not proper. Well, I was not going to stand for that, so I said, 'Perhaps, Reverend you are right and my ill-considered notice a trifle over eager.' You see, it's always good to build an argument off the other chap's argument. Catches him unaware, as it 'twer. So I continue.
"'This may only be a test of faith that God is holding, could it not?'
"Thinking he had won his petty theological point, he conceded that 'God's reach is all powerful, and verily, we are always in God's hands.' I feigned surprise at this and innocently replied, 'God's hands? Judging by this heat, we must be in God's armpit!'
"I can still see him sputter while the rest of us laughed aloud. And then Captain Chambers sent me out of the square to check on the Bosnians. It was still abysmally hot, but I was noticeably cooler making my rounds.
"Delightfully witty, sir," Jeeves deadpanned. "Your tea is also noticeably cooler and with your permission, I shall remedy that at once." The manservant frowned slightly as Ferr-Batim prattled on about his glory days--an affliction of increasing popularity of late. Until dismissed, he could not withdraw.
"Cooler? Well, not really. It was just the levity, you understand," Ferr-Batim pronounced as he slipped back in time. "It remained as uncomfortable as before. You could almost light a cigar just by holding it towards the sun. But on we marched across the desert, always following the river, day after interminable day, until we came within sight of Dar es Salaam.
"I swear it was the hottest day yet as we formed up the square again, but this time, Captain Chambers sent the flying column of the Lights sweeping down by the river through what passes for woods. A very prudent course, I thought. Thankfully, he kept the cavalry out scouting and didn't listen to the poppycock spewed by Sir Halston, who wanted to send the cavalry on some wide sweep to the west to surround the town, as if it was going anywhere. Privately, out of earshot of him, we offered to send Mrs. Halston on a wide flanking maneuver, but Captain Chambers regretfully denied our petition.
"The Mahdi, heathen that he is, was no fool. He had placed a battery of three cannons atop the town's walls facing us, and a one-gun entrenchment outside the town on a hill to the west. To advance directly would be difficult, so Captain Chambers elected to put Lieutenant Riggles in charge of the Lights and see if they can work their way through the trees along the river and bypass the guns. I would have preferred the independent command, but Riggles was senior to me on the list, and that's that. We left the Bosnians to their own devices. As for the square, Chambers angled it off to the right, towards some broken terrain--actually a series of shallow valleys and gentle ridges. We'd be out of range of the town cannon, and shielded from the other gun. The cavalry were to scout for the dreaded Dervishes. We've learned that innocent looking old crones herding goats served as lookouts for bands of warriors. And if these desert dervishes were good at one thing, it's hiding in terrain.
"Now, we all know a square is not quite square, being more a rectangle with the long sides and short front and back. So I suggested that we expand the front as we marched to make more of the long sides face the enemy. It would bring more rifles to bear and the lads were spoiling for a fight after such a long march. As long as we kept our flanks clear, it should hold well enough. Chambers raised a question of our guests and whether that would put them at greater risk, but I noted that I would never permit them to be placed in avoidable danger, least of all my wife and daughter. He agreed and our square became more rectangular as we advanced towards the broken ground.
"Sure enough, the Arab cavalry awaited us atop the first rise. Mangy pack of mongrels. You could almost smell their fetid aroma. Our square marched resolutely at them, the Bosnians surprisingly keeping up and producing a variety of rifles, and taking a pot shot or two at the cavalry. Well, they hit nothing, but our magnificent lads unleashed some skirmishing fire. Sure enough, a few of the curs tumbled from their saddles. And wouldn't you know, we potted the leader. They milled about in confusion for a bit, then ran off back towards the city. Our own scouting horsemen gave chase. Not that they did much, but they did so with gusto.
"Off on the other end, the scouts found nothing but an old woman, her goats, and a vicious dog. They shot the dog, and pushed on, the Lights of the Flying Column following.
"Now, Riggles is an amusing chap, but quite the neer-do-well as an officer. A bit too excitable, you see. Anyway, from my view as topped the first rise, he was leading his men directly into the path of those three guns of the city. But just then, we had other worries. The Arab gun opened up on our square, but they didn't hit anything but sand. Annoying though.
