Building The Bridge - 3. Chapter 3 - Base Camp

Dawn in the African wilderness is possibly one of the most spectacular visions to behold.

Regardless of its daily repetitive certainty, it was a part of the day that Colin Mackenzie loved. The call of the Namaqua Dove across the wilderness, the stillness as the breeze dropped and the cold night air hung in the air, awaiting the arrival of the golden orb of powerful light that would melt away the stranglehold it had held over the world since the shadows of twilight.

Even now in the height of winter, the cold of the African plains was nothing compared to what Colin had experienced growing up as a child in the central Scottish highlands, and while he still shivered at the nip in the air, he made no rush to don his shirt as he stood marvelling at the scene before him.

In the thirteen years he had been working in Africa, this place had slowly transfused itself into his blood. He felt the beat of Africa in his heart, and like so many of his friends and colleagues, he had completely accepted Africa as his home.

Working for the Beira and Mashonaland Railway Company Colin has risen through the ranks, and was now one of the chief engineers assigned to the great Cape to Cairo Railway under construction for the British South Africa Company through the Southern Rhodesian Matabeleland province.

Stephen Townsend was the chief engineer of the Rhodesia Railways at the time and had finally caved to the powerful forces of the British South Africa Company that insisted that priority be shifted from central rail infrastructure for Southern Rhodesia to be focused on the Cape to Cairo ‘Red Line’.

Thanks to the 1897 completion of the two main lines from Fontesvilla in the west and Cape Town in the south, vast quantities of material and equipment were being trucked into the Bulawayo depot of the Rhodesia Railways yard in readiness for the big push northwards.

Massive progress had been made in the winter of 1902 after a route had been surveyed and mapped throughout 1900 and 1901. The line had steadily snaked its way forward, cutting its way across the virgin territory almost as if a surgeon had snatched up his scalpel and sliced open the skin covering the back to expose the spinal column below.

It was now the winter of 1903 and responsibility of the preparation and construction of the staging camp at Victoria Falls had fallen on the shoulders of Collin Mackenzie.

Progress had been hampered by late rains, and difficulties with the constant threat of malaria had plagued the staging team as they had marched forward, laying down the route the track layers would later follow.

It had been one of the worst years in this bitter effort. Four of the expedition team had been forced to return to Bulawayo, too ill to continue. Collin had been severely challenged by the shortage of experienced manpower but he had struggled on and in May 1903 had finally reached the settlement at Victoria Falls.

Now under his watchful eye his team of carpenters, builders and native labourers he had begun to prepare the encampment that for the next year or more would be home to over two hundred men.

Accommodation huts, latrines, wash houses, water storage units, workshops and storage yards were all on the plans for construction. There were plans for steel working facilities, electrical generation units, and concrete mixing stations.

There was need to manage the constant stream of supplies arriving by wagon from the new station depot in Wankie. Tools, timber, steel girders, tin sheeting, hardware, limestone, shale, sleepers, provisions, groceries, medical supplies, the list was endless.

In all this hubbub of activity Colin had maintained a clear head, focused on the tasks at hand and rapidly made sense of the madness. It was his cool, calm approach to pressure that had selected him for this job. While somewhat out of his comfort zone by being tasked to build a settlement, Collin fully realised the importance of the completion of this task on schedule in order to be ready for the work gang that were pressing down on him daily as they drew closer and closer.

Through the blazing heat of the summer his team had toiled, hewing stone and felling trees, laying foundations and erecting walls.

First the sawmill, then a steel shop. A small army of wooden cabins and a variety of store houses had taken shape and been erected. Christmas had come and gone and summer was falling into autumn.

If there was one benefit of working at the Victoria Falls, it was the eternal green of the vegetation all year round. Thanks to the constant presence of the mist and rain generated by the power of the mighty falls themselves, the African landscape around the camp had not lost its beautiful thick green lustre.

It reminded Colin of his Scotland, a nation plagued by constant grey skies and rainy filled days that lasted for weeks, that kept the rolling hills and mountain crags a lush emerald green the whole year round.

