The most comfortable thing for Jan to do would be to sit on his ass in Port Mpande and focus on building up the town. That way, he could let its people prosper, and smooth any complaints personally. The people might eventually grow to love him for increasing their wealth, but he would never earn the respect of the Voortrekker. When people discuss behind closed doors on whether he could be a Commando, most of them would have doubts. As a mayor, he would be fine. But as a general? Nay.
And the more he focused developing the town, the richer people got. These people would settle, satisfied with the daily amenities. They would lose what made them trekkers. They would stop going to shooting ranges to train their aim for fear of an attack, instead they will focus on working at their jobs and scheme to earn a promotion.
These men won’t be able to fight if he brought them out late. He must go to Zoutpansberg and retrieve the gold for industrialization. Else, they will be stuck in an export focused economy, exporting raw goods to the European powers who would use factories to climb the value-chain in the economy. He wanted to take on the role that Europeans took on and serve his Elfrican clientele directly.
Pretorius was directly in town with a couple of his most trusted followers. They were experienced and battle-hardened through the constant battles with the natives. Their latest experience was with the Zulu, it wasn’t much, but it was there on their CV.
The Dutch engineer was able to get a working prototype, and he had that for Pretorius and the men to study. They had to squeeze themselves due to the cannon taking up a lot of space in the wagon.
“Less men will be able to ride it, so I assume you will have to use more wagons,” Pretorius remarked, stepping out of the wagon.
“I see it as more mobile artillery platforms. Artillery is the way to victory.”
Pretorius nodded.
“Now then, what about the musket? Where do you get them? British?”
He handed over a Brown Bess, the British Army’s muzzle-loading smoothbore musket. Comparing the prices between the local arms workshops owned by the cultivators, the British won due to economies of scale. Of course, when procuring them from the British merchants, he would say he was a British citizen by technicality.
The merchants would scoff, and ask if he was truly a British citizen, why was he out here joining the Boers?
And he could only respond by saying that was what the British government insisted. And since they were British merchants subordinate to the British government, they should treat him like one, and sell him arms at favourable rates.
They would grind their teeth and grumble, but once he would say he was looking to buy them in bulk, they immediately got to work haggling with him.
It was an old musket. That saw great use during the Napoleonic wars before being replaced in the 1850s with the Enfield rifle. It’s rugged, old and battle tested through decades of warfare, no different of his world’s AK47. And since they were ‘British citizens’, they might as well use British weapons.
The muskets weren’t all the same size. Merchants procured them from different sources, from differing branches of the British military, thus they were different in sizes, but it was fine since it was cheap.
Pretorius was expressionless. There was nothing to be happy about, he expected to have every man equipped with one.
“Take me to your armoury. I wish to see how many of these you have.”
“Well, we have enough to equip every man, woman and child in this town, with some spares for servants to even fight along our side.”
Jan brought Pretorius and his entourage to a warehouse and showed the stockpile of British armaments he had been stockpiling. Vast number of cartridges was piled up in a corner. He didn’t exactly know how much he had. He had to check the accounts for the exact number, but it seemed endless. It was probably enough for every musket owner to fire 20 shots each.
Pretorius brushed his finger against a musket. He rubbed that finger and felt the texture was different.
“There is some dust on these guns. I expect them to be cleaned from time to time. You will never know when the Zulus may launch an attack, no matter how improbable it is, so you must keep your weapons maintained,” Pretorius shook his head in disappointment.
Jan could only feel déjà vu from his time as a conscript, where the sergeants could be extremely anal about this sort of thing, and he could only suck it up and polish the shit out of his rifle. At least this time, they weren’t shouting in his face about how their grandmothers could run faster than him no matter how hard he tried.
He nodded, and Pretorius brushed it aside.
“Food stocks. How long could you feed yourselves before going hungry?”
Jan showed the canned food that was piling up in another corner. Some were glass, the prototypes from the new Glassworks, but most of it was still metal.
“I assume you will still be bringing some dried meats just in case anything goes wrong with the canned food. It might spill, or the can was not sealed properly, leading to spoilage.”
