In June, 1874, I joined an expedition to Delagoa Bay, which was

organized by President Burgers for the purpose of convoying ammunition

and other war materials to Pretoria. An attack upon Sekukuni, the

Baphedi chief, had been decided on. This, however, was not attempted

until nearly two years had elapsed. The undertaking was a difficult

one, and involved some interesting experiences, but as I have already

published an account of it under the title of "A Forgotten Expedition,"

[In "By Veld and Kopje."] I cannot deal with the episode here, in

detail.

Quite recently I came across a reminiscence of this trip in an

unexpected quarter. In his "Recollections" Mr. David Christie Murray

relates how, when dining at the Hotel Misseri, in Constantinople, at

the time of the Russo Turkish War, he witnessed a meeting between a

French officer, Captain Tiburce Morisot, and Archibald Campbell

afterwards known as "Schipka" Campbell. These men recognized each other

as having met in South Africa, the occasion being a visit of Campbell

to Morisot's camp, and the roasting of a giraffe's heart at the

camp-fire.

I happened to be present at the occurrence evidently referred to; the

episode took place on the very expedition which I mentioned above. But

the detail as given to Mr. Murray is quite wrong. The party was not

composed of "Frenchmen cutting a military road," nor was Morisot in

charge of it. He was, as a matter of fact, merely one of the gang, the

same as I was. We were on convoy duty near the Komati River. It was a

marrow-bone and not the heart that was roasted. I have a very clear

recollection of the incident. The skin of the giraffe was the largest I

have ever seen; it had been found necessary to cut it in two before it

could be removed.

Morisot, by the way, had a startling adventure with a lion. We were

camped at the Crocodile River Drift; lions were more plentiful in the

neighborhood than I have ever known them elsewhere; all night long they

growled or gruntled around our encampment. The river bank, close to the

water, was very sandy, and the spoor on the sand strip, which lay about

two hundred yards from the wagons, showed that many lions used to pass

to and fro over it every night. It was our habit to light six large

fires as soon as the sun went down.

Morisot said he wanted to shoot a lion, so one day he dug a shallow pit

in the sand, within about twenty yards of the water. Just before

nightfall he took his rifle and went away in the direction of the

drift. Nothing happened for a couple of hours; then we heard the sound

of approaching footsteps evidently of some one running and husky gasps.

Shortly afterwards Morisot, minus his rifle and hat, rushed into camp.

He was in a condition of ghastly terror; his jaw had dropped, his face

was ashen, his eyes were glazed. He tottered to his sleeping place and

crept under the blankets.

Morisot could never be induced to tell us what had happened to him.

Next morning, however, we found the spoor of a very large lion at the

edge of the pit. My own idea is that Morisot went to sleep and was

awakened by the lion growling within a few inches of his face. One

could hardly blame him for being demoralized under such circumstances.

Those who nowadays travel by rail through the denuded tract between

Delagoa Bay and the Drakensberg can form no idea as to the marvelous

richness of animal life on those plains in the early seventies. More

especially was this the case in the level wooded area extending from

the inland slope of the Lebomba Range to Ship Mountain. Blue

wildebeeste and quagga were so plentiful that we seldom wasted

ammunition on them. Buffalo abounded, sometimes in very large herds.

Waterbuck were always to be found near the rivers. Elephants existed,

but were very wild and usually were scarce. Giraffe were numerous, but

difficult to approach on foot.

The Komati and the Crocodile were then wide, swiftly flowing streams;

in winter their water was crystal clear. Along their banks the dense,

evergreen boskage lay soft and rich as velvet. In these enchanted

thickets koodoo, sable, and other beautiful antelopes of the rarer

varieties were always to be found. Impala were as numerous in the areas

lying along the river courses as were springbucks on the upland

southern plains.

Shooting stories are proverbially as unreliable as fishing ones. I have

hitherto avoided relating my own slaying experiences. They do not, I

suppose, differ from those of other men who followed big game in the

days when rifles had not reached anything like their present pitch of

deadly perfection. I think, however, that every old hunter might tell

of things he has seen which would be interesting enough if he only

could get people to believe them. Personally I could relate some which,

although literally true, are so grossly improbable that I candidly

confess I would not believe them myself had I not seen them happen.

I will give a specimen of these Munchausen-like anecdotes, just to show

the reader how well-advised I have been in suppressing the series. On

one occasion, when camped about ten miles from Ship Mountain, one of my

friends among the Balala [Landless and weaponless waifs who wander over

uninhabited tracts. Lit., "people who are dead."] came in to report

that a very fine tsessaby bull was to be found in a kloof some four

miles away. The meat of the tsessaby is more delicious than that of any

other game, so I went forth without delay. My gun was a double-barreled

one, the left barrel taking a Snider cartridge and the right a

cartridge with a round bullet, only to be used at close quarters.

Before I had gone five hundred yards from the camp I noticed two very

large blue wildebeest bulls on my left. They were not more than two

hundred and fifty yards away. According to all precedent they should

have decamped at once. Instead of doing this, however, they kept a

course more or less parallel to mine. Suddenly, however, they turned

and came towards me in a most threatening manner, so much so that my

Balala companion climbed into a tree and I laid myself prone behind an

ant-hill, covering the leading animal with my rifle. They, stood at a

distance of about eighty yards. I fired, hitting the leader just where

the neck sank into the chest; he fell dead.

The other wildebeest ran away for about fifty yards; then he wheeled

round and stood facing me. Just as I was about to fire he turned and

stood broadside on, gazing at the carcass of his mate. I fired, aiming

just behind the shoulder. The bullet "klopped" hard. The animal reeled,

ran about fifty yards to my right, and once more stood, again broadside

on. Again I fired, and once more the bullet "klopped." Then the

wildebeest made a swift rush for about sixty yards and collapsed. After

falling it lay perfectly still.