The foliage around the falls had been a challenge. Thick, dense and overgrown, much like a jungle in Colin’s minds eye, the rain forest had been tough to overcome. Many long hours had been taken up in a struggle to penetrate and clear the territory needed for the base camp close to the gorge itself.

The constant thunder from the falls, a rumble that shook the very ground on which they stood had become the norm. Colin would lie on his stretcher at night and listen to the roar as the water was churned into spray in the chasm into which it fell. It was magnificent to behold.

The power of the falls was mesmerising. He still recalled that very first day he’d seen the mist rising above the trees, hung in the air like a wild fire on the open plains. The rumble he’d felt shaking the boots he stood in.

He’d been awe struck as he’d finally approached the waterfalls itself. Its sheer beauty had moved him to tears. For as far as he could see from the left to the right a veil of white was cascading down in solid sheets of water, erupting into a furious mist that cloaked the violent melee as the torrent hit the rocks below.

He had been far too fearful to approach the edge of the gorge to peer down into the torturous hell from where the thunder roared. The black basalt rock glistening in the sunlight belied a danger of slipping from a firm footing, a fall that would most certainly take you to a traumatic and vicious demise.

Time has stood still as he had gazed out over that marvel. It was still vivid in his mind, the powerful emotion of that first glimpse of the majesty of the Victoria Falls.

In his time working here, he’d often wondered at the end of his working day to sit on a rock and marvel at the glorious splendour before him. This place had become special to him. He’d almost determined that this was where he wanted to return on completion of this contract. This was the place he knew he wanted to… no needed to settle.

Standing before his wood cabin that crisp June morning, Colin was contemplating this progress while sipping a hot coffee from the kettle on the fire. Work had been progressing at a steady pass, and they were on schedule to be ready for the arrival of the forward construction team later in June. Foundations to be dug, a steel winch cable to erect, a railway siding to prepare.

The bridge itself would begin too arrive in pieces from late September and construction on the actual body of the bridge was planned to begin that same month.

Since the departure of Mr Townsend and the big wigs from Sir Douglas Fox and Partners the firm who had designed the bridge things had become urgent. The location of the bridge crossing had been chosen on the 2^nd September 1903 by Charles Beresford Fox and the site had been inspected by Georges C Imbault who would take responsibility for the construction of the bridge as the Chief Construction Engineer.

A forward track laying team were due to arrive to begin laying the track for the station and storage yards where the new Victoria Falls Railway Station was due to be constructed later in the week. Dozens of men, workers from all walks of life, from construction teams, construction engineers, site labourers, general assistants and designers to medical corps, cooks, railway staff and trades personnel would all need to be housed and settled before the full swing of the summer.

So much to do, so little time for it to be done! There was even talk that the tooling and rail stock for the track on the Northern Rhodesia Line would be shipped through the site even before the bridge had been completed.

To facilitate the crossing of the gorge a steel cable wire was to be erected across the gorge enabling a gantry system that would carry up to ten tonnes of equipment across the gorge at a time. Operating with its own power supply from a generator built within the base camp, the system would carry workers and equipment to the Northern Side of the gorge.

The construction team were due to arrive the last week of June at the same time that the track laying team were scheduled to lay the final length of line leading up to the brand new Rhodesia Railways Victoria Falls Station and Yard Depot. The pressure was on, and while Colin loved the intensity of meeting deadlines, this project had made him feel his age catching up with him.

The constant expectation of Sir Charles Metcalfe the consultant engineer for the British South Africa Company meant that there was a constant barrage of instruction constantly driving to meet and break targets, get more done, quicker and cheaper. While under normal circumstances this might not be difficult, in the African wilderness, hampered by the plight of illness, heat and the hostile environment, it was taking its toll on his people.

Colin was worried. In the end this intensity could prove to be disastrous. Haste makes waist his form master had always cried when he was a child in boarding school in Glasgow. It was a principle that he had always paid heed to and now he had an uneasy feeling that this rush was going to lead to tragedy somewhere along the line.

