South Africa Odyssey. Michael Tyquin

tumbled bloodied to the mat in the fourth round. Before morning tea Taylor had challenged all comers and to everyone’s surprise the Pole stepped forward. The wags running an unofficial book on the results saw pound notes flash before their eyes. Private 'Chook' Fowler, a farrier from Goulburn, oversaw all gambling within the Ambulance. He spent a frenzied few minutes taking silver shillings and several one pound notes from the more optimistic as he scribbled in a tiny ragged notebook. Word of the pending massacre soon spread throughout the ship. Even the ship’s captain, Robards, and the Bushmen’s colonel found themselves among the crowd.

      Taylor faced off against the Pole in the ring. Although they had seen each other around the unit in the previous few weeks, this was the first time they had come close. For some reason 'Birdie' had taken an instant dislike to the gregarious Pole and took to parodying his accent in the mess. For his part Nowicki, who had picked up much while hanging around some of Sydney’s gangs (he had been a member of the notorious Redfern push for a while) had laughed it off and taken it in good humour. This only made Taylor dislike him even more.

      The crowd became noisier as the referee, a diminutive second mate, issued the usual warnings about fair play. A sailor clanged two horseshoes together as a signal for the round to start. 'Birdie' moved straight for his intended victim’s jaw, but as quick as lightening the Pole moved aside, causing his opponent to lose balance. As he fell the ship rolled and judging the moment nicely the Pole delivered a punch of such force that the favourite did not rise from the canvas for a full thirty seconds.

      There was a stunned silence as the troops took in the scene. Then a lone voice from the Ambulance shouted.

      ‘Good onya Jackie boy!’

      There was a roar, helmets and hats were tossed into the air and 'Birdie’s' supporters swore and counted their losses. Missing his regular visits to the racetrack Dunkley had placed ten shillings through a third party on 'Birdie' minutes before the fight began. A smile crossed his face as he watched proceedings. While both contestants shook hands, Taylor had felt humiliated in a way he had never experienced before. The Pole was now marked as the enemy - on a par with the Boer. There were other less obvious going's-on aboard. Trooper Richard Straker, rumoured to have spent time in Sydney's notorious Long Bay Gaol, had also shown his fists to a few of his ship mates – mainly for late payment of poker debts.

      In due course the Southern Cross came within sight of the South African coast a day ahead of schedule. Everyone not on duty below decks flocked to the ship's side. The hills, which receded from the coast, were filled with white buildings of various sizes. At this distance they gave the countryside the appearance of being neatly bisected by a band of white between the sea and the hilltops. Not a few men made favourable comparisons with the coastal town of Newcastle back home.

      Dunkley was in a pensive mood, sucking his pipe on the port deck where O’Reilly and an excited Lieutenant McIntosh joined him.

      ‘I wonder what this place holds for us.’

      O’Reilly mused to no one in particular.

      ‘Beautiful women and beautiful plants I hope’, added the freckled subaltern.

      'A decent drop of whisky for me', said O'Reilly.

      Soon the ship made its way into Table Bay, Cape Town. In the distance rose Green Point and Table Mountain.