I found that my bullets had struck within two inches of each other. I

cut the carcass open and found that both bullets had pierced the heart,

not alone pierced it, but torn it to literal ribbons of flesh.

The critical reader, especially if he has ever hunted big game, will

find that the foregoing tale contains three improbabilities and a

manifest impossibility. Although the circumstances happened exactly as

related, I do not expect to be believed.

About four miles to the north of our camp, near Ship Mountain, was a

leegte several miles long and of varying breadth. It was more or less

full of reeds; it also contained several extensive patches of low,

dense jungle. This leegte was the main refuge for lions which ranged

over a large extent of surrounding country; every morning their fresh

spoors could be traced to it. But owing to the density of the cover

they were seldom seen. On one occasion a hunt was organized by our

people acting in conjunction with a party of hunters who were camped

about fifteen miles away, and who had lost some oxen through lions,

whose spoor had been followed to one of the jungle-patches.

The marauders had been traced to one end of the cover, so we put in

some beaters between where we supposed them to be and the rest of the

reed-jungle area. The beaters lit a row of small fires along the line

they occupied. Eventually a lion broke to the open, like a driven buck,

close to where one of the hunters was standing. The latter fired, and

hit the lion in the tail.

The effect of the wound was very startling. No longer was the lion a

shrinking fugitive, disgusted at having been disturbed before his meal

of the previous night had been digested, and only anxious to get to

some other hiding place. Now he was a tornado of fury with flaming

eyes, gleaming teeth, and erect mane. Emitting short, coughing

thunder-growls of wrath, he charged straight for the one who had fired

the shot.

The man dropped down his rifle and sprang into the branches of a tree.

The latter was too small to afford complete safety. The lion began

springing at the demoralized hunter, trying to claw him from his

insecure refuge. However, a skilful shot from another member of the

party brought the furious brute to the dust. A surprising sequel to the

incident was this: the man who had fled up the tree claimed the lion's

skin, on the score that he had drawn first blood.

About fifteen miles away from one of our camps was that of the Barbers

and Cummings, old Kaffrarian friends of mine. I once walked over to see

them. A sort of kraal-fence of horns around their encampment was

evidence of the splendid sport they had enjoyed. Mr. Hilton Barber had

had a narrow escape a few days previously. When on horseback he had

been charged by a wounded buffalo. Mr. Barber was flung off. His horse

was killed, but the buffalo fell to a well-directed bullet fired from

the fallen rider while the poor horse was still impaled on the cruel

horns.

The Barber party had encountered few, if any, lions up to the time of

my visit. A few days afterwards, however, a remarkable thing occurred.

The encampment being outside the tsetse fly area, the party had brought

both cattle and horses with them. One day all the hunters were away on

horseback. The oxen, in charge of a native herd, were grazing hi the

immediate vicinity of the wagons. In the middle of the forenoon a troop

of lions came up openly and deliberately, and attacked the cattle,

killing several. One or two were pulled down on the very edge of the

camp. This was an almost unprecedented occurrence.

One very important incident of my visit was the gift to me of a pair of

boots by Mr. Hilton Barber. I had, for weeks previously, been using

sandals of buffalo hide, and my feet used to get terribly scarred by

thorns. I shall never forget the comfort of that pair of boots.

Our camp, some ten miles to the westward of Ship Mountain, was almost

on the edge of a donga, with sheer sides about ten feet deep. At the

bottom was a water-hole the only one within a radius of many miles. On

pitch-dark nights the lions would often come up this donga to drink. It

was eerie, indeed, to lie in the flimsy tent listening to the growls

and gulps of the great brutes within less than ten yards of where we

lay. I often tried to muster up courage to light a flare, creep to the

edge of the donga, and try a shot. By daylight the idea seemed feasible

enough, and not very dangerous. But I never got so far as to translate

this idea into action. There is, I think, nothing so calculated to

imbue one with a sense of personal insignificance as the knowledge, on

a dark night, that lions are in one's immediate vicinity.

Leaving the brazen toned roar, which is but seldom heard, out of the

question, the lion's ordinary voice seems to be emitted by some

being of incalculable immensity. It resembles a series of deep,

half-smothered detonations linked together by querulous gruntle. It is

difficult to realize that the sound originates from anything less huge

than a mammoth.

Three times only have I heard a lion roar wrathfully. The sound is

harsh and shattering, and is pitched in a higher key than that of the

growl. To me the growl was far more awe-inspiring than the roar; it

carried a suggestion of stealth combined with latent ferocity and

unimaginable force in reserve. The adjective "thunderous" does not fit

the roar at all; the latter suggests, more than anything else, the

tones of a mighty, cavernous brass trumpet. Most terrifying, however,

is the suspicion that a lion is silently padding round your camp just

before daybreak, debating with himself as to whether he will or will

not attack.

Yes, it was "when the phantom of false morning died" that I always

dreaded the lion. Indeed, in the early part of the night, when the

awesome voices were audible often in several directions at once, there

was little or no danger. But just before dawn the silence suggested

sinister possibilities. An examination of the ground after day had

broken would occasionally show that a lion had circled round the camp

over and over again, apparently unable to key up his courage to the

attacking pitch. But experience shows that the lion sometimes does

attack, and when this happens it is almost invariably in the dark

interval just before the east begins to pale.

The reason for this is easily discovered if one looks at the thing from

the lion's point of view. I am convinced that leaving out the cases in

which a lion is a confirmed man-eater, is wounded, or is cornered this

animal never attacks man unless (1) when it is too old or stiff to

catch and pull down game, or (2) when game of every description

simultaneously vacates a given area and stampedes to a great distance,

a thing which not infrequently happens.

