Adventures in Swaziland Part 25

I asked the messenger for further details about the coronation, but all I could learn was that Sebuza had been in the mountains undergoing sanctification for the last six weeks and would return to Lebombo before the new moon.

Sibijaan took care of the Swazi and saw that he was fed and given a little drink. After which he took to the trail again, and I saw him fade into the distance at a dog-trot just about the time we were finis.h.i.+ng breakfast.

His news decided the argument of the night before. The oxen were inspanned, the mules also, and about noon we started off on our trek for Zombode. The expedition had been the talk of Ermelo for some time, and practically every white man and most of the kaffirs were on hand to cheer and give us a rousing send-off. Many of our friends walked with us until we crossed the little bridge and were lost in the willow-groves along the river trail.

This first day the roads were excellent and we made the best speed of any day of the trip. Before night we had gone a full twenty miles, stopping at the fine farm of an old-fas.h.i.+oned Boer. Instead of camping in the open, as we had to do for practically all the rest of the expedition, we stopped with the farmer. I did this because I wanted my American a.s.sociates to see how real Boers live. We had a regular Boer supper, consisting of grilled meats, such as chops, hearts, liver, kidneys, and Boer bacon; crushed mealies, rye bread, and coffee. There was an abundance of all this and it was cooked to the queen's taste.

The twenty-mile trek, during which we walked every foot of the way, had given us wonderful appet.i.tes and we were able to do more than justice to the quant.i.ties of food set out.

Following supper the old Boer became solemn, as is the custom after the evening meal, and led us in religious services. No matter how poor or how humble, the true Boer never forgets his "night prayers." This is his heritage from those Huguenot ancestors. It was impressive to see my American companions bow their heads silently as the old farmer recited his devotions.

Prayers over, we went to the "parlor," whose chief ornaments were almost priceless relics and skins, and staged an amateur musicale.

There was a good piano and we had our ukelele. What more could be desired? All the kaffirs in the neighborhood gathered outside and fairly wept for joy. It was a splendid concert, considering the talent, and made a great hit with the farmer and his wife.

Next morning we were inspanned and on our way by dawn. It was raining, and this made it look like bad going all day. The farmer and his wife were up as soon as we, and had rusks and hot, strong coffee for us. It was chilly, and the coffee was a good "pick-me-up" before a day's trek. Before we left the Boer made us promise to stay a week with him on our return from Swaziland. He said he would arrange a feast for us and we would be able to play our "hand-fiddle" for all his neighbors.

By ten o'clock we had made about seven miles, and camped for breakfast on the sh.o.r.es of a small lake. Our progress had been much delayed by the rain, and this made the walking disagreeable as well. We were very hungry for breakfast and Din performed wonders, considering that the rain continued until an hour after we had finished. After a short rest we started on again, and by four o'clock we had reached the banks of the Masuto River. Here we made a good camp, pitching two additional tents, so that we would have a mess-room and cook-house with which the rain could not interfere. This camp was chiefly memorable for the fact that Rossman almost had an "adventure." While Din was getting supper ready the camera-man took a rifle and went along the river with the intention of shooting something. He had been gone only a few minutes when we heard a shout, followed by a shot. Sugden and Crespinell rushed to Rossman's a.s.sistance, each with a rifle. They reached his side to find him gazing fearsomely at a large snake whose back had been severed by his bullet. It was a dramatic moment--especially when Sugden picked up the snake and pointed out the fact that it must have been dead for a week or more!

That night we were all very tired and went to sleep as early as possible. Next morning, true to my Boer upbringing, I was up and about before dawn. Coffee and rusks were ready soon after, and my companions were awakened to face their third day's trek. Of course we could walk faster than the oxen, so I pushed ahead as I knew that there was a Mapor kraal a short distance away. We reached the kraal about five miles ahead of the wagons, and this gave me time to show the others their first native settlement.

