Adventures in Swaziland Part 8

A few moments later I had my chance. My Mauser rested across my saddle when the antelope jumped, and a second later I blazed away. I made three perfectly clean misses. Looking back, I realize that the heavy military rifle was too much for me--it was too weighty.

Tuys said: "Poor Mzaan Bakoor, you will die hungry. Now watch me get the next!"

And he did. His rifle was in its sheath, barrel under his leg and stock alongside the pommel of the saddle. I never saw quicker action.

The unlucky springbok seemed to rise with the motion of Tuys's arm as he snapped his Mauser out of its case to his shoulder, all in one motion. On its fourth or fifth jump the antelope met the dum-dum bullet and dropped. Its back was broken and the knife did the rest.

"That is the way a Boer shoots!" Tuys boasted. "If you miss your meat, you go hungry. Your rifle must follow the springbok when he jumps, and you get him at the top of his leap. He cannot change direction in the air and you pull your trigger softly so that your aim is not broken.

If you jerk, as you did a minute ago, you miss. Remember that, lad!"

As we rode into Rietvlei on the last day Tuys gave me a serious talking to. He was worried over what I had seen at Lebombo.

"You know that we have seen some things at Buno's kraal that must not be told," he cautioned me. "The British, and even our own people, would be much excited if they heard that you had given a rifle to Buno. They would hold you and me accountable for the men he killed in the shooting match. Also, they would ask many questions about the women who were killed that night I made you stay in camp. They would think that the gin we gave Buno made him do these things, and we would have much trouble.

"You must not know anything about these things. When you tell about your trip, you must only tell things that will not make trouble. If you don't, I will never take you with me again. What's more, I'll tell Buno, and he will kill you if you ever go to Swaziland again!

"Slim Gert will ask you questions, and your mother, too. If any of your brothers are at home, they will want to know about your trip. Now remember, you must only tell the things that are safe to tell."

He also advised me to threaten Sibijaan with everything under the sun if he talked too much. His own servants he was not afraid of--they had been with him before and knew what would happen to them if they talked. I told Sibijaan what to expect if he talked, and he promised to tell nothing. He kept his promise about as well as might have been expected of a kaffir.

Mother and father were at home when we reached Rietvlei, and were very glad to see me back. I was glad to again look out on the peaceful green fields of our wonderful farm, but keenly disappointed that I dared not give a true account of our adventures. It was some story for a small boy to have to bottle up!

After supper my father sent for me, and I went to his office in the wing of the house which he used for administrative work. I had my doubts about the interview that I knew was about to take place, because my father has a way of getting the truth when he wants it. He is not known as "Slim Gert" for nothing.

On the top of his desk lay a sjambok, or rawhide whip. It caught my eye and he saw me look at it.

"Now, son, tell me about your trip," he said. "What did you see? What happened? Yesterday a Swazi came here and said that Buno had made a celebration for Tuys and you." As he asked the question his keen eyes searched my soul.

I was in an awful pickle. If I told the truth, Tuys would be my enemy for life. If I lied to my father, he would never forgive me and I'd hate myself forever! The cruel whip did not enter into my calculations, because my father never struck us. It could not concern me.

I hesitated for a moment only and then sacrificed my further chances of going with Oom Tuys to Swaziland. I told the truth. Father listened and seemed to be checking up what I said. He asked one or two questions which refreshed my memory, and I told him everything.

"Thank you for so accurate an account, son," he said, when I had finished. "I wanted to be sure that what I had heard was so. Sibijaan was here a little while ago and--" He picked up the whip and tossed it into a drawer.

Next day I saw Sibijaan. I asked him why he had told father about the killings at Lebombo.

"Ou Baas holds the sjambok in his hand when he talks to me," he said quite simply. "He knew lots about Lebombo already. I'd sooner be killed by Oom Tuys some day than by your father now. I could not lie to Ou Baas."

Neither could I, but nevertheless I upbraided Sibijaan for breaking the promise he had made to me that he would not tell about our trip.

In fact, I consoled myself for losing my further chances of visiting Swaziland with Oom Tuys by giving Sibijaan a good beating.

He could fight, but was not as strong as I, and the thras.h.i.+ng made no difference in our friends.h.i.+p. Of course the fight took place in private; it would never have done to let our impi know that we had fallen out for even a moment.

Later I found out that father had received some pointed enquiries from the government in regard to Oom Tuys's activities in Swaziland. He wanted to know first hand, if possible, what the "White King of Swaziland" really did when he made his periodical trips to Buno's kraal. The information, however, was only for his own benefit, since he would not betray one of our people.

