Europe being once more at peace, with France settling down, Henty turned
from fact to fiction, producing _The Young Settlers_, and later a book
for boys, _The Young Franc Tireurs and their Adventures in the
Franco-Prussian War_, the source of his inspiration being evident.
Little more than a year though elapsed before the cry in the north and
east was again havoc. The dogs of war were let loose by Russia, and
Henty's pen was again busy for his paper. This was in connection with
the restless Turkoman dwellers in Khiva, a name which brings up
recollections of Captain Burnaby, who described his solitary ride to
that city, and graphically narrated his extraordinary journey upon a
camel in love. Burnaby was a thorough specimen of the _beau sabreur_,
as well set up and muscular as any Lifeguardsman (or Blue) in his
regiment. He was good company, and a very welcome guest at Henty's
club, where he came one evening shortly before his departure for Egypt.
His fate was that of a gallant soldier. Dismounted, he stood warding
off the spear-thrusts of the Mahdi's followers with his sword, what time
they had succeeded in breaking the British square at Abu Klea, and he
held them back until he received in his neck the fatal thrust which
robbed the service of a brave soldier.
Upon Henty's return from Russia the preparations for another campaign
were not far distant, for the Ashanti expedition had been decided upon,
and in September 1873 he sailed for Cape Coast Castle in the _Ambriz_,
with Sir Garnet Wolseley.
In speaking of a correspondent's duties he tells us how, when at home,
he receives a telegram saying, "Come up to the office at once," he knows
that it means that there is something serious on the way, and from
general knowledge of what is going on abroad he is pretty well aware why
his services are required. On reaching the room of the manager of the
newspaper, or that of the editor, he is told that he is to accompany
this or that expedition, and most probably he is informed that he must
be off the very next day.
If the journey is by rail, it may be that it has to be commenced at
once, or if by steamer, it may depend upon when the vessel starts east,
west, north, or south, and he learns that it will be better to go and
take his passage at once.
If the conversation is with the editor, there are many things to be
discussed, such as the length of the letters he is to send, the people
he is to see; there is talk about passports, discussion on letters of
recommendation, and hints about the political line he is to take, while
various little ins and outs have to be dwelt upon. In fact, editors
have special ideas of their own, and often _in petto_ a disposition to
come to conclusions as to what is about to take place.
At the end of the business discussion the correspondent receives a big
cheque, and what remains to do is soon got over. The passage to
wherever it may be is taken, and the adventurer--for such he is--hurries
home to make the preparations which experience has taught him are
necessary. The fewer things he has to lumber himself with the better,
but stern necessity has taught him that certain provisions must be made;
and when a man has followed the head-quarters of an army time after
time, he knows that he must have with him, to face heat, cold, and storm
(often in extremes), a stock of clothes suitable for all climates,
saddle and bridle of the best, revolvers, and a tent. The reader may
raise his eyebrows as he reads this list of "necessaries" and think of
the amount of luggage. Pooh! One has not half done. Our correspondent
has to look after his health and strength, and the chances are many that
he will starve if not provided for the worst. He has to take cooking
apparatus for field work. He must be provided with waterproof sheets to
spread on the damp ground and supplement the canvas of his tent. He has
to take a portable bed, three or four blankets, and much other
impedimenta which experience has taught that he _must_ carry with him if
he is to be in condition to write "good stuff" when he wants to commit
the information he has learned to paper.
With regard to Ashanti, Henty says in addressing an imaginary person who
wants to know what it is to become a war correspondent: "You will
probably pause, after visiting the bank, to buy a case or two of spirits
and one of cocoa and milk, a few pounds of tea in a tin, and if you are
a smoker--and I don't know any special correspondent who is not--a good
supply of tobacco, also in tins."
Then there is the health to be considered; and a man of experience knows
how necessary it is to nip any threatening of disease in the bud. He
must take remedies which suit his constitution in an ordinary way, and
certain others which are bound to be wanted by a man who is about to
cross rivers and swamps, and force his way through tangled forest and
the other strongholds of jungle and malarial fever.
"Bless the old Jesuit fathers," he says, "for their grand discovery of
quinine!" as he fortifies himself with that most wonderful of
discoveries, as useful in India and in Africa as in South America, its
ancient home. He provides himself, too, with little blue hexagonal
bottles of chlorodyne. He takes aperients also, but not in paper boxes
such as a doctor uses, with the contents to be taken two at bed-time,
but safely garnered behind tin or glass to preserve them from the mould
produced by damp.
Then, too, there is the remedy against one of the most lowering of
diseases, dysentery--ipecacuanha, and in addition, as a warming tonic, a
bottle of essence of ginger, and another of that valuable corrective
that is so strongly suggestive of a draught from a very soapy wash-tub,
ammonia. Thus provided with these absolute necessaries for use when the
doctor is not within reach, he may feel that he has done what is
necessary to guard against any trouble that may come. And is that all?
