A letter to Sarel Cilliers and that man dispatched a devout Dutch Protestant to the town. Unlike the newcomers who could see the massing Zulu army, the pastor was calm and seemed confident.
“Has Sarel told you why you had been dispatched here?”
“Of course. I am here to oversee the proceedings for the vote that is to be held.”
“It must be rather confusing since you might be more familiar with gathering everyone into a venue and asking them to raise their hands if they supported the motion. But I decided to do this so that my men will have the privacy to decide without the opinions of others affecting their choice. No one will or can trace the votes to another man. It will be entirely anonymous. That is why, I need your assistance to make the bureaucrats undergo an oath so that they can organize things, honestly.”
The pastor nodded, clutching a book in his hand, he skimmed through a couple of pages before slamming it shut.
“This… referendum proceedings… will take place tomorrow?”
Jan pointed outside the window, where a small area has been demarcated. Wooden panels were being put up. But there is no roof so that if the person inside needed assistance, they could shout out so the bureaucrat could assist the man.
“In the morning of tomorrow, we will gather all the men in this hall, and you shall make sure every one of them undergoes an oath.”
Now that Jan was thinking about it, if he was thinking of fudging the results, nothing was preventing the bureaucrats from doing so as well. After all, they do not all uniformly share the same thoughts as him. Some of them were farmers as well, so they might not take too kindly of him throwing the Boers to the Zulu wolves. He could only hope his trickery was not found out.
“There,” The corporal pointed at a building. Light reflected from the cut-out meant to be a window. A metallic object which reflected much light could be seen shimmering.
“There,” The corporal pointed at the few artillery pieces arrayed in opposition to the Boer artillery pieces.
“Their artillery should only be a token few. But I must admit it is pretty smart to not play all of their cards, hiding some in the numerous buildings they constructed,” Jan remarked in Elfrikaans, admiring the corporal’s observations.
“What we are doing is intimidation, is it not Commando? Since they’re not calling our bluff, perhaps we should shift some pieces into some buildings so that when a fight breaks out, they wouldn’t be able to guess where it's coming from.”
“Very well, corporal. Please do so but aim the cannons at where we have spotted them. I suppose it is hard for them to realize since they cannot dispatch men over here to see from our point of view. But it is the same for us. Perhaps shift the cannons back to the second row of buildings instead of the buildings right on the Zulu border. They are more agile and will storm our positions quickly. Putting them on the second row to fire some shots off before going into melee will do us well.”
The corporal nodded and barked off orders to his men manning a couple of artillery pieces. He dispatched several men to inform the other corporals of Jan’s decision.
“Give us one more day, and we’ll be able to give you a favourable response,” Russell remarked while looking over the letter in his hands.
“Too brusque? Any way to write it so it is more formal so that the Zulu ego is stroked?”
“I don’t think any amount of ego-stroking will assuage their anger. Just imagine if a couple of Boers were killed by the Zulu, how will we respond? If they said, here is some cattle, we’re very sorry, I don’t think anyone will be happy.”
“I could do what schoolteachers do. Write I’m sorry one thousand times, Do you think that will work?”
“They will be surprised at first, but anyone will think you’re an idiot.”
Jan shrugged.
“Now about the corporal and the men involved in the cattle raid, we have his position right in the centre of our artillery formation, right? Keep a couple a close eye on them. I don’t want them running away on us.”
“There is a recommendation by some of the men, shall we… sabotage their wagons so that if they tried escaping, they wouldn’t be able to do so.”
“Go ahead. Dispatch a couple of men saying that the wagon is due for maintenance, and unscrew a couple of parts, make sure the wheel falls off or something. But I don’t want too much damage, I still want to use the wagon once this matter is settled.”
“Got it.”
“Then regarding their women and children, how should we deal with them?”
Jan kept silent.
If he was feeling especially cruel, he could have sent them along with the men to be executed. The Zulus did not discriminate being the sexes, or the youth of their victims. They’ll die either way. But if anyone knew that he could be sure of mass desertions. Hell, he wouldn’t even know if the Englishman before him would even support him after making such a barbaric decision.
