other four prisoners and was the first on the hill. He ran with his body bent slightly forward and his boots sank into the sand and encountered the rocks beneath the sand. He grinned to himself and thought, six trips up and down, eh? Easy man, I can do six. I could do sixty. This damn hill won’t beat me.
McGrath shouldered Roberts out of the way and went after Bokumbo. If any man’s to be first over this hill, he thought, it’s me, not a Nigger. He pushed and clawed his way up the hill and on the crown of the hill he drew level with Bokumbo, and shoulder to shoulder they ran down the hill together, boots dragging in the soft sand.
Leaning slightly backwards to maintain balance Roberts pulled himself up and spat out sand and glared after McGrath’s retreating back. Bartlett passed him with Stevens. Neither of them, judging by their expressions, had much stomach for the hill. Williams stationed himself twenty yards from the hill and where he stood he had a good view of the prisoners as they went up and down it. Bokumbo and McGrath were steadily drawing away from the other prisoners and Williams smiled to himself.
Staff Burton marched over, nodded to Williams and then watched the prisoners doubling over the hill with interest.
“The R.S.M. send you over, Staff?” enquired Williams.
“That’s right, Staff.”
“There’s four for the cells when they’re ready. I’m keeping one on the hill.”
“When do I get them?” enquired Burton.
“Soon as they’re ready,” said Williams.
“You’re new, Staff.” Burton glanced down at Williams’s white knees.
“New here, Staff,” said Williams.
“Yeah.” Burton nodded his head. “I can think of better places than here.”
“Why don’t you tell it to the R.S.M. then?”
Burton glanced at Williams again. “It’s been in my mind.” He moved a pace or two away from Williams and watched Stevens stumbling down the hill. “There’s one feller who’s not built to last,” he said.
“Have to build them up then, won’t we, Staff,” said Williams.
“Yeah. They get porridge for breakfast. Maybe that’ll do it.” Burton turned to grin at Williams.
“Time’s up for them, Staff. Take them away,” said Williams.
Burton looked at Williams, then walked towards the hill shouting orders. The four prisoners fell into line and Burton doubled them away. Roberts about turned again and ran towards the hill and up and over the hill, taking it as easy as he could. He knew that the next half hour would drag and that he would have to save his strength.
“Double,” yelled Williams. “Keep them feet moving.”
Roberts grinned to himself. If you want me to move, he thought, you’ll have to come up here after me. He knew that the hill would beat him in the end, but he wanted to stick it out as long as possible.
*
The Commandant was seated at his desk and R.S.M. Wilson stood at attention facing him. The Commandant glanced at Stevens’s case history, then read it from beginning to end and banged a rubber stamp on it. Bartlett’s was much more interesting. This one’s obviously got prison fever, he thought. He glanced at Wilson. “Some chaps never seem to learn, Sergeant-Major, do they.”
“Bartlett, sir?”
The Commandant nodded. “Have to see what we can do about him, sir, won’t we,” said Wilson.
The Commandant banged a rubber stamp on the printed details of Bartlett’s shocking life and nodded again.
“Bokumbo,” he said. “Have to transfer him to the African compound.”
“He’s a British subject, sir. West Indian.”
“Oh.” The Commandant banged a rubber stamp on Bokumbo’s, then very carefully read McGrath’s case history. He looked up at Wilson. “So he beat up three Redcaps, did he?”
“McGrath, sir? Yes.”
“Sergeant-Major, I know the staff feel pretty strongly about cases like this. But let’s have no trouble. You know what I mean.”
“He’ll be treated the same as any other prisoner, sir,” said Wilson evenly.
McGrath shouldered Roberts out of the way and went after Bokumbo. If any man’s to be first over this hill, he thought, it’s me, not a Nigger. He pushed and clawed his way up the hill and on the crown of the hill he drew level with Bokumbo, and shoulder to shoulder they ran down the hill together, boots dragging in the soft sand.
Leaning slightly backwards to maintain balance Roberts pulled himself up and spat out sand and glared after McGrath’s retreating back. Bartlett passed him with Stevens. Neither of them, judging by their expressions, had much stomach for the hill. Williams stationed himself twenty yards from the hill and where he stood he had a good view of the prisoners as they went up and down it. Bokumbo and McGrath were steadily drawing away from the other prisoners and Williams smiled to himself.
Staff Burton marched over, nodded to Williams and then watched the prisoners doubling over the hill with interest.
“The R.S.M. send you over, Staff?” enquired Williams.
“That’s right, Staff.”
“There’s four for the cells when they’re ready. I’m keeping one on the hill.”
“When do I get them?” enquired Burton.
“Soon as they’re ready,” said Williams.
“You’re new, Staff.” Burton glanced down at Williams’s white knees.
“New here, Staff,” said Williams.
“Yeah.” Burton nodded his head. “I can think of better places than here.”
“Why don’t you tell it to the R.S.M. then?”
Burton glanced at Williams again. “It’s been in my mind.” He moved a pace or two away from Williams and watched Stevens stumbling down the hill. “There’s one feller who’s not built to last,” he said.
“Have to build them up then, won’t we, Staff,” said Williams.
“Yeah. They get porridge for breakfast. Maybe that’ll do it.” Burton turned to grin at Williams.
“Time’s up for them, Staff. Take them away,” said Williams.
Burton looked at Williams, then walked towards the hill shouting orders. The four prisoners fell into line and Burton doubled them away. Roberts about turned again and ran towards the hill and up and over the hill, taking it as easy as he could. He knew that the next half hour would drag and that he would have to save his strength.
“Double,” yelled Williams. “Keep them feet moving.”
Roberts grinned to himself. If you want me to move, he thought, you’ll have to come up here after me. He knew that the hill would beat him in the end, but he wanted to stick it out as long as possible.
*
The Commandant was seated at his desk and R.S.M. Wilson stood at attention facing him. The Commandant glanced at Stevens’s case history, then read it from beginning to end and banged a rubber stamp on it. Bartlett’s was much more interesting. This one’s obviously got prison fever, he thought. He glanced at Wilson. “Some chaps never seem to learn, Sergeant-Major, do they.”
“Bartlett, sir?”
The Commandant nodded. “Have to see what we can do about him, sir, won’t we,” said Wilson.
The Commandant banged a rubber stamp on the printed details of Bartlett’s shocking life and nodded again.
“Bokumbo,” he said. “Have to transfer him to the African compound.”
“He’s a British subject, sir. West Indian.”
“Oh.” The Commandant banged a rubber stamp on Bokumbo’s, then very carefully read McGrath’s case history. He looked up at Wilson. “So he beat up three Redcaps, did he?”
“McGrath, sir? Yes.”
“Sergeant-Major, I know the staff feel pretty strongly about cases like this. But let’s have no trouble. You know what I mean.”
“He’ll be treated the same as any other prisoner, sir,” said Wilson evenly.
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