All the men were away, only women and children being at home. These all seemed to belong to a small chief of the tribe, and they informed me that he was away on a hunting trip. Sugden and the others were intensely interested in everything they saw and I arranged for them to inspect the interior of a number of the huts.

I soon noticed that all the women were much taken with Rossman; in fact, they could hardly keep their eyes off him. I found by questions that they were fascinated by his great horn-rimmed gla.s.ses. The upshot was that we allowed a certain few of these dusky Eves to try the gla.s.ses on, and they were much amused thereat. We distributed about five s.h.i.+llings among them and they treated us to tswala and brought us a number of fresh eggs.

In a little while the wagons hove in sight and camped near the kraal for breakfast. Sc.r.a.ps of wood and "buffalo chips" made our fire, and presently Din had a good "feed" ready. While the cooking was going on the little kaffirs gathered about the camp in numbers. Some of them even drove their goats close so that they might see the white men eat.

By the time we began breakfast there were more than forty of these little beggars squatting on their haunches near the table. They watched every motion most intently and followed each morsel to its destination. Every now and then I would take a piece of lump sugar and, without looking, throw it in their direction. Instantly there would be the fiercest sort of a scramble for the tidbit. They were rough beyond reason, and every now and then one of them would be hurt and crawl away for a few minutes until he had recovered. Never, however, would he cry out or show that he felt the pain. No sooner did our wagons leave the spot than there was a wild rush to where we had been. They fought furiously over every sc.r.a.p in the hope of finding food that the white men had thrown away.

We kept steadily on until five o'clock that night, and then made camp.

When Din gave the supper-call at about eight o'clock, Sugden and I went to the mess-tent to find Crespinell and Rossman sound asleep on the floor. They were worn out by the steady walking and I did not blame them for taking it easy. After a "shot" of Picardy brandy, we all sat down to the best supper Gunga Din had yet given us. There was soup, chicken curry, rice, vanilla pudding, canned fruits, and coffee.

Truly, a feast for a trek supper!

That night Sugden and the others were kept awake for some time by the howling of several jackals. They suggested that they take their rifles and go out and "get some of those infernal beasts!" I had to explain to them that it would be exactly like trying to shoot the shadow of a ghost, and they went back to bed grumbling heartily.

The next day was a bad one, rain making our progress slow and miserable. I wanted to reach a certain point, and we forced the oxen until noon before stopping. This trek had been too long and hurt the brutes so that their spirit seemed broken. We camped among some very rugged hills, and here Dr. Sugden showed us all how to handle tents and ropes in wet weather. The ease with which he tied and untied knots in the ropes astounded our kaffirs and filled the rest of us with envy.

The rain increased, and soon everything became soaked. It was such a downpour that we decided to wait for it to slacken and ended by remaining in this camp for two days. Our only amus.e.m.e.nt was to watch Tuis, the Basuto-Bushman kaffir, in his perpetual conflict with the other boys. Being of a different breed, he did everything in a way all his own and, in addition, was naturally antagonistic and sulky.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON THE WAY TO THE ROYAL KRAAL AT ZOMBODE

Dr. O'Neil and party going through the Valley of Heaven. The barren mountains in the distance show the rugged nature of the country]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SECOND TRIP INTO SWAZILAND

The O'Neil caravan shortly after the draft-oxen had died and were replaced by mules and donkeys]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MOTHER FEEDING HER BABY]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MAIDEN SINGING TO THE CROWN PRINCE SEBUZA

She is playing on the native instrument which consists of a bow and one string]

In spite of the picturesqueness of this camp, we were very glad to leave it. We were now in the wild country, with no farms, and the only break in the monotony was a little wild goose shooting shortly before we reached the Swaziland border. Our real troubles began about this time. The oxen began to die, and it was not long before we were absolutely stalled. We were then in camp on the border, and it looked as though we would stay there unless I was able to get some other animals to pull the wagon.