Here, then, we have a desperately hungry brute; he may, possibly, have

gone several days without food. He winds a camp of human beings,

creatures he knows to be edible but which, I firmly believe, he hates

the idea of eating as much as the ordinary man would hate the idea of

eating a monkey. But the lion has been prowling all night, has perhaps

prowled for a succession of hungry nights, and he knows that day is at

hand. Moreover, he knows that at dawn the last chance of his having a

meal will have gone.

Accordingly a conflict is set up in his mind. His dislike of human

flesh plus that dread of the human species which he shares with the

whole brute creation is on the one side, his ravening hunger on the

other. Increase the hunger-pressure to a certain pitch, and the lion

will attack. I have not forgotten that "The Man-Eaters of Tsavo" used

to take their human toll early in the evening, but not alone had they

deliberately adopted man-eating, so to say, as a profession, but long

impunity had made them careless.

I knew a man who once lay sleeping in a patrol tent near Pretorius Kop

on the Delagoa road. The night was chill, so he folded a gunny bag over

his feet to keep them warm. In the morning, at the critical time,

something seized him by the foot and pulled him out of the tent. He

knew at once what had happened, a lion had caught hold of him. Close to

where he lay stood a billy half full of cold tea. He grasped this in

passing, and, as soon as he was clear of the tent, belabored the lion

over the face with it. The brute dropped him and made off. The man's

ankle was slightly bruised, but the skin was not broken. This proved

clearly that the lion was an old one with teeth worn down to mere

stumps.

The first time I heard a lion roar was when two of them had pulled down

a sick ox about a hundred yards from my tent. Another lion approached,

and the two in possession roared apparently to warn off the intruder.

It was from the spoors, which I examined after day had broken, that I

inferred the details. To judge by the tracks the last-comer was a very

old animal.

The next occasion was when a donkey, which was tied to a tree within

four paces of where I was sitting over a very small fire, was carried

off. Two lions sprang on the poor animal simultaneously; they made no

sound until they had dragged their prey into the bush, a distance of

about twenty yards. Then they roared together, their raucous voices

mingling in a most peculiar and awe-inspiring duet. Very soon they

dragged the carcass to a spot about forty yards farther on, where they

ate it. They roared at intervals during the repast probably as a

warning to me not to interfere with them. The third instance happened

when a lioness was shot through the spine and thus disabled. Her voice

was the most terrible of all.

There are many instances recorded among the natives of lions becoming

habitual man-eaters. I have heard of whole communities being broken up

by the brutes. It was useless for the unfortunate people to move from

one spot to another, as the man-eaters invariably followed them. The

Amangwane horde wandered for eight years mostly over the plains of the

Orange Free State after having been driven out by Tshaka. It was

related to me by some of the few survivors of that awful pilgrimage

with whom I have foregathered, that for years man-eating lions followed

them, taking toll of the unhappy stragglers. After a time this was

taken quite as a matter of course.

I have often seen it stated that lions will not eat carrion. This is

quite erroneous; I am inclined to think that they occasionally prefer

meat that is tainted. I have known them gorge at the carcass of an ox

which had died of tsetse bite, and which had lain putrefying for

several days, when there were sick oxen in the immediate vicinity to be

had for the mere trouble of killing.

I was one of those who, in 1874, rescued the fever stricken Alexandre

party from their ghastly camp on the seaward slope of the Lebomba. Of

the original eight members, three were dead, and the survivors were so

weak and spent that they were unable to do more in the matter of

interment than scoop shallow trenches within a few yards of the

shelter, lay the bodies of their dead companions therein, and cover

them up with sand. Yet these were unearthed several times by lions,

which grew so fearless that the firing of a shot would not always scare

them away. Once the lions came up and regarded the unfortunate beings

in broad daylight, and then, as though they had deliberately made a

choice, proceeded to unearth a corpse.

Most of this took place during the absence of the one member of the

party who was still able to move about, but as he had to fetch water

every day in a demijohn from a spot eight miles distant, he was usually

away. However, the account of their experiences given by the sick men

was amply corroborated by awful but quite indescribable evidence.

The rencontre of Morisot and Campbell at Constantinople reminds me of a

somewhat similar experience. When I was camped near Ship Mountain, a

messenger arrived one night from the camp of the hunters recently

alluded to, asking whether we had, by any chance, a man among us

possessing any surgical knowledge. One of the party, a man named Tyrer,

had been gored by a buffalo and badly hurt. Unfortunately we could give

no assistance such as was needed.

The accident had been a peculiar one; not alone was the nature of the

injury unusual, but so were the circumstances under which it had been

inflicted. Tyrer, on his way to the camp late in the afternoon, had

wounded a very large buffalo. On the following morning he went to the

locality where the animal had disappeared, with the intention of taking

up the spoor. Here the jungle was very dense. Suddenly he came face to

face with the creature he was seeking. It charged, and was upon him

before he had time even to lift his rifle. Tyrer dropped the latter,

and, with the strength of desperation, grasped the horns of the monster

close to their tips.

Then began a terrible wrestling match. The buffalo was exceptionally

large, probably it was old and correspondingly stiff, for on no other

grounds can one account for Tyrer having been able to save his life.

Gross and unwieldy as it looks, the buffalo in its prime is as active

as a cat. But Tyrer's antagonist was apparently unable to bend its

neck, and get its head beneath its chest, so Tyrer was for a time able

to hold on. His native bearer had dropped the spare gun and climbed

into a tree.

At length Tyrer was shaken off and flung in a heap on the ground. In an

instant the buffalo picked him up on one of its horns, flung him into

the air and rushed away. The result to poor Tyrer was a terrible injury

one which I do not care to describe. Some weeks later the injured man

was carried past our camp on a litter. He was afterwards conveyed to

Natal, and thence to Europe, where a skilful operation set him right.