“Good thing we enacted property laws for women. Their assets should be handed over to the widows so that they manage them on their children’s behalf. The children? Perhaps a couple of therapy sessions… I mean prayers at the Church would do. Time heals all wounds in the end.”
“That brings into question. Some of these men don’t have children, so their widows would become the sole proprietor. When the woman marries another man, what happens to the property? Does it automatically go to the man as usual?”
“It will still be in the woman’s hands. As a woman, she may not be mobilized. But I do have some plans in drafting women in any future conflicts.”
“That’s insane! Mobilizing women! Are you sending them out there to die in droves?”
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“What? Are we still in the age of chivalry? Firearms are a great equalizer. I believe a man and a woman can both fire a firearm. Most important of all, it will double our manpower pool. We fight in the hundreds. Another couple hundred people wielding firearms would also double our force multiplier. When we must fight thousands of elves at the same time, this is very much necessary.”
“I don’t know what Sarel Cilliers would think about it. Seems… rather blasphemous. Hell, I don’t even know what Pretorius might think about it.”
Russell began spinning his finger in circles, perpendicular to his forehead.
“So, they’ll think I’m crazy?”
“What else.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Nokuthula did not reply to his letter. But it seems the Zulu horde dispersed a couple of hours later.
“On one hand, I feel relieved. But on the another, I feel an ambush is coming. When we’re doing this polling thing, I fear that is when we are at our weakest,” Veldkornet Pietje commented.
“We’ll do it, group, by group. We’ll start from the left side and call over those who man that artillery piece. Once they’re done, we’ll call the next group. Then the next, and the next,” Jan pointed to the first artillery piece on the left, before tracing his finger to the last one on the right.
“If they attack at that time, we’ll lose an artillery piece. Then I want all men to concentrate fire on that piece, purposedly destroying it. Better to destroy it than let the Zulus use it to wreck our formations.”
“Very well, I’ll inform the corporals, accordingly. Let us hold this… referendum.”
It was polling day. And Zulus were nowhere in sight. Zulutown was empty, barren, and lifeless. If a tumbleweed tumbled throughout the town, it would not be too surprising.
“I’m scared. My instincts tell me something is wrong,” Pietje remarked.
They were looking at the town hall, where the pastor went in a couple of bureaucrats to ensure that they conducted their oaths respectively. If they broke it, well, the religious Boers won’t break it.
“Almost as if they have repositioned themselves somewhere else… What if…”
A horrible thought began sinking into his mind.
“They are horrendously agile right… The likelihood of them attacking the farms a couple of kilometres away before splitting to encircle the town is not impossible, right…”
“Then we need to retreat! Immediately! Fuck! We can hold this referendum in Pietermaritzburg or somewhere else, but we absolutely cannot be cut off.”
Nokuthula did not reply to him, so it was not like he had any assurances that it was the case. He cannot trust the Zulus, so he must assume the worst of them. And that they have likely done something he didn’t like. If not, where did everyone go?
“Here’s the plan, we’ll evacuate to St Lucia. The English township. I don’t think the Zulus would dare to lay siege to the English settlement. The English might complain we’re dragging them into this, but at least we’ll have more men to mount a defence.”
“Good idea, if we tried to retreat to Pietermaritzburg, they might have already had an army there ready to cut us down.”
The cattle raider Boers were assigned to the centre wagon, and their wagon was fixed up for the trip. Quickly briefing the men in 15 minutes, they lugged everything valuable into a wagon and set off.
Sitting silently in the wagon, Jan watched the rolling grasslands and held onto his musket. These were perfect terrain for a Zulu ambush. Especially on those hills, he imagined a Zulu party appearing on it and he quickly imagine what he needed to do. First of all, he had to order all the wagons to form a circle, so that they could create a wagon fort. Then, they would swivel all their artillery pieces outward, and massacre the enemy that tried to brave against them. He paused.
‘But they have artillery? And I supplied them with it? Isn’t such a strategy really stupid since we are clumped up? Perfect for artillery.’
For once, he regretted selling weapons to the natives. Truly, this was what Pretorius got so upset about. Boer tactics needed to change to a more mobile form of warfare. They couldn’t rely on hiding in a fortress, or else they will be massacred by their constantly evolving enemies.