Not quite. A war correspondent is a very expensive luxury to his
employers, though the British public obtains the results of all that he
has done for the homely penny. He is a costly luxury, and he must be
taken care of, even though his necessaries possess height, breadth, and
weight.
He receives hospitality and protection and permission to accompany an
army, but this does not include anything in the nature of a tent. "My
own," says Henty, "which accompanied me in many campaigns, was about
seven feet square. It was a _tente d'abri_, to which had been added a
lower flap about two feet high, giving it a height in the centre of some
four feet and a half. The two poles were joined like fishing-rods, and
the whole affair packed up in a bag and weighed about thirty pounds. Of
course the bed was on the ground and occupied one side of the tent,
serving as a sofa by day as well as a bed at night. There was a passage
left down the centre of the tent, whose other side was occupied by my
trunks, which were, of course, small in size for facilities of
transport. Here, too, were my other paraphernalia."
Thus provided for service in the field, the correspondent, as it will be
seen, is pretty well burdened; but during his travels he is always
independent, for he has a home where he can write and rest and recruit
himself against hunger, albeit his cooking has to be done in the
provided apparatus in the open air.
For warmth in the bitter nights there is a watch-fire; but in some
instances Henty depended upon his own natural warmth and a wonderful
coat of sheep-skin tanned, with the thick wool on. He sometimes came to
the club in this in the winter, looking feet more in girth than was his
natural size.
One of the first things to be done on arriving at the scene of action is
for the correspondent to apply at head-quarters for a form of permission
to accompany the army, a general permission having been obtained from
the home authorities before starting. With regard to this, Henty did
most of his campaigning in the days before generals had begun to grow
more and more strict and reticent, until now they go so far as to refuse
permission altogether. In the case of the Russo-Japanese War, the
British correspondents on the Japanese side were, in spite of every
civility and attention, so hindered and obstructed, under the pretence
of being protected from danger, that one of Henty's colleagues, E.F.
Knight, gave up the duty in disgust.
But to return to a war correspondent's necessities: his next task on
reaching the front is to buy a good dependable horse to bear the saddle
and to be guided by the bit and bridle with which he has come provided.
In addition he should have a couple of ponies, or two of the patient but
hardy obstinate animals known as mules, to bear the whole of his baggage
and stores. Lastly comes one of the most important businesses, that of
hiring a couple of servants, one as personal attendant and general
factotum, the other to attend to the horse and baggage-animals. Great
things often depend upon little, and there is a little matter called
experience upon which depends not merely a man's comfort and
convenience, but also the success or failure of his campaign.
Henty praises warmly a class of men who seem to have devoted themselves
to the profession of serving, and have earned for themselves the credit
of being the best men for the purpose in the world. These are the Goa
Portuguese men, with European features, but looking as dark as other
natives of India. For many years they have been accustomed to furnish
all ships trading in the East with stewards, and as a consequence most
of them speak English fairly well.
Henty speaks of having been fortunate enough to obtain two such men at
different times--one accompanied him from Bombay on the Abyssinian
expedition, the other on the Prince of Wales's tour through India. Here
is the admirable character he gives them: "Both were excellent fellows,
always ready and willing, and absolutely uncomplaining whatever
happened." And much did happen, of course.
To a young man of energy who longs to change some ordinary humdrum
career for one of excitement, there is something wonderfully attractive
in the career of a war correspondent. Certainly the army always offers
itself as a life full of wild episodes, but then there is something
deterrent in the forced and severe discipline, as well as in the dangers
which a soldier has to face. The risks an energetic war correspondent
takes are of course many, for he is often compelled to be under fire,
and if matters are adverse he may be taken prisoner; but there is great
attraction in being a witness of the moves in the great game of chess
played by nations in stern reality, though there are innumerable
troubles to be encountered that are terribly irritating in their
pettiness, and this makes them seem exasperatingly far-reaching and
vast. For instance, it is maddening, when wearied out with a long day's
march, to have to be called by necessity to help the baggage man in the
constant readjustment of the animals' loads, which always seem to be
slipping off through the ropes coming untied. This is bad enough with
ponies, but it is very much worse with mules.
The Yankees have one particular way of tying the hide lariats, or ropes,
that secure the burdens upon a mule's back. This knot, or series of
knots, they term the diamond hitch, perhaps from its value or its shape;
both may be applicable. The Goa men have ways of their own, but these
grow useless with the cunning animals. Sundry awkward packages have
apparently been made perfectly secure on a mule's back, but almost
directly afterwards they become loose, owing to the fact that the animal
had swelled himself out when the ropes were being hauled tight, and then
drawn himself in till everything seems to have shaken loose. The whole
burden then starts to slide sideways, and threatens to glide under the
little brute, so that he begins to stumble and trip. Much of this soon
becomes galling to a weary man, and one has heard of people under such
circumstances who vow that, as soon as they begin to pull upon the loose
rope to make all taut again, a mule will draw back his lips and show his
teeth in a hideous grin, as if he were looking upon the whole
transaction as the best of fun.