In 1889 I went to Johannesburg. While there I met an old friend,

Charles Currey, then head of the Department of Lands and Mines, in the

Cape Civil Service. We arranged to take a trip together to a place

called Struben's Mill, which lay behind some hills on the right-hand

side of the Main Reef to westward of the Golden City. Currey was bent

on sketching; I on collecting ferns. The afternoon grew hot, and we

longed for a cup of tea. Seeing a house high up on the hillside, with

smoke issuing from its chimney, we decided to call there and try our

luck.

We were hospitably received by the man in charge; he at once provided

the desired refreshment. He and I found that we knew a great deal of

the same country, so we began exchanging reminiscences. I told the

story about Tyrer, and added that I had often wondered as to what had

become of him. Our host, who had listened to my long relation with an

impassive face, then remarked

"Yes; you have got the yarn pretty right. My name is Tyrer."

I shall never forget Currey's look of astonishment.

Veld fires were occasionally things to be reckoned with in the Low

Country. Looking from the cliff-crest of the mountain range over the

immense plains, one was apt to think that these were covered with

dense, continuous forest. But a closer acquaintance corrected this

impression. There was little jungle, but there were many large trees

and these usually stood somewhat far apart. When among them it was, as

a rule, possible to get a clear view over a radius of about two hundred

yards. Now and then one reached an area in which the trees were very

high indeed, with clean boles running to a height of thirty to forty

feet. But the ground was covered with long, coarse grass, which was

tinted a soft green in summer, but in winter was yellow and dry. At all

seasons the haulms were so hard that the toes of one's boots wore out

with distressing quickness. It was in winter that the grass fire became

a real danger.

Great tracts perhaps hundreds of square miles in extent might be swept

by a conflagration. If, during the course of one of these, the wind

happened to be blowing towards you from the direction of the fire, the

danger was apt to become real and imminent. There was only one

alternative; you had either at once to find some spot comparatively

clear of grass and there wait until the flame-storm had swept past, or

else to set the grass alight where you were and then take refuge on the

burnt area.

Occasionally the trees caught alight and afforded striking spectacles

at night. I think that when this happened the tree was very old, and a

considerable portion of the trunk, from the ground upwards, was

decayed. I remember once noticing an extremely large tree which had

caught alight from a grass fire that had swept past. I returned along

the same track more than six weeks afterwards. The grass was springing

up luxuriantly, it had reached a height of several inches. But the tree

was still burning. I camped near it; the tall, massive trunk, glowing

on the windward side like a column of ignited charcoal and sending out

a great tress of flame to leeward, was a sight never to be forgotten.

The unfortunate balala "the people who are dead" those miserable

fugitives from savage justice, or, more often, remnants of clans

scattered in war, often perished in veld conflagrations. They wandered,

naked and weaponless, in the neutral areas lying between the

territories of the different tribes, preferring the mercy of the lion

and the hyena to that of man. The appliances of these people for

kindling a fire, and thus sending the conflagration on for the purpose

of creating a zone of safety, were often quite inadequate for dealing

with a sudden emergency.

I only know of one instance of a white man falling a victim to a veld

fire. I forget this individual's name, although I knew him well. He,

seeing the flames approaching, reached what he thought was a place of

safety, for the grass was very sparse, and he reckoned on being able to

beat out the fire as it approached him. But he had not taken into

account the contingency of the wind freshening and flinging forward

sheets of flame from the places where the grass was longer. This

actually happened. He got badly, but not fatally, scorched. A

search-party found him and he was assisted back to camp. Next day he

was placed in a rough litter and carried by four natives in the rear

of the little caravan. The day was sultry, and he suffered great pain,

so he persuaded the natives to set down the litter in a shady place,

meaning to get them to carry him on when the afternoon cooled.

The rest of the party proceeded on its course, unaware that the injured

man had been left behind. A grass fire was seen to sweep over the

country just crossed, but no particular notice was taken of it. In this

fire the unhappy loiterer had been burnt to death. His bearers, when

they saw the flames approaching, lost their heads, and, instead of

burning a patch to be used as a refuge, fled. There are, surely, few

cases on record of such bad luck as this.

The most enchanting scenery in the Low Country was to be found in the

vicinity of the rivers. These, considering that they are African, do

not lie very far apart. Yet sometimes there were long stretches of

waterless country to be traversed, and severe suffering from thirst was

a possibility occasionally realized. Besides, as we were practically

explorers in a country without human inhabitants or recognizable

landmarks, we might unwittingly pass the bend of a winding river and

thus recede from badly needed water. The general landscape was, as a

rule, so flat, and the trees were so high, that one could draw no

inference as to the whereabouts of a river from the configuration of

the country.

But what joy it was, after a long, hot, fatiguing tramp, during which

water had to be doled out in sips, to reach a mighty stream, perhaps

several hundred yards wide, where one might drink one's fill, wash the

grime from one's clothes and person, and loll in the shade of lordly

trees.

In writing of those old days I find it hard to realize that the

localities described are still in existence. I suppose the rivers are

yet running in the old channels, but as the rainfall has been steadily

decreasing they are not likely to be today the full, impetuous torrents

of liquid crystal that I remember. Moreover, the game, that rapidly

moving, kaleidoscopic pageant of varied animal life which made their

forested banks a wonder and a joy, has disappeared.

Of all the lovely scenes through which I have wandered, the landscapes

along the Olifant and the Letaba dwell in my memory as the loveliest.

In those one-time almost inviolate retreats were to be found everything

best calculated to delight the heart of the hunter or the lover of

nature. I am, of course, assuming winter as the season, for in summer

the worm "that pierces the liver and blackens the blood" made these

regions almost uninhabitable for Europeans. But from June to October,

inclusive, the country was healthy, the sky rarely held a cloud, the

sun shone mildly, and the night was seldom, if ever, cold.