Finding further progress impossible, I scouted about and ran into a kaffir living on the border who had a horse. I hired this steed--a sorry one it was--and, following a tip given me by its owner, rode twelve miles to see if I could talk business with a small Swazi chief who was said to have a number of donkeys.

At first this old chief did not want to talk about donkeys at all, and it was not until I began to talk payment first and donkeys last that he consented to get down to business. We finally made a deal, and it was this: I was to pay him the equivalent of one pound sterling in gin for every day I used his donkeys. This was not such a bad bargain because I had to have about forty of the little animals to make up for the oxen I had lost.

The most interesting part of this transaction was to see the chief's men harness the donkeys to our big wagon. They used bits of weed-rope, rawhide, and a stout gra.s.s rope that they make themselves. The harnessing took a long time and we were delayed until I began to grow impatient, but there was nothing else to do but wait. Finally we were off, but it was a funny looking caravan. It had been raining hard for some days and we presently came to a little stream which was much swollen. Here we had a terrible time. The "harness" kept breaking, and the way the natives thrashed those poor donkeys was frightful. It seemed to be the only method, though, and eventually we took a hand in the punishment ourselves.

The night of the second day saw us camped at the foot of the mountain that leads to the village of Mbabane. We found several other transport wagons there, with three white traders whose occupation was to carry goods from Ermelo and Carolina, the two rail stations, to Mbabane and vice versa. These traders were much interested in our outfit, and by treating them to drinks, fresh food, and the payment of one pound sterling I was able to hire twelve donkeys from their caravans to a.s.sist us to the top of the mountain. We started at dawn next day, and by noon had reached the summit. There we rested for the balance of the day.

My object in delaying there all the afternoon was mainly on account of the great load of liquor in the big wagon. I did not want to bring this through Mbabane in daylight because I had no permit to bring it into Swaziland and I did not want to get caught doing so. I thought that I could get by practically un.o.bserved if I waited until after dark and then went through the village with other wagons. Our camp at the top of the hill was about three miles from Mbabane, and I ordered Sibijaan to inspan and start on again at five o'clock. This would bring him to the village at about eight o'clock, or shortly after dark.

We went ahead and called on Mr. and Mrs. d.i.c.kson, who gave us tea. It was real English tea and we enjoyed it immensely. The d.i.c.ksons had heard of our expedition and were much interested. Mrs. d.i.c.kson, however, was greatly amused at our capacity for tea, since we each drank between five and six cups. But we were dead tired and it was wonderful to shut out the whole of Swaziland and sit down in this cozy English home to drink decent tea poured by a white woman!

After thanking the d.i.c.ksons, I went to the little store and bought some supplies. I also went to the hotel and bought some liquor, this being merely for camouflage, as I wished them to think I needed it.

The supplies and liquor I gave to a native carrier, telling him to take it to the place where we expected to camp for the night. There were six packages in all, weighing about forty-five pounds, and it was amusing to see this kaffir summon five others to help him. Each Swazi, carrying his s.h.i.+eld, k.n.o.b-kerrie, and a.s.segai, started for our camp with a little parcel on his head.

The wagon was late. I began to be worried, for I had estimated that it would arrive in the village about eight o'clock. I spent a nervous hour or so waiting for it to show up, but it did not do so till about 9:30. I told Sibijaan to proceed to the camping place about two miles further on, and we pushed ahead to be on hand when it arrived.

Soon we ran into a typical wonder-sight of that part of the country. I had noticed a red glow in the sky off to the left, and on turning a little hill we saw that the whole side of a mountain was one tremendous fire. While this was at its worst, or most glorious, height, the great red African moon came up over the mountain like a huge ball of flame. The whole scene was so striking that Sugden insisted we ought to take a picture of it. We hurried back to the wagon and found a number of Swazis trailing it out of curiosity. With the aid of a box of cigarettes, I pressed twelve of them into service and got the cameras to the spot from which we wanted to take the picture. While we were doing this little Swazis seemed to spring up out of the ground, and before we had finished there must have been at least four score of them wondering what the white men were trying to do.