Jan nodded.
“For the trip to Zoutpansberg, I have prepared about half of the required food supplies for the trip. These foods are meant for emergency use so they can last for a long time. We will be trying our best to live off the land with the help of our servants.”
“That brings me to my next question. Have you procured some horses? Or all of you will be in the wagon. It will be good to have a Flight Commando to scout ahead to prevent an elven ambush.”
“I have procured some from Pietermaritzburg, good old Cape Horse that should be in the stables by the kraal.”
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One of the men whispered into Pretorius’ ears, and Pretorius didn’t ask to inspect the horses.
The Cape Horse was what allowed the Boers to dominate the landscape. Imported from the island of Java during the era of the VOC, they were bred to be larger and stronger than the local Basuto pony. Men part of a Flight Commando would ride on horseback at a shooting distance to the enemy, dismount, open fire, and gallop out of the enemy range to reload their muskets. They worked in pairs, so their partner could also fire some shots, before letting them come back with their reloaded musket. Rinse and repeat, it was an annoying strategy, which made the Flight Commando great skirmishers.
“Then I must ask, what kind of reason are you heading all the way to Zoutpansberg for? What justification do you give your men? Cattle? Riches? Or to help the Boers there? I rather have you focus on developing the port instead of trekking there.”
‘Should I tell him the truth? The gold. Hmm… But even the biggest saint would be corrupted by riches.’
“Honestly, I’m thinking of assisting the men in Transvaal, but to also commit a scouting mission, and meet with the other trekker leaders in the region. Of course, I plan to bring back a lot of cattle for the men under my command.”
“You would meet Hendrik Potgieter during your trip. I do not think he would be hostile, in fact, he is likely to be accommodating. Say that you serve under me, and I doubt he would give you much trouble. Most problematic of all is the natives. Shaka might have cleared out a large chunk of them, but they’re still there. And they’re still hostile. It’s not like on the Cape, where they are servants. The Khoikhoi and San can be very terrifying out there.”
Jan pointed to his stockpile of weapons in the armoury.
“And we’ll be ready for them.”
Pretorius was right, and he needed to cook up a damn good reason to get his men to move. An existential threat then to get people moving, but he did not have any nearby. There’s little which would make people care about the happenings of a faraway place, and most of them would rather kickback on the farm and relax. Nor could he use greed as a carrot, since the most recent cattle raid mostly cowed such desires.
There remained the matter of compensation. But funds were tight. Yet, there was always something he could pay them in, cattle. It didn’t have to be his ones, he could procure them from Transvaal when fighting against the natives, who no doubt will attack him. It is not a question of whether, but when. Yet because they brought along servants, who also would want a fair share of the spoils in the battle, the payment he could provide decreased evermore.
He was moping around, thinking these affairs when Pietje walked into his office and addressed him.
“I notice that our stocks of canned food have drastically increased. Commando, are you planning something?”
Jan supposed he should spill the beans, but not about the gold. If he paid these men with gold, it would take only a couple of months before the beans are spilled, and for the English to completely flood into the region. And once they have enough of a presence there, they will call on their British government to secure their positions, and the Boers would be chucked out of the gold.
“I’m planning for an expedition to Transvaal. Consider it a test for all the new weapons we procured. In the meantime, we can assist any Boer homesteads that require our assistance, as well as loot the cattle of the natives.”
Pietje grinned.
“Sounds profitable but you better divide the spoils equally! You better not take a lot of the cattle!”
Jan raised his hands in his defence.
“I don’t even own a farm. Where am I going to put the cattle? The local kraal? It’s going to need a huge expansion if I do that.”
The rural farmers seem rather satisfied with his proposal. Pietje may not represent all their opinions, but he surely represented a good chunk. The next question was whether he could get the urban dwellers along with him on this expedition. He went to Russell’s office and asked about it.
“Will the men be interested in mobilizing to Transvaal?”
Russell shrugged.