Although the banks of the Low Country rivers were usually heavily

wooded, one found here and there wide grassy glades opening to the

waterside. The country being flat, the river-courses were usually wide,

with many large rocks standing high out of the water. Between these

the streams eddy and wind. Sometimes one would camp near a rapid, and

below this a deep pool was invariably to be found; in such pools the

sea-cows, snorting and champing, might sometimes be heard throughout

the night.

The process of crossing rivers was believed to be dangerous on account

of crocodiles, which were often to be seen in large numbers. These

reptiles, however, seldom did any damage except in the vicinity of a

native kraal, where they used occasionally to seize women and children

who came down to fill their pots and calabashes with water. I once saw

a dog taken by one; at least, I assumed that such was the case. The dog

was swimming across a deep channel between two shallows when it gave a

yelp and disappeared. There were many crocodiles in the river where

this happened.

The rivers were full of fish, but I never carried any tackle, so could

not catch any. But the natives of the lower reaches of the Olifant, the

Letaba, and the Limpopo often spear them. Snakes I seldom saw in the

Low Country. This may be accounted for by the circumstance that most of

my wanderings there took place in winter. During the course of my

various trips I did not see more than seven or eight snakes altogether.

Curiously enough, I saw three of these within the space of a few

minutes. Near the Lower Letaba I reached a circular depression the end

of a long, winding, dry water-course late one afternoon. The spot was

so beautiful that I decided to camp there, instead of going on several

miles farther, as I had intended. In the depression was a clear pool

surrounded by great rocks and tall trees. The ground in the vicinity

was carpeted with bright green grass.

After selecting a spot for my camp, I sent one of the bearers to

collect fuel, and the other to fetch water for the purpose of making

soup. The pool was less than fifty yards away. I heard the second

bearer give a yell; then he came running back, shouting that he had

seen a big snake. Picking up my rifle, I ran to the spot he indicated,

and saw about six feet of thick python disappearing among the creepers

which lay tangled over the rocks. I fired at the creature but missed

it.

In returning to the camping-place I nearly trod on a large puff-adder;

this I killed with a stone. Almost immediately afterwards the boy who

had been sent for firewood came up with a vicious-looking black and

yellow serpent squirming, broken-backed, on his stick. This was more

than my nerves could stand, so after filling the billy and the canteens

with water, we retired to a spot a few hundred yards away, up the

hillside. Here the vegetation was less rank, so we felt safer.

Next morning, just before daybreak, we heard a lion killing close to

the water. After day had fully broken, I went down and found some

hyenas breakfasting on the remains of a waterbuck.

Sleep's worst enemy in the Low Country was the hyena. The voice of this

beast is horrible; it begins with a guttural growl and ends with a

high-pitched screech. Although cowardly to a degree, hyenas would often

come to within less than a hundred yards of the fire. Occasionally they

might be heard on several sides at once, uttering their unspeakable

yells. We always noticed that the smell of roast meat attracted them;

when meat was boiled, they were not nearly so troublesome. A shot would

always send them scampering to a distance, but cartridges were not

things to be wasted by the traveler in the Low Country.

On arriving at Lourenco Marques in 1874 I met a man named Good, whom I

had known slightly up country. I have been told but I do not guarantee

the statement that he was the original of Rider Haggard's "Allan

Quatermain." From Good I heard sad news; poor Pat Foote, one of my best

friends, had died in the fortress during the previous night. I went up

at once to see his remains; they lay on a wretched truckle-bed in a

dingy cell.

The funeral took place that afternoon. The grave was dug among some

cocoanut palms out beyond the fetid swamp which lay in those days a

crescent of foulness on three sides of the town. A wall separated the

swamp from the houses, and over this wall the sewage used to be cast.

Poles, bearing human heads, stuck out here and there. The swamp was

crossed by a causeway.

The proceedings were marked by a melancholy lack of dignity. Several of

those forming the cortege were drunk. Among them was a Portuguese

officer. The military guard at the causeway gate failed to present

arms, so the officer rushed at the men and belabored them with a stick.

However, poor Foote was too sound asleep to be disturbed by such

trifles. I wonder whether, besides myself, any who took part in those

squalid obsequies are alive. I believe the palms which shaded that

lonely grave have been long since cut down and that the town has

extended over the site.

In the early part of 1875, after I left "The Reef," I worked for a

short time near the head of the creek. One day a friend named McCallum

came and showed me a piece of gold he had picked up on a headland which

jutted over the Blyde River near Peach tree Creek. Next day was Sunday,

so we went together to the spot and took a prospect. The result was

most encouraging; not alone was there a good yield for the amount of

wash we had panned, but the quality of the gold suggested that it

belonged to a genuine lead. Next morning we struck our tents and moved

down to the scene of the discovery. As the area was not far enough from

the nearest proclaimed diggings to entitle us to an extended miner's

right, we just marked out a claim apiece and made no report of the

matter. We pitched our tents in a little grove of peach-trees below the

bluff, close to the river bank.

The thing was a "surface" proposition; that is to say, the wash was

only a few inches deep; it lay on a soft slate bottom. We fixed our

sluice box in a rapid of the river which was some two hundred yards

from the claim, and was reached by a footpath we scarped down the face

of the bluff. We hired a couple of boys to carry down the wash. I did

the pick and shovel work, which included the filling of the gunny-bags.

McCallum washed out each installment as it arrived. This was the

easiest contract I ever took on; it meant about one minute's work

alternating with nearly ten minutes' rest, all day long. The first

couple of days' work gave splendid results; from the gravel cleared off

a space about eight feet square we got, so far as I can remember, about

a pound weight of gold.