A month later Oom Tuys stopped at Rietvlei as usual before making his regular trip to Lebombo. That night I was with father when he sat talking with him. I feared that father would ask questions about our trip, but he approached the subject in quite another way.

"I have heard from various kaffirs that your last trip to Swaziland was a bad business," he said to Tuys. "The government also has asked me about it. Of course I know nothing, since you have told me nothing," and he eyed Tuys keenly.

"They say it was a bad business?" Tuys remarked in a bl.u.s.tering way.

"Well, they don't know what they're talking about! Buno was only happy to receive the tribute and he may have taken a little too much gin.

That's about all there was to it. Who the devil are those busybodies who don't mind their own business?"

Then he looked at me, but I met him eye to eye. I had expected the encounter and was ready for him. Father, however, realizing the situation, began talking again.

"Kaffirs will lie," he said, "and there have been a number of Swazis here during the last month. Of course I don't believe them, but some of the officials who have to create work to hold their jobs have been asking questions."

"Tell them to go to Swaziland and find out," said Tuys, laughing heartily. "They daren't go. If they did, they'd never come back. Buno would answer them, and they wouldn't worry about making any long-winded reports when he had done with them!"

Tuys knew that he was the only white man who dared enter Swaziland then. He also knew that the stories told by kaffirs did not carry much weight and would never be accepted for action by the government.

"It would be well, Tuys," father said at the end of the talk, "if you would induce Buno not to make so much noise when he gives his next party in your honor. His hospitality is too b.l.o.o.d.y to be healthy for either you or him."

Tuys did not question me about the matter when he saw me alone next morning. He evidently refused to entertain the thought that I might have betrayed him. If I had not met his eye the night before, however, he would have been sure I was guilty. He did not comment on the matter, and I know now that, in his daredevil way, he did not lose any sleep over it. In those days, too, it must be remembered that it did not cause much stir when a native chief killed a few of his followers.

It was much more serious if he killed the men of another chief, since this might mean war and wars were always disturbing.

Tuys had nothing to say on his return from Swaziland, but it must have been a successful trip for I saw him hand my father a heavy canvas sack to put in his safe until morning. He must have done well in the royal wrestling match.

CHAPTER VII

I visit Swaziland again--Buno's illness--An appeal from the king--The race against death--Umzulek meets us--The dying king--Buno makes Tuys guardian of his people--The last royal salute of the impis--The death-dealing puff-adder--Buno dies like a true savage king--Tzaneen, the royal widow, suspects murder--The queens meet--Tuys escapes the funeral sacrifice.

It was about a year later that I made my second trip into Swaziland.

Father was away in Pretoria on business when Tuys arrived at Rietvlei.

Very recently we had heard a rumor that Buno was ill, and I was very keen to go with Tuys on this trip. I felt sure that my father would not allow me to, but I knew that my mother could be persuaded to let me go. I therefore asked Tuys to take me.

"I am almost a man now, Oom Tuys," I said, standing as erect as I could, "and I want to go with you on your visit to Lebombo. They say that Buno is sick, but that ought not to make any difference, ought it?"

"Yes, Owen, it makes all the difference in the world," he answered.

"You know what the custom is; if Buno dies, his ten nearest friends will be sacrificed. I am regarded as his friend and they will want me to die. Much as I would appreciate the honor, I don't want to die just yet. If they killed me, they would kill you, too. Do you want to die?"

I frankly confessed that I did not. This explanation of the situation placed a very different light on it and I was curious to know what Tuys intended to do. He told me he would wait a day or two before making up his mind, and I had hopes that some way would be found out of the difficulty.

Now Buno knew that Oom Tuys would be at Rietvlei about this time. He nearly always was, as he seldom started his trip from any other place.

Just at sunset, two days later, one of our Mapors ran in and reported that a small impi of Swazis was coming down the valley.

"I'll wager that is a message from Buno," Tuys said, and we went indoors to await their arrival. It would not have done for us to be caught waiting for them. In a little while, when dusk was falling over the valley, we heard many feet come to a stop on the smooth roadway.

Sibijaan ran in to say that the impi had arrived, and while he spoke we heard the cries and the thud of feet that marked the royal salute.

Tuys sent one of his bodyguard out to see what was wanted.

"It is a great induna from King Buno," the man reported a moment later. "He says he comes bearing a royal message to his white brother."

"Tell him that 'The White King' of his country will see him in a little while," Tuys ordered.