The stillness of the morning was suddenly broken as around the corner of the cabin a dark body at full run broke into view. Colin turned to look at the man as he approached concern on his face. It was not uncommon for site staff to come to his cabin, even this early in the morning, but the expression on Simba’s face as he drew near the verandah steps did not bode well.

“Morning Sah,” Simba gasped, reaching out to steady himself on the banister.

“Morning Simba. What is it?”

The young man stood gulping down great breaths of air as he tried to recover himself from the exertion of his run. Colin glanced over his fine muscular torso, glistening in the early dawn light a fine sheen of sweat covering the ebony skin.

Not for the first time after looking at this man, Colin felt his loin stir. Simba was a fine specimen of manhood. This was one man that he knew he’d not prevent from sharing his stretcher through the darkness of the night. This man would make a fine lover, of that Colin was certain, but this impression would be something he never dared to test.

As a site foreman Simba was regarded by the native work force as an elder among their kind. Treated with the same regard as a village chief his elevated status would quickly be torn to shreds were the workers to establish that he was sharing conjugal visits with the ‘boss man’.

That would not do! To fall behind schedule as a result of a labour dispute over homosexual lust would be a humiliation from which Colin would never recover. So instead all he could do was stare greedily at the man before him, lusting mentally for a moment in time to allow him to ravage that body.

“Sah we need guns,” Simba panted.

“Whatever for?” Colin snapped with alarm.

Despite the fact that the last Matabele War had ended in 1897, and the Shona uprising around Bulawayo had been crushed by the British South Africa Police, the private army of Cecil John Rhodes’ British South Africa Company, there was still a constant wariness that another uprising could be launched at any time.

The panic on Simba’s face did not reveal the nature of the need, but the urgency of his voice prompted Colin into action.

“Nyasha,” he shouted, turning to the front door of his cabin.

A tall, young, dark young man emerged into the brightening morning. He was bare chested and had a pair of white cotton drawers clinging to his hips in violent contrast to his dark brown skin.

“Boss?” Naysha queried looking at Colin expectantly.

“Get my shirt and boots,” he instructed.

Nyasha glanced at Simba for the briefest of moments, their eyes locking as they shared a knowing look. He turned, returning to the cabin to complete his masters bidding, reaching for a freshly washed safari shirt, thick woollen socks and the boots he’d polished the night before.

Colin in the mean time had gone over to the steel cabinet in the corner of the room, and was reaching for his Mauser 1894 model bolt action rifle. A modern hunting gun, Colin had spent a month’s wages buying this gun, an asset he believed to any man living in the African wilderness.

Grabbing a fist full of rounds, he turned, Nyasha holding open his shirt which he shrugged into as he moved towards the door. Stooping to gather up his socks and shoes, Nyasha followed Colin out of the door.

Having chambered a round, Colin handed the gun to Simba who was still stood at the bottom of the steps waiting for him. He sat down on the steps of the verandah and began pulling on his socks as Nyasha stood patiently beside his master passing items to him as he needed them.

“So what is the matter Simba?”

Simba drew in a deep breath. “Elephants Sah,” he said simply as if this would explain everything.

Colin frowned. “Elephants?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes Sah,” Simba replied.

“Elephants what Simba?” Colin asked frustrated.

“Elephants in the storage yard Sah.”

Colins head snapped up. “Which yard?” he barked.

“The station yard Sah.”

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Have they caused any damage?”

“A lot Sah,” Simba nodded.

“Damn it,” Colin cursed violently. “Nyasha, run and get Morris and Harold and tell them to meet me at the station lad. Quickly.”

Nyasha took off at once, Colin watching his lithe form as he streaked across the settlement. Wrapped only in the flimsy cotton drawers, he was quietly appreciative of the beauty of the young man, watching his buttocks bounce as he disappeared around a corner.

He cleared his throat huskily and glanced at Simba who’d chosen to examine his feet while he waited. “Is there much damage?” he asked as he buttoned his shirt together.

“Sah I didn’t stop to check,” Simba responded. “It looked bad Sah.”