Naturally, we considered that at length our fortunes were made. Our

claims measured together forty five thousand square feet, the area we

had cleared was but sixty four. The latter number, when worked into the

former, went nearly seven hundred times. And the surface appeared to be

exactly the same over the whole area.

Assuming that any reliance could be placed on arithmetic, we were

potential capitalists. We began to speculate as to what we would do

with our money. 14,000 apiece was a large sum. I think McCallum decided

to go to Scotland, there to recommence some lawsuit he had been obliged

to drop for want of funds. My own firm intention was to organize an

expedition to the Zambezi not to go "foot-slogging," as I had been

doing in the Low Country, but with properly equipped wagons, the most

modern armament, salted horses and all the rest of it. Well, for one

night, at all events, we enjoyed ourselves. I do not think we slept at

all.

But we never found so much as another half-ounce of gold in those

claims; we had struck the one little "patch" they contained. We hired

more boys, we ran prospecting trenches in every direction, we worked

late and early often carrying the bags of wash down the scarped

footpath ourselves, long after the boys had knocked off. But all was in

vain. Our pound of gold melted like an icicle in the sun. We were, in

local parlance, "bust."

CHAPTER X

Prospectors start for Swaziland--Rumors as to their fate--MacLean and I

decide to follow them--Precautions against lions--The Crocodile River--The

Boer and the pessimist--Game and honey--Crocodiles--Difficulties in

crossing the river--MacLean nearly drowned in the rapids--I go on alone

First sight of De Kaap--A labyrinth of dongas--I reach Swaziland--Baboons

On the trail of the prospectors--The mystery solved--'Ntshindeen's Kraal

Swazi hospitality--How I became celebrated--A popular show--Repairing guns

Character of the Swazis--Contempt for money and love of salt--Prospecting

My welcome outstayed--A dangerous crisis--Return to the Crocodile River

The rhinoceros--Our bearers decamp--We abandon our goods--Attacked by

fever--Terror of partridges--Arrival at Mac Mac.

In the early part of 1875 a large party of Australian prospectors

started from Pilgrim's Rest to seek for gold on the north-eastern

borders of Swaziland. They took with them a light wagon which could

easily be taken to pieces and a span of oxen. They were accompanied by

guides. At that time little was known of the country beyond the

boundaries of the Transvaal on its eastern side. Swaziland was, in

fact, an unknown region. But rumor was rife as to fabulously rich

deposits of gold in the tracts lying to the east and south-east of

Lydenburg. There were, needless to say, no maps of the country in

question. But under such circumstances the less known of any given

region, the greater its fascination.

Some six weeks having passed without news of the party, the camp

seethed with wild report as to its fortune. Some maintained that the

Swazis, who were believed to be averse to the opening up of their

country, had wiped out the intruders. More or less circumstantial

details of the supposed massacre were current, but critical examination

proved such to be quite without foundation. Then came wafts of rumor to

the effect that the prospectors had "struck it rich," but were

determined to keep the strike to themselves. My youthful imagination

inclined to the latter view. I had a friend who knew the Swazis well,

and he held it to be unlikely in the last degree that a party of

peaceful prospectors would be molested. Accordingly, I made up my mind

to get on the trail of the adventurers and stick to it until I found

them.

My "mate" at the time was a man whom I will call MacLean. That was not

his name, but it will do as well as if it were. MacLean belonged to an

old Scottish family, and had brought a suit before the House of Lords

in which he claimed a certain peerage to which great estates and many

titles were attached. He failed through being unable to prove the

marriage of one of his ancestors. We had made a small strike of gold on

one of the terraces of the Blyde River, but this was soon worked out,

and we spent most of our gains in pursuing a vanished "lead." After

some hesitation MacLean agreed to accompany me.

Our united means amounted to less than five pounds sterling. This we

invested in flour, tea, strong boots, and other indispensables. We

possessed an old gun a double-barreled fowling-piece that had once been

a flint-lock. The spring driving one hammer was too weak to discharge a

percussion cap, that of the other was just strong enough to cause

detonation on an average twice out of three attempts. We could get no

bullet mould the gun being of an unusual caliber so we used to chop off

chunks of lead and roll them between flat stones until the requisite

degrees of size and rotundity had been attained. By using stones with

the surface slightly roughened we could always reduce the size of the

bullet, but the work of doing so was laborious in the extreme.

We hired two Bapedi boys to carry some of our goods. One was named

Indogozan; I forget the name of the other. They turned out to be lazy

scoundrels, and gave endless trouble by loitering. On weighing our

"swags" at Mac Mac the day we started, Maclean's and mine tipped the

scale at fifty-six pounds each. Those of the boys weighed,

respectively, about fifteen pounds less.

We descended the mountain range at Spitzkop. The trail was easily

found. After entering the Low Country we halted each night at a camping

place of the party we were pursuing, and built our fire on the cold

ashes of their one-time hearth. Occasionally we reached some obstacle

over which no wagon could possibly have been drawn, and where there

were evidences that these practical explorers had taken the vehicle to

pieces and carried it over. Game was not very plentiful; even had it

been so our gun was not of the kind to do much execution. As we

approached the Crocodile River Valley lions began to make themselves

heard at night. MacLean was nervous; I fear it was my habit to trade on

this. It was he who used to collect an immense pile of fuel every

night, and I felt I could turn in and sleep soundly fortified with the

knowledge that the watch-fire would not be left untended.

At the Crocodile River we met with a serious check. There was no drift,

and the stream was still swollen from the summer rains. Drawn up on the

opposite bank was a raft, by means of this the prospectors had crossed.

We camped and considered the situation.