"A pair of the Egyptian Scouts peeled off to ride into the valley and examine the old woman and her goats. Imagine their surprise to find a mob of dervishes behind the goats. Cowards all, you know, but that's the nature of such scum. And they started to advance towards us. Imagine kicking an anthill--they all boiled over the ridge full of fury. Our first fire did little but hit the old woman and her goats--served her right for leading the devishes through the hills. Well, did they howl! And, seeking revenge, they immediately charged our square. Sure, there was one fellow pointing at the Bosnians, who seemed to fire in the air more than at the dervishes, but there you have it. They came at the square.
"Now our cavalry was chasing their cavalry, when more of our scouts pitched into their flank. This forced them to change direction and head for the safety of the hill with the entrenched cannon. Once it swept past, that uncovered our cavalry. Of all the luck, a cannonball fell near them and two of them lost heart and fled. Don't blame them--they're only Egyptian you know. Well, one of the Household Guards officers, Hunley, charged out of our square atop his horse to head them off and rally them. The rest of the Egyptians charged after the retreating Arab cavalry, who passed over and beyond the hill.
"The Flying column shook out into an open order as the three Mahdist cannon opened fire. Blimey, everyone could tell the sound of the Krupp guns. How did the Mahdists get a hold of modern cannon? Only thing we could figure was that Binky's column of Egyptians must have been equipped with them. Well, it's a wonder any of them knew how to fire 'em. They sure couldn't hit anything. Riggles' group kept up a steady skirmishing fire on the town.
"Back in the square, we halted to wheel one of our cannons up. The Royal Artillery lads looked sharp about it as they loaded cannister. And our square had become a rectangle, and even the Highlanders formed into the ranks. When the dervishes came in range, we unleashed a wall of fire. It was carnage incarnate. They didn't even get close and thus broke and fled back into the hills. Strangely, a freak sandstorm, and this time I mean a sandstorm, aided their escape.
The lads gave a few hearty "Huzzahs!" and we resumed our advance. Emmathea and Penelope were terrified at the noise and blood and stench, of course, but I went back to the wagons to calm them. Sir Halston wanted to charge after the Arabs with that revolver of his, but I made him stay with the wagons. Damned fool would probably shoot one of our lads in the back. Of course, I said that his job was to protect the women and children so that he felt important.
"So things were going swimmingly you see, the Mahdist cavalry and dervish infantry fled before us, and Hunley even managed to turn the frightened scouts around. Captain Chambers worried about the Krupp guns, and needed someone to take a message to Riggles to stop trading shots with the cannon. The other Household Guard, Willoughby, volunteered, and since he had a horse it made sense. He galloped out of the square and across the desert, a thin trail of dust erupting with every hoofprint.
"Well the fortunes of war being so fickle, we should have expected the turnaround. As the scouts in front of our Lights tried to enter the town, rifle fire erupted and one of the Egyptians fell. The town was infested with Mahdist rebels. Fortunately, Willoughby reached Riggles in time to stop a frontal assault by the Lights. Riggles always had more courage than sense. I mean, really, the Krupp guns were a dead giveaway, so to speak.
"Anyway, just as our scouts reached the crest of the entrenchment, who should appear but an old man, some goats, and a mob of fuzzy-wuzzies positively itching to get at us, or possibly itching because of their fleas. They surrounded the scouts and pulled one of them down from his horse while the other three got away. Poor bastard. He was hacked to pieces.
"That gave heart to the dervishes so they turned around for another go. And the Arab cavalry reformed and returned by squirming out from behind the hill. But credit Willoughby with some clear thinking. He turned the Lights and headed to meet the cavalry. At the same time, our cavalry reformed to cover the gap between the square and the Lights.
"The Lights and our scouts shot half their cavalry out of the saddle. The Arabs hung around but were whittled down until only one of them was left and he fled. About that time we lost one of the lads, Jenkins, to a cannonball from that blasted gun. Good soldier that Jenkins. Not like our next casualty, Henderson. Bad egg that one. Troublemaker, if you know what I mean.