Sibijaan saw a chance to air his superior knowledge and I heard him telling these little fellows a preposterous yarn.

"You see those black boxes?" he said, pointing to the cameras. "Well, those are the magic boxes of Nkoos Mzaan Bakoor, the great white witch-doctor. He will look at the fire through them and soon it will go out. If he is offended, he can make the fire burn up the whole country and kill all the Swazis!"

I was afraid to look back and note the effect of this beautiful lie, but I heard the kaffir exclamation of wonder--"Ou! Ou!"--from a dozen throats and decided that my trusty henchman had gotten away with it.

By the time we had packed our cameras again the wagons had caught up with us and we went on. The spot I had picked for the camp was under a small grove of palm trees across a little stream, and we arrived there to find that the six carriers had started a fire. It was about midnight when our wagons reached camp, and soon after we rolled up in our blankets and dropped off to sleep just where we stood.

Next morning we started down the steep slopes into the Valley of Heaven. This was a very dangerous descent for the wagons, so that it was after midday before we reached the floor of the valley. The poor donkeys were completely exhausted, and we camped there until next day.

The Valley of Heaven was certainly living up to its name. It was never so lovely, and my companions were enthusiastic in its praise. I pointed out to them the Place of Execution and Sheba's b.r.e.a.s.t.s as we came down the mountain, and they immediately decided they would visit both before returning to Ermelo.

Although I remember the beauties of the Valley of Heaven as though it were yesterday, still the difficulties that befell us there made me at that time regard it as the "Valley of h.e.l.l." We had come down about two thousand feet and the climate was hot, moist, and uncomfortable.

Our energy was sapped, the donkeys were worn out, and our kaffir boys were lazy beyond all use.

The trail ahead consisted of a succession of low hills cut by little streams. Many of the inclines were steep, and I estimated that we would be lucky if we made five or six miles a day. It was practically impossible to judge distance, and this led me into error. I had picked out a camping spot seemingly about six miles away, and Sugden and I started to walk to it. The gra.s.s was six feet high in most places and full of deadly snakes. Few of the little streams were fit to drink, and the farther we walked the farther the chosen spot seemed to recede. Finally we saw a fair-sized stream which we thought was two miles away, but which turned out to be nearer four. When we reached it we drank, after straining the water through our handkerchiefs. We were very hot and uncomfortable, and were made supremely unhappy by the realization that the wagon could not reach us for at least two days.

There was nothing to do but go back, and we finally reached the outfit at sunset. The donkeys were completely exhausted, so we camped right there. I realized that for the last thirty miles before reaching the royal kraal at Zombode we would be lucky if we made three or four miles a day.

Because of this experience I changed our trek time. Instead of trying to make it in daylight, we did most of our traveling by dark. This helped a little, but we failed to make more than a mile every two hours, even when the going was good. To add to the misery of the trek, the mosquitoes tormented us continually. However, these pests introduced a little comedy into our suffering, for my companions would recall the mosquitoes of New Jersey, U. S. A. and compare them with those of South Africa.

Crespinell summed up the comparison when he said:

"For brutality and ruthlessness these 'skeeters take the biscuit, but the New Jersey breed have got 'em skinned a mile when it comes to technique!"

At the end of five days of untold hards.h.i.+ps we climbed out of the Valley of Heaven and reached the stream that divides the royal from the common ground at Zombode. We arrived there at about nine o'clock at night.

Fires were burning in front of many of the huts and there was a hum of life in the air. The sounds were all the more noticeable because no one appeared to have any intention of meeting us or giving us a welcome. We pitched camp and Din prepared the evening meal. By this time we had a score of little visitors, all Swazi children of about ten or twelve years of age. Usually these little beggars are in bed at this time of night, but the noise of our wagons had aroused them and they had sneaked out of the huts to investigate.