We found two men with a wagon at the river. The owner of the wagon was

an old Boer named Niekerk; he owned a farm in the Lydenburg District,

but spent most of his life wandering about in search of game. Niekerk's

companion was an ex-man-of-war's man named Rawlings, one of the most

ill-tempered and pessimistic beings I have ever met. He was small,

hatchet faced, and foxy in appearance. His face was much disfigured by

a bullet-wound through both jaws received, so he said, in a skirmish

with slavers near Zanzibar. Rawlings's disposition suggested a possible

descent from Mr. Squeers and Mrs. Gummidge.

Niekerk and Rawlings were a strangely assorted couple. They could not

quarrel, for the reason that Niekerk had no English and Rawlings no

Dutch. Niekerk held stoutly to the theory that all Englishmen were mad,

more or less, and excused his companion's peculiarities accordingly. He

had met Rawlings tramping in the Transvaal and given him a lift.

Rawlings was not particular as to locality, having inverted the theory

of Dr. Pangloss, and settled to his own satisfaction that this was the

worst of all possible worlds, he held all places to be more or less

equally vile. So he had followed Niekerk grumblingly down the mountain

pass leading to the Low Country, and had been wasting his pessimism on

the desert air of the Crocodile River Valley for several weeks before

our arrival.

Game was here more plentiful. I borrowed Niekerk's rifle and shot a

waterbuck and several klipspringers. Our camp was surrounded by immense

domes of granite, and each morning the summit of almost every dome was

occupied by several klipspringers. The bearers were much delighted,

they had hated our diet of unvarying askoek. We also found quantities

of honey. Honey-birds were numerous, and ever ready to oblige by

pointing out a bees' nest. The scenery, was very beautiful. To the

north-west towered some of the loftiest peaks of the Drakensberg. The

bare, granite domes around us were almost hemispherical in shape. They

arose out of swamp rooted forest. The vegetation was very rich.

The problem as to how we were to cross the river now became very

pressing indeed. We could not afford to waste any time, as our food

supply was extremely limited. The weather was hot and moist, so we

could not manage to dry any meat; the flies got at it at once. One of

two things had to be done: we had to cross the river within a very few

days or else turn back. And turning back was a thing I had always hated

doing.

The river was indeed a formidable obstacle. It showed no signs of

subsiding, for thunderstorms still broke on and behind the mountain

range. In the vicinity where the raft lay the channel was about a

hundred yards wide and was very deep. The current here was sluggish,

but just above was a long and dangerous rapid with many rocks

projecting from the water. On these rocks crocodiles of various sizes

used to bask with half opened jaws. Around the head of each saurian

several little birds would flutter and hop, occasionally entering the

toothed death-trap without the least apparent fear. These birds were

useful in picking parasites from between the monsters' teeth.

One day in exploring the river bank above the rapids in search of a

drift, I walked along the edge of the water immediately at the foot of

a steep sand-dune about fifteen feet in height. The top of this, but I

was unaware of the fact, was occupied by a large number of crocodiles

of all sizes, they ranged from one to about fifteen feet in length.

These took alarm and flung themselves into the water, both in front and

behind me. One cut me across the shin with its tail in passing. I carry

the mark of the cut to this day.

To return to the problem of crossing the river. We had brought with us

some strong, light, hempen rope for the purpose of lowering our swags

down steep and difficult places. This, with infinite labor we unwound,

separating the strands and joining them again lengthwise. The result

was still too short for our purpose, so we sought in the forest for

monkey-ropes. These we crushed, and, after separating and partly drying

the fibers, we twisted the latter into a strong, light cable.

When we judged that our cable, plus the line a was long enough to reach

the other side, we attempted to carry one end of the latter across the

river for the purpose of towing back the raft. Over and over again one

of the bearers and I made the attempt, but when we got about three

parts of the way across, the slow, steady pressure of the current would

fill the bend of the line and sweep us down stream. We had spent most

of the previous day in shooting at crocodiles on the rocks in the

rapid, for the purpose of driving them from the neighborhood. We had

wounded several. On the day of our attempt not a saurian was to be

seen. Nevertheless, I felt extremely nervous. The carcass of one

monster we had wounded afterwards washed up; it measured upwards of

sixteen feet.

After our repeated failures to carry the line across, nothing remained

to be done but to attempt a crossing at the rapids. This we succeeded

in doing, but the attempt nearly cost MacLean his life. He was an

indifferent swimmer. The day was blazing hot. I stripped, but MacLean,

disregarding every one's advice, insisted on swimming in his shirt. We

had to creep slowly from rock to rock, through tumbling water, with an

occasional short swim through a deeper channel. The river was here much

wider than at the scene of our former attempt.

When we were about half-way across MacLean stumbled. As he attempted to

recover his foothold, facing the time down-stream, the current filled

his shirt from behind and carried it over his head. Then he rolled

helplessly down the rapid towards the deep reach. I floundered after,

and succeeded in overtaking him. He was quite exhausted; it was only

with great difficulty that I succeeded in getting him to the bank,

fortunately to that side on which the raft lay.

After a short rest we launched the raft, or, as it turned out to be, a

sort of square, flat bottomed boat, with sides only a few inches deep,

and built of planks. But it was shrunken and gaping from the heat, and

at once filled with water. It was sufficiently buoyant to float when

empty, but would not sustain any weight. We drew it out again; caulking

was out of the question, so we collected dry reeds and tied them into

bundles with grass ropes made on the spot. We fastened these bundles to

the bottom and sides, and launched our galley once more. This time we

propelled her triumphantly, but very slowly, to the other side, where

landing was comparatively easy. We had found in her two rough wooden

paddles.

I had, by this time, been exposed stark naked to the sun for over five

hours. I felt and no doubt looked like a raw beefsteak. Maclean's foot

had got severely hurt in the course of his adventure, and he was much

bruised and battered.

Accordingly it was decided that I should go on with Indogozan and his

companion, leaving MacLean behind.

