Kiwi Wars (34 page)

Jack sighed. ‘You don’t know the whole, Harry. I understand your filial indignation. He was your brother. But the man was evil.’

Private Wynter blinked. It was the use of his first name that took him by surprise. Captain Crossman had
never
called him ‘Harry’ before. He had called him a lot of other things, some of them quite ugly and obscene, but never by his given name. It took the wind out of his sails and put him in the doldrums for a few moments.

‘What whole? What did he do otherwise, then?’

‘You really don’t want to know, believe me. As he was a relation of yours, it would upset you.’

Jack was astonished to see that tears came to the eyes of the private. This too was a first. He had never seen the man weep before. There were white tracks down his dirty face, running down from his bad as well as his good eye. He blubbed for a few minutes, streaking the grime on his cheeks. Then he found his voice again. A high squeaky voice.

‘So what do I tell me sisters, eh? That I just stood by and let it happen? What kind of brother does that make me look?’

‘They would understand if they knew what I know, Harry. You would too. But – well, it’s not pretty.’

‘I have to know, sir. You know I have to know. I could never show meself in England again, if I didn’t. I didn’t like the bastard, he always done me down, even as a kid. But blood is blood. If it was you, you’d be the same. I know you got a brother, ’cause he was at the Crimea with us. How would it be if I’d’ve killed your brother and said nothin’ about the whys and wherefores? You’d hate me rotten, wouldn’t you, eh? There’s the truth of it. An’ nobody goes out to kill a man who an’t had a trial. Not unless there’s somethin’ sneaky goin’ on. I ’ave to know, sir. I just ’ave to.’

Jack thought about his brother James and realized Harry Wynter was right: he deserved an explanation.

‘This must go no further than us, you understand?’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll know why, when I tell you. Your brother did not kill only one man. He murdered another poor fellow in Australia. A shipmate named Daniel Kilpatrick.’

Harry Wynter frowned.

‘Still an’ all, a trial—’

‘He killed him to eat.’

Jack had at last managed to get it out.

Wynter looked puzzled. ‘To eat what?’

‘Your brother was a cannibal, Harry. He murdered Daniel Kilpatrick to eat his flesh. The other man, Strickland, joined him in devouring their friend, though we understand Strickland had nothing to do with the murder itself. They cooked the Irishman on an open fire out there in the Australian desert, and then they ate him.’

There was at last a shocked look on Harry’s face.

‘No? Honest truth?’

‘As I stand here. Strickland told the whole story as he lay dying. Men rarely lie when they are about to face their Creator. In any case, the army could not take the chance. Abraham was a murderer anyway. There is no doubt what with the evidence we had – two witnesses, including the Maori who actually did the deed – your brother would have hung. Kilpatrick never came out of the desert with the other two men. Therefore the story is very likely true. There can be a fragment of doubt of course. Strickland might have been lying to revenge himself on your brother, but for what reason? He knew Abraham would hang for his murder anyway, so why would Strickland embellish it with the cannibalism? There is no greater punishment than the gallows.’

‘Abe – a cannibal? It’s hard to believe.’ Harry Wynter stood there, swaying, contemplating this heinous sin. ‘He’ll go to hell for that, certain sure.’ Another pause, then a typical Harry Wynter observation. ‘Mind you, ’e always did like his meat. If there was Sunday pork scratchings on the plate and Abe was there, you didn’t get a look in. Proper pig, ’e was. My sisters would tell you that.’

‘Do you see then that we couldn’t let this reach the newspapers, for your family’s sake as well as that of the army?’

Harry knew damn well the army could not care less about his family, but he tightened his mouth and nodded.

‘This won’t go no further then, sir? Just you an’ me, and the bleedin’ staff officers?’

‘There are only three others who know of the cannibalism. The general, a major, and a padre. None of them are inclined to talk, or I wouldn’t have been ordered to kill your brother.’

‘You was ordered to, was you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then, you ’ad to do it, didn’t you? No question. You’d bin court-martialled otherwise, eh?’

‘Yes.’

Private Wynter came to attention and saluted his commanding officer.

‘Permission to go off an’ bury the sod, sir?’

Jack was a little perturbed. ‘The Maoris brought the body back then?’

‘Yessir.’ Harry’s face suddenly became thoughtful. ‘Happen the padre won’t want to put him in holy turf if he’s a murderer though.’

‘My advice is to get a Methodist minister to do it – they’re often less fussy about consecrated ground.’

‘Good idea, sir.’

With that, the private shuffled away, his bootlaces trailing around his feet and threatening to trip him at any moment.