Cursing under his breath again, Colin flicked his suspenders across his shoulders and stood reaching for his gun. Simba gave him the weapon and they set off together towards the stables.

“Go ahead and make sure Blaze is saddled and ready boy,” Colin instructed Simba.

Simba took off at a sprint. The stable was only a few hundred yards from Colin’s cabin, and he would be there before they could completely prepare his horse. As he strode across the dusty ground he wondered what kind of chaos he would find when he reached the station the other side of the encampment.

Two stable hands were preparing Blaze as he entered the barn. Simba was no where to be seen. He stepped up to his horse sliding his rifle into the saddle holster running along the horses flank, and stepped back to check the strapping had been secured correctly in the hast.

“Where is Simba?” he asked and he moved to check the harness.

“Boss, he’s gone to fetch horses for the policemen,” one of the hands replied.

“Right, tell him to follow me to the station when he’s finished,” Colin stated, swinging himself on top of his horse. He clicked at gelding, urging him out of the door and setting off at a canter in the direction of the station.

Simba came running into the stable leading three horses behind him. He and the two stable boys quickly set to saddling the mounts in readiness for the BSAP Officers that would be arriving shortly.

As Colin approached the station he could hear the mayhem. Elephants can make an awful noise when they are panicked. In this instance he pictured a herd of wild creatures judging by the amount of noise he could hear.

He arrived at the gate to the yard finding eight labourers peering cautiously across the yard to where he could see a large bull elephant trapped among the supplies. Timber stacks had been knocked down and strewn right across the area, little evidence of the precise order that he had worked so carefully to maintain.

Cement crates had been split open and telegraph posts tossed around like tooth picks. Drums of oil had been knocked over and a wagon of hardware supplied was lying upended in the unloading bay. Two of the four storage sheds had been toppled over. Utter devastation surrounded them as he surveyed the scene before him, and in the far corner, the cause of the pandemonium was obvious.

The beast was enormous. Two huge great tusks swooped down from its mouth, smashing into everything the animal swung its head into, splintering wood and smashing down piles of supplies.

Below Colin, Blaze had become skittish, agitated by the enraged trumpeting of the wild bull in the station yard. Colin reigned in his horse and swung down from the saddle.

“Ghina hold Blaze,” he called out to one of the waiting labourers as he reached into the holster for his rifle. There was only one thing on his mind in that moment, and that was to put a halt to the madness unfolding in his storage yard.

He cracked the breech of his gun, checking that the round was correctly chambered and then he crept forward through the fence into the station yard itself. He needed to get into a position from where he could fire directly at the head of the huge animal. Directly between the eyes if he could.

Elephants are notoriously hard to kill, requiring a direct head shot from a powerful weapon to successfully bring a beast down. This was not going to be an easy shot. The bull was in a blind rage, thrashing its head from side to side, lashing out at any and everything that stood in its way.

Having wondered into the enclosure of the station in the darkness of the night, he had become entrapped by the fencing surrounding the store yard leading to a wild rage within the beast. Its only desire now was escape and nothing would stop it from destroying anything that prevented it from achieving this goal.

Colin crouched behind a downed oil barrel and peered towards the sound of breaking wood as the elephant stumbled through another pile of drying timber. He lined up his rifle, waiting for a clear shot to present itself. He had to pause for a moment as his hands were trembling too much for him to accurately aim the weapon without making his sites dance across its target.

“Colin wait!” a voice cried out from behind him.

He twisted to see Morris springing to the ground from his horse. Harold was right behind him rifle in his hand splayed out as he tried to dismount, looking like some wild western warrior charging into battle. He turned and sat on the ground leaning up against the barrel watching as the two snuck into the yard and approached him.

“If you don’t kill him, he’ll kill you,” Morris hissed looking at Colin.

“I have no intention of missing Morris,” Colin stated coldly.

“Maybe not my man, but two shots are better than one any day,” Morris pointed out.

He broke to the left and took up a position behind a pile of broken creates.

Harold has stayed back slightly taking up a position behind the overturned wagon directly in the middle of the two.