Then, too, there is the misery attending the arrival at the
camping-ground and the selection of the place to set up the tent to make
things comfortable, perhaps with the rain pouring down. A pleasant
accompaniment this last to the lighting of a fire and the cooking of a
dinner, while ultimately the correspondent may be able to get no tent
erected, and may be forced to lie down in the open, wrapped in a blanket
and a waterproof sheet.
This was not one of his troubles in the Abyssinian expedition, for there
Henty encountered but little rain; but he and his companion, who
represented the _Morning Post_ and who travelled with him, met with
plenty of petty troubles consequent upon the behaviour of one of the
servants, an Indian syce. This fellow looked after the horses, but
especially after himself, for he was always provided with the one great
excuse to avoid his work, that he was not well. He ended by coming one
day to announce that Abyssinia did not agree with him, and that he must
go down to the coast and return in some ship that was sailing for India.
When accompanying a British force on an expedition like this, a
correspondent is allowed to draw the same rations as those served out to
officers and men--meat, biscuits, preserved vegetables, and a certain
amount of tea and sugar--while in the Abyssinian campaign, possibly
owing to the presence of a Naval Brigade, who worked the rockets, rum
was served out regularly. This, however, was given only very
occasionally in Ashanti, where, Henty says, "it was much more necessary.
A small quantity of spirits served out to be taken at the evening meal
is considered a very great benefit to men who arrive utterly exhausted
after their march in a tropical climate."
Henty goes on to add that the meat served out in the Ashanti campaign
was either that of some freshly-killed bullock which had accompanied the
march day after day, and whose flesh was as tough as leather, or else it
was tinned meat, upon which after a short time everyone looked with
loathing. This had to be washed down with a decoction of the commonest
and worst tea, perhaps made with muddy water, and to an exhausted man it
was well nigh impossible. But in that awful climate the addition of a
small quantity of spirits to the tea acted as a restorative, giving the
stomach a fillip, and enabling the food to be eaten and digested.
Fortunately, upon the Ashanti expedition the correspondents had clubbed
together and taken with them a small supply of wine, which proved
invaluable in bracing them up to do their work, when but for it they
would have been incapable of doing anything at the end of some of the
specially hard and exhausting marches. It was to this claret that Henty
largely attributed the preservation of his health, when so many not thus
provided were prostrated by the deadly effects of the climate.
In a hot country like Ashanti it might have been supposed that native
fruits and vegetables would be plentiful and easily to be purchased of
the people at the various villages; but nothing of the kind was
obtainable, and the correspondents had to depend entirely on the stores
they carried with them upon their ponies or mules. The commissariat
supply was not abundant or appetising: for breakfast, oatmeal, eaten
with preserved milk; but before that, at daybreak, they always contrived
a cup of chocolate and milk. Dinner consisted of a banquet of tinned
rations and preserved vegetables, made eatable by being flavoured with
Worcester sauce or pickles, and when things were at the worst and
appetite rebelled, there was an occasional addition of boiled rice with
preserved fruit from their stores. Altogether, the weary correspondents
were so lowered by exhaustion that they came to look upon their meals
with utter disgust, consequent upon the heat and terrible nature of a
climate which, higher up at the coast, was looked upon by old writers as
the white man's grave.
Matters were very different in the breezy, bright uplands of Abyssinia,
where, owing to the difficulties of carriage, the correspondents were
only allowed to carry with them a very small quantity of stores. Here,
however, they were generally able to eke out their rations by making
purchases from the natives, who, as soon as they found that they could
receive honourable treatment in the way of payment, and that they were
not dealing with an invading army who confiscated everything in the way
of food, began to bring to market capital additions to the
correspondents' fare. Now it would be eggs, now chickens, or the meals
were truly sweetened by the contents of a jar of honey. It was a land,
too, of flocks of sheep, which were purchased by the commissariat, and
the heads, which were looked upon by the officers who superintended the
rations as what is technically termed "offal", and not to be served out
as rations, could often be obtained by the correspondents' cook. He was
able to make of them a dainty dish, although he had probably never heard
the Scotchman's remark that there was "a deal of meescellaneous feeding"
in a good sheep's head.
There was shooting, too, with an occasional present of guinea-fowls or a
hare shot by friends; and on these occasions they generally had a small
dinner party. So famous was the cooking of their servants, that one
day, when Lord Napier asked Henty and his companion to dine with him he
said: "You will have to put up with plain fare for once, for my staff
tell me that when any of them dine with you they fare infinitely better
than they do with me."
Henty gives an example of one of the menus on a festive occasion: Soup;
slices of sheep's face, grilled with the tongue, and brain sauce; a
joint of mutton, jugged hare; and an omelette with honey--a proof that
during the Abyssinian expedition the special correspondents fared well.