Death at Balfefield Abbey

Chapter 13, Benin, West Africa, 1897

Their advance had begun several days before, when the crocodile-infested rivers became too shallow for their launches and the expedition was forced onto land. Subsequently, their numbers dwindled as the force was broken up and companies were sent to different locations to carry out a variety of secondary missions: secure satellite villages, protect the supply lines made up of hundreds of native African carriers, and cause diversions to confuse the Benin and deflect their attention away from the main force.

Captain Matthew Darley and his company formed part of a flying column whose orders were to strike out and take the primary objective, Benin City, with as much haste as possible because repeated failures to locate a source of drinking water meant time was running out.

There followed long days spent on a forced march in the brutal, life-draining heat, where the effort of moving forward became as much a test of willpower as of endurance. The sounds of birds calling to each other were insistent but eventually faded from consciousness as the day progressed, like the noise of traffic on a busy street. However, that was not the case with the plaintive, irregular bleats of bullfrogs, which never ceased, day or night.

"I fuckin' hate this place," said Parker, "won't this trail ever end."

"Just a couple of miles more, Corporal and we should arrive at a village called Awoko," said Darley. "We'll stop there tonight."

"About bleedin' time," replied Parker.

Darley would not normally stand for such insubordination from the ranks, but he viewed the corporal differently. He'd known Parker for as long as he had been a Royal Marine, during which time the Welshman made sergeant twice, only to be demoted to marine again when his nefarious misdemeanors caught up with him. Yet for all his faults, Parker was a useful man to have beside you, not only when matters got hairy, but when things were quiet because he always managed to secure a steady supply of rum, even when provisions ran as tight as they were now.

Besides, on this occasion, Parker only expressed an unease that everybody in the company felt, including Darley.

For two grueling days, they had been trudging single file along a narrow trail through the dense bush. This bush was much like what he had encountered across Western and Southern Africa, an impenetrable tangle of trees with undergrowth of creeping vines and shrubs, strangling any open space. The path they followed had been worn into the soft earth by generations of barefoot natives, yet it remained narrow. Even when obstacles were hacked away, the burdens carried by marines and porters persistently snagged on low-hanging vines. There was scant room on either side and the men were packed tightly together, front to back, a situation that could trigger claustrophobic panic even in the most battle-hardened marines.

And yet the greater concern was what lay on either side of the bush, for it was easy for the Beni to sneak up within twenty yards of the weary train of troops, lie in wait, take a shot, and then melt away. The rifle report, usually from a Dane gun or Winchester, and often accompanied by the screams of the wounded, would propel every man to throw himself upon the ground for cover, and uselessly return fire to where he thought the attack emanated. Officers, such as Darley, were expected to remain on their feet, even while under fire, calmly giving orders and demonstrating a disregard for the enemy. A display to all of the superior caliber of an English officer and gentleman.

If the man hit by the sniper was still alive, he would be treated as best as could be managed and, when the danger passed, the men ordered to recommence their trek. There was no pattern to this sniping, sometimes only minutes passed between attacks, and sometimes it was a longer interval. It might be a single shooter or a group of riflemen. Occasionally, it was the vanguard that came under fire, at other times it was the carriers at the rear. This sense of vulnerability to an invisible enemy, and the unpredictability, of how and when they would strike, preyed heavily upon the men of the expedition, even more than the exhaustion, heat, and lack of water.