Morris, busy loading his Lee Enfield called out to Colin. “As soon as we are ready Harold will call the animal’s attention. When it turns make sure you take the shot Colin, and for God’s sakes don’t miss.”

“I told you I will not miss,” Colin insisted.

“You bloody well better not good man. My life will depend on it,” Harold said rather matter-of-factly.

“Jesus, get on with it you two, the bloody creature is approaching the dynamite shed!” Colin shouted in exasperation.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh,” Morris warned, looking at the red faced Colin angrily. “We don’t want the animal coming this way just yet man.”

“Well, we don’t want the animal reaching that shed either Morris. It’ll blow the whole lot of us to kingdom come if it does!”

Morris peered over the mountain of timber that concealed him. The animal was ahead, slightly to the right, smashing through the pile of fallen timber.

He glanced over at Colin. “You ready?”

Colin nodded and took position behind his barrel. They both drew down their weapons, targeting on the mass of the elephant in front of them.

“Now,” shouted Morris.

At that moment Harold sprung out from behind the wagon letting forth the wail of a banshee as he fired his gun. Wilding swinging his arms and screaming at the top of his voice, the sound distracted the elephant. It stopped its attack on the timber below its enormous feet and swung around to locate the source of the cry.

Zeroing in on Harold who was doing everything in his power to draw the elephant’s attention, the beast let out a mighty blast from its trunk. The trumpeting was followed by an impressive display of menace by the bull elephant. With ears flapping and its tusks carving ugly curves through the air, the beast began to run at the screaming man.

Two thunderous shots rang out simultaneously, and everything went into slow motion. The bull having taken two or three steps in the direction of Harold reared up in agony as two subsonic rounds smashed into its skull, staggering slightly to the left and then crashing sideways onto rubble from the cement creates it had destroyed. A massive cloud of grey dust erupted as three tonnes of flesh slammed into the floor, hiding the felled creature completely from view.

Silence reigned.

A cheer went up from the labourers as three men cautiously rose and peered towards where the fallen elephant had disappeared in the cement cloud it had kicked up as it fell.

Weapons still aimed in that general direction in case the animal should emerge even wilder than before the men waited for the dust to fall, revealing the massive carcase of the elephant lying there unmoving.

Everyone let out a sigh of relief, the ululation of the labourers behind them signifying an end to the carnage in the store yard. They stood for a moment surveying the destruction around them. Morris shouldered his Lee Enfield and walked over to Colin smiling.

“Good shot man,” he said jubilantly.

Colin smiled weakly. He wasn’t at all impressed that they had managed to kill the beast. He’d much rather the whole bloody affair had not happened at all. He took no pleasure in killing, but more so than that, he was dismayed at the scene of devastation around him.

This would damage his schedule. He cursed underneath his breath and turned to go. Harold and Morris were excitedly chattering about the event walking towards the body of the elephant to examine the kill.

“Morris,” Colin called. The man turned to look at him. “Organise to have that butchered and moved will you?”

“Sure thing Mr Mackenzie.” he responded.

Colin swung his gun up onto his shoulder and draped his arms across it, spinning around still surveying the destruction around him. He shook his head. He’d need to bring everyone into the yard to focus on a clean up and assess what they’d lost.

Muttering to himself he walked out the gate towards Simba who was holding the horses.

“Where is Nyasha?” he asked curtly.

“I don’t know Sah,” Simba responded. “Maybe back by the cabin Sah?”

“Humph,” Colin grunted. “Simba get every worker to this yard and start cleaning up this bloody mess.”

“Yes Sah, right away Sah,” Simba passed the reigns of Blaze to Colin and turned to give the other two horses to Ghina. He then mounted his own steed and cantered off to the settlement.

Colin holstered his gun and mounted Blaze.

“Ghina make sure everyone gets to work. I want this cleaned up today,” Colin instructed. “I’m going for breakfast. I’ll be back later.”

Ghina nodded, as Colin turned Blaze and set off at a gallop for his cabin. Forget breakfast, it was not food he wanted. It was sex. Raw, urgent, manly sex. Nyasha had better be in the cabin when he got back.