"Anyway, things were starting to really heat up. We had been fighting for some time and the canteens were empty. The officer's servants were told to refill the canteens, but they're no good at anything. Emma brought me a bucket and ladle from the wagon. I took a quick drink -- I don't think anything ever tasted sweeter, and gave it to Captain Chambers, who pulled from it and then gave it to Ensign Rowe to pass among the men. It helped. I told Emma to return to the wagons. The Fuzzy Wuzzies were charging the square again.
"That's when Peterson fell. Alas, poor Percy, dropped by a spear as the Fuzzy Wuzzies and devishes closed in on the square. He was the sweetest smelling lad in the unit.
"But then they were on us, filled with a fury of righteous anger, and itching to avenge their fallen comrades. They screamed some tortured war cry, and waved sword and spear in a blur as they attacked with wild gleams in their eyes and rabid froth at their mouths. Our rifles spat death in their face and yet they still came, crashing upon our ranks like waves over rocks. There was no time to reload, no time to think, and no time to mourn. It was bayonets, not bullets, that stopped the horde. The lads stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until their arms felt like lead. The Mahdists howled and thrust and clove and died until the bodies formed a low wall and the sand leached a blood red.
"The Fuzzy Wuzzies fled first. Perhpas they knew the square would not break. But the dervishes held on and threw themselves anew at our lads. I moved to the right to shore up the line, for it was starting to buckle. Blythe, Smith, Nettleson, Caruthers, and Shagston were ground beneath the Dervish assault, to rise no more on this earthly plain. The dervishes in the rear mutilated the bodies as they fought with each other for the honor to die upon our bayonets. We avenged them, oh how we avenged them, with a bayonet charge to put the square aright. My sword ran with the blood of the heathens as I slashed and thrust in a maelstrom of righteous fury and unmitigated vengeance. One cur came close to impaling me on a spear, but a turned it with my blade and my counterstroke bit deeply into his side. He whirled away as I met another thrust. Tinkerson stuck the bugger but good, and again I separated from my enemy to meet yet another attack. It's like that, you know, just a wild melee of blade and bayonet, of spear and dagger, all the while never knowing when that last thrust finds you.
"That's when the lads stormed the hill and bayoneted the cannon crew. I believe the gun is in the regimental museum now. In any case, even the Dervishes could see that it was time to leave, and just as soon as they came, they were gone, streaming across the desert. Oh, a belated sally by the town defenders was attempted briefly, but they quickly retreated. How quickly their ardour cooled at the sight of so many of their fellows lying motionless in the sand.
"And you know, no one really minded the heat at that moment. Just a nuisance, you see, because it was better to be hot than dead. And there you have it. Oh, we had to lay siege to the town, but it's funny how the heat broke after that battle. It was never as hot again as it was that day at Dar es Salaam. Positively arctic, so to speak."
Ferr-Batim, as if awakening from his reverie, looked about the library. "Ah, is that tea, Jeeves?"
"Yes sir, but it is tepid," the manservant answered. "I shall have to have the cook fix a fresh batch that would be hot."
"Splendid, Jeeves. I always like my tea hot." Ferr-Batim heard a chime from the clock. "Blimey! Jeeves, it's well past tea time. Never mind the tea. I'll finish up here. Today is Thursday. Dinner is at the club tonight, Jeeves."
"I shall lay out the proper attire," Jeeves noted with a bow and headed to the door.
Ferr-Batim roused himself and shuffled to the shelf. Squinting slightly, he ran his finger down the book spines until he found 'The Adventures of Colonel Binky Bagshot' among the volumes. Tipping it backwards and withdrawing it from the shelf, he opened to the chapter on the Sudan and idly paged through. Funny how Bagshot never wrote about Dar es Salaam, Ferr-Batim thought to himself. I wonder why?
Ferr-Batim mused for a moment over some of the place names, and then replaced the book. I'll have to drink a toast to ol' Binky. Yes, quite. And he shuffled out of the library to head upstairs.
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