“Highly unlikely in my opinion, but what do I know? Not all will sign up, but most of the ex-farmers will procure cattle for their family farms. The landowners are a giant question mark though. These men who grew stout with their land wealth may not be as enthusiastic and choose to stay in town instead.”
Jan nodded.
“Makes sense. Enriching them made them lose their edge as trekkers, and they aren’t as willing to trek, focusing on developing their land instead.”
“It’s ok. These men will fight to the last breath if an elven attack descends on the town. They are good fodder for the elves to slaughter, buying time for the women and children to escape. Consider them as a small local garrison.”
“These men have numerous children as well. The first two would inherit quite a bit of land. But from then on, what would they inherit? Almost nothing. These children of these men will likely be tagging along. So do expect some participation from the landowners.”
“Seems more trouble than its worth. What if they die on the trek? This is no daycare centre; I’m not babysitting them.”
“They are not aristocrats, most of them work on the family farm. They are hardy and can be expected to pull their own weight. You have nothing to worry about on that front.”
Jan paced about the room, before saying, “Good, work with Pietje and send the summons to the various men. This expedition will only be voluntary, so they are free not to tag along if they wish to do so.”
Summons were sent out, and men were volunteering with their various Veldkornets. The rural farmers headed to Pietje’s office, so that he could add their name to a growing list. A scant few turned up on Russell’s office, who also added their names in a notebook. The reason given for few turning up? Apparently, after the last two incidents involving the Boer revolt and cattle raid, there was much work needed to be done to put the port back into shape. Thus, these men wanted to focus on their own work. That was the excuse given. But Jan knew that these men had grown comfortable with the settled lifestyle and lost all what made them Voortrekkers.
Unfortunately, the composition of the trekking group would make up of the rural farmers, the people he was not very close with. He did neglect them to focus solely on the industrialization of the town. The relationship was frosty, but it somewhat warmed as he spent some time to improve their living standards. There were detractors who hated his guts, no matter what he did though.
It took a week or so, and Jan set the date to the 4th of December 1840 where they will be mobilized for the trek. In the meantime, he held drills so the men could get used to working together within their new wagon groups. Problematic relationships were filtered out, and men were swapped to different wagons, before the men could work with their new teammates coherently. They got used to riding while firing the artillery on the wagon as well as herding the ox in case the servants deserted them.
Men who claimed they were good with horses were supplied with the horses Jan procured. They were given trials riding them, and the ones who lied were immediately filtered out. Those who brought their own Cape Horse were automatically assigned as part of a Flight Commando, to do scouting missions during the trek.
The day came and the men made a detour to the Xhosa’s land to pick up the amaZulu’s servants they had contracted with. He did give the men a warning that they would be depending on them for their lives at times, so they should treat as well as how they treated each other. Failure to do so would result in expulsion from the expedition. Adding the servants to the wagons, they travelled noticeably slower, but the Boers were more comfortable as the servants helped to take care of their every need.
They headed to Pietermaritzburg, the first stop of the journey. As Jan scanned the busy town, he could see it change drastically compared the last time he was here. More trekkers undergoing the Great Trek to get away from British rule settled here, and the town was becoming bustling. There, they made greeting calls to the local Commando, Andries Pretorius.
“I see you will be going on the trek, good luck out there,” Pretorius remarked, and Jan nodded in acknowledgement.
“Don’t get killed out there. Kill them instead,” His father said in a saintly manner.
“I will.”
They took a short break in Pietermaritzburg, letting the men linger around in civilization for a couple of hours. Afterwards, he got up into a wagon, and the men assigned to the Flight Commando got on their horses and galloped forth. As required of them, they scouted the lands ahead, sending back a messenger to report to the Veldkornets in the other wagons, who would then send a concise report to him.
Precisely because the Boers were decentralized in their leadership, he could rely on the men acting in the best possible way in a conflict. That way, he didn't need to micromanage too much on the battlefield, letting the men do what's right. Except they will likely charge after the enemy after they routed them and get ambushed from a hidden elven party. All right, then, he would need to exercise some authority in warfare.