Spending the time to think, many minutes pass by, and they were finally at St Lucia. They set up camp right by the outskirts of town. But to prevent the English from thinking they were laying siege, they dispatched a messenger to establish contact with the local English town council.
The Council members stammered once they effectively saw a large gathering of Boers right by the town. Wasn’t this a siege? A messenger stormed in, a Dutchman, but he knew how to speak English. But it was so horrendous, with such a horrible accent, that he almost wanted to cry for all English speakers out there.
“In summary, they were there to temporarily camp, and they had nothing to worry about.”
Such a message was extremely distressing, to say the least. And every member of the council had more things to worry about.
“Don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to believe those Boers. It’s like how they go to the natives and speak. Hello there, we are here for your farmland. We come in peace! And then they just slaughter everyone there or turn them into servants.”
“Either way, we can’t win in a fight, if they’re serious. So let them be. They don’t have the balls to mess with Great Britain. One message to Governor George Thomas Napier and every one of these farmers will know what it’s like to pick on someone their size.”
In the Boer camp, a wagon was designated as a polling station. It just so happens to be the Boers he plans to deport after this referendum. Wagonless, they sat around waiting for their turn and each man started queuing up.
“Uhh… this is a little embarrassing, but I can’t read!” The Boer yelled in Elfrikaans through the wagon cover.
The men stood in line a couple of metres away so they could only hear muffled yells. The nearby bureaucrat grumbled, “Yes, I can hear you. And yes, you’re not the only one. Do you see the two boxes on the paper?”
“I think I see it.”
“The top one means you support the extradition of the Boers who committed the cattle raid to the Zulu. The bottom one means you don’t support the extradition.”
“Fuck! What does extradition mean?”
“Do you want to send the men who committed the cattle raid to the Zulus or not? Tick the top if you support it, and tick the bottom if you don’t support it. No one will know what you choose.”
“Ok then, I will tick the bottom one.”
This was how it went as Jan observed. The Boers would repeatedly yell that they didn’t understand the contents of the paper. The bureaucrat could only grumble about repeating the same script from time to time. After about the tenth time, he gave up and stopped saying the word ‘extradition’ and got straight to the point.
Seeing that he was looking at the bureaucrat, the bureaucrat angrily gestured at him for assigning him such an infuriating task. He smirked to the man’s dismay.
The pastor also stood outside with a saintly smile, hearing out the men’s concerns, acting as a therapist for all their worries while they stood in line, bored with the whole proceedings.
“This is fucking boring! Why can’t we get everyone together, get them to raise their hand and get this decided already!”
“Voetsek! You think I don’t know what you’re planning to do. You’re planning to let those fuckers get away with it after fucking us all over with this shit!”
“What do you mean?”
“They get to strut around with their nice cattle that were stolen, creating this. And now we must fight a war I don’t want to fight. I want to go back home and focus on my farm!”
An argument broke out but the presence of the pastor stopped many of their words in their tracks.
“I apologize for my behaviour, pastor.”
“No, I apologize for my behaviour, pastor.”
‘Hmm… deeply religious,’ Jan thought watching the Boers become so submissive to the pastor. For sure he cannot give too much political power to Sarel Cilliers and the Dutch Protestant Church, if not, they will establish a Theocracy or some nonsense.
And that all began with teaching Boers how to read and write. He had a plan for the upcoming excursion. Since most of the trip is sitting around in wagons and waiting for days to pass by, he planned on having Boers that were literate educate the illiterate Boers during their trip which would take many months.
And to sate his curiosity, he was curious about what would happen if he applied such a similar programme to the servants, they would bring along with them. Educated servants…Will they be dangerous, or will they be benign?
Still, they had to pick up the servants before the trip to Xhosa lands. But it will be a fun little experiment, to see how elves who lived with their tribalistic ways all their lives were now able to see the bigger picture.
But until then, he stood in line, and it was his turn. He climbed into the wagon, the bureaucrat heaving a sigh of relief, knowing that he didn’t have to go through the same routine. Picking up the paper, he crossed the box on top. Satisfied with the paper, he slid the paper into the box. Patting the box a couple of times, he made sure it was secure and left the wagon.
Last of all, was the bureaucrats. And they were not very pleased once they realized the contents of the ballot paper compared to the instructions they were given.