Jack had the weary task of travelling north again to bring Sergeant King back. He took Gwilliams with him, leaving Private Wynter to arrange his brother’s funeral. The sergeant was in much better health and spirits when they found him. He was sitting on a lawn in front of the hospital, sketching a hillside.

‘How are you, Sergeant King?’ asked Jack. ‘Ready to join us yet?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. Fit and well. I don’t suppose I could march the length of the Great Trunk Road, from Calcutta to the Khyber Pass, which if you remember was some one thousand five hundred miles. Having done that once as a young man, I have no desire to do it again. But I could manage a few of them. Miles, that is.’

‘Excellent. We’ll take the leisurely way back to New Plymouth and go by ship. That will give you a greater convalescence period. The sea air will do us all good and give us some breathing space from these interminable wars.’

‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard yet, sir,’ said Corporal Gwilliams, his bronze beard quivering. ‘Can we do that? I mean, what about the general?’

‘The general will have to do without us for a week or two.’

It took a week to get Sergeant King out of the hospital and ready for the voyage. The three soldiers went down to the docks on a blustery Thursday morning, their spirits higher than they had been for a long time. There they walked the wharfs and jetties, looking for the ship that would take them round the island to New Plymouth. As they ambled along the quayside, they watched as a large ship entered Auckland harbour. No doubt, Jack thought, it is bringing more settlers from England and from Australia, which does not bode well for the natives of the islands.

‘Well
damn
me,’ cried an indignant Sergeant King, pointing. ‘Look at that, if you like!’

Jack and Gwilliams followed the line of the finger.

There stood Harry Wynter, on the quay, surrounded by trunks and chests. He was dressed in a tall black stovepipe hat, still shining with newness. A black frock coat was on his back, covering what appeared to be a frill-fronted white silk shirt. He was wearing black leather gloves, carrying a gold-topped cane, and his shoes gleamed below the pinstriped trousers. Harry Wynter looked every inch a gentleman.

‘Wynter!’ roared Sergeant King. ‘I hope you’ve got a good explanation for this!’

The gentleman turned and grinned with an ugly visage.

‘Oh, Sarge? ’Ow’s it swinging? And sir? An’ not forgettin’ the bloody Yankee corporal. Whaddya think, eh?’ He opened his coat and did a twirl for them on the edge of the dock. ‘Not bad for a private.’

Jack suddenly saw the light. He grinned. ‘You inherited your brother’s fortune, Wynter?’

‘S’right, Captain. Lock, stock and barrel. Rich man, me brother. Now it’s all mine. I’m off back to good old England, on this ’ere ship. No more army for me. I’m packin’ it in while I still got one good eye and some hair on me head, even though both of ’em are white. Good luck, Corp. Fuck you, Sergeant. And, Fancy Jack, if I don’t never see you again, it won’t be too soon, which I’m sure you’ll understand.’

‘There’s a lot of trunks and chests here, Wynter – have you been shopping?’

‘Nah, not so much. It’s stuff me brother owned. See that big one over there? Guess what? It’s a Joseph Bramah pan closet toilet, that’s what. Sat on it only this mornin’ afore it was packed. Marked me territory, so to speak. All gleamin’ brass an’ steel an’ a lovely warm beechwood seat so’s you don’t get a cold arse while you’re crappin’. Not bad, eh, for a fellah ’oo only the other day had to go behind a bush and use a fistful o’ rye grass for the wipin’ away?’ Something else seemed to occur to the rich man. ‘Oh, an’ by the by, Captain. That little bit o’ gold what was lost when I brought in the loot from that robbery? It was found in a barn. An’t that some-thin’? It must ’ave still bin in the donkey’s saddlebags and ’ave dropped out into the straw when I weren’t noticing.’

‘You returned the gold you stole from that cache.’

Wynter winked and smirked. ‘No point in gettin’ hung for a miserable bit o’ yellow when I got all I need, now is there?’

With that Private Wynter began pushing his way up the gangplank to board the vessel, despite the annoyance of the disembarking passengers who were trying to come down. He barged past one lady, but on seeing that she was a little distressed, he turned and apologized. Her beauty was obviously not lost on the ex-private, for he lifted his tall black hat and bowed as low as he could, given the circumstances.

‘S’cuse me, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Don’t mean to be a roughneck. It’s what the army does to you, but I’m recently out of all that. Nowadays I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ replied the woman, smiling at the delivery of this speech. ‘I forgive you.’

Down on the quayside, Jack looked up, startled, on hearing the lady’s voice, having been lost in his contemplations of Wynter’s – and his – good fortune, for they had both got rid of each other in one fell swoop.

‘Jane?’ he said, his brow clearing. ‘Jane, darling. You’re here.’