So next afternoon the Pessimist and MacLean ferried the two bearers and

me across. The Pessimist bade me a doleful farewell, and suggested that

I should leave any mementos for my friends behind, with instructions as

to their disposal. To comfort him I wrote the names and addresses of my

nearest relations on a leaf torn out of my pocket-book, and gave him

the latter. He was absolutely certain that the prospectors had met

their doom under the Swazi spears, and that a like fate would be mine.

My course lay along a winding pathway until it topped the first ridge,

then it turned abruptly to the left to avoid a swampy hollow. However,

a rhinoceros, startled by my approach, plunged through this hollow,

clearing a pathway through the dense brushwood, so I followed his

tracks and ascended the hill on the other side. Here, as I expected, I

again found the old trail. That rhinoceros saved me a detour of several

miles.

Night was now falling; the full moon arose as I stepped forward

briskly; the trail lay clear across the long grass. It led mainly

uphill for about fifteen miles, with occasional undulations. Once I

heard lions roaring in the distance. The bearers begged of me to halt

and allow them to light a fire, but I was so delighted at being safely

across the river that I determined not to stop. However, we eventually

reached the edge of an almost precipitous slope, which fell into a

hollow brimming with dense, snow white mist. A solitary tree stood at

the very edge of the steep; here I decided to camp.

When I awoke next morning I was wet through and chilled to the bone.

The mist was so dense that objects six feet away were almost invisible.

After some difficulty we managed to gather twigs from the tree

sufficient to make a "billy" of tea. The light waxed; a strange and

undefinable sensation thrilled me. I seemed to be near some surprise.

For a considerable time the air was perfectly still. Then, suddenly, a

movement became noticeable; a sudden breeze sang out of the west, and

the mist-shroud rolled away, leaving a perfectly clear atmosphere.

To my dying day I shall never forget the sight that met my gaze. I was

just on the northern verge of the Great Kaap Basin. It is in extent

probably thirty miles long by twenty wide, and is shaped somewhat like

a pear the larger end being scooped out of the mighty mass of the

Drakensberg. At the narrow end the hills dwindled somewhat, but

straight across the widest part of the valley the dark-blue mountains

of Swaziland were piled in abrupt immensity, shimmering through an

opaline medium which I cannot describe as haze, for the atmosphere was

as clear and limpid as a dew-drop. This medium seemed to make the more

distant salient contours miraculously palpable, and to fill every

hollow with richest mystery.

Tier upon mighty tier the Delectable Mountains arose, the higher peaks

shining in the new sunlight. I must have felt like Linnaeus when for

the first time he saw a field of gorse in bloom.

With a glad and hopeful heart I followed the trail in its zigzag course

down the steep mountain-side, which was vocal with the chanting call of

myriads of partridges. Covey after covey flushed around me; the whole

country, far and near, seemed to be alive with them. Before the end of

that trip I got to hate and dread partridges more than any living

thing, but that morning I loved them.

Now arose another difficulty: the bottom of the Kaap Valley, towards

the centre, was a labyrinth of dongas, and the trail, hitherto so

definite, split up into innumerable strands. These crossed and

re-crossed each other bewilderingly, like the fibers of an unraveled

rope. The dongas were both wide and deep; in many instances they were

quite impassable. Occasionally I would find myself on the tip of a

promontory, the sides of which were precipices perhaps several yards

high. These were footed in jungle, which sometimes was quite

impenetrable. However, like Theseus, I eventually managed; to win

through, although no kind Ariadne came to my assistance. But I had

hopelessly lost the trail.

It was dusk when I reached the foothills of the Swaziland mountains.

Far off, as I approached, I could see the twinkling lights at the

kraals on the high ledges. I camped at the foot of a very high, naked

peak of granite, which was almost sheer on the side facing me. This

peak turned out to be densely populated by, baboons. At intervals, all

night long, pandemonium reigned among these brutes. Occasionally a

general fight seemed to take place; then stones would come crashing

down the face of the precipice, sometimes falling in dangerous

proximity to the camp. Once or twice the wrath of the community was

apparently directed against one individual, who would be hunted round

and round the upper zone of the peak. When caught this (presumable)

delinquent's yells of anguish would peal shrilly above the hoarse

chorus of his pursuers' angry voices.

Next morning I struck eastward along the base of the foothills,

searching for the trail. The country was intersected by many pathways,

but none of these showed signs of a wagon having passed. It seemed,

moreover, inconceivable that a vehicle could have ascended such a

lofty, steep mountain range as the one which towered on my right. I

noticed some cattle grazing on a high ledge, so I wended thither. Here

I found three herd-boys, and they gave me the information I was

seeking. The prospectors had ascended the mountains through a valley

still farther to the eastward and had gone on. They had been heard of

very far ahead still going. With somewhat damped enthusiasm I followed.

Well, I kept like a hound on the trail of the prospectors right through

Swaziland. When the trail turned suddenly westward, I threw up the

sponge, for I immediately and correctly inferred what had happened: the

party had given up its quest and returned, taking a course through that

part of the Transvaal known as New Scotland. Their prospecting could

not have amounted to much. I often, long subsequently, wondered as to

what their feelings were when they heard of the discovery of the Sheba

Reef, for they must have walked over almost the very spot.

Sadly, and with chastened feelings, I began to retrace my steps. My two

Bapedi were in constant dread of their lives, for an old and deadly

feud existed between their tribe and the Swazis. They followed me like

my shadow, sometimes in a most embarrassing manner. Having been on my

forward journey hospitably entertained at the kraal of a prominent

induna named 'Ntshindeen, I decided to return there and rest. I felt

half-dead from fatigue and semi-starvation. My clothing was in rags.

The only, supplies I had left were a little meal and some salt.

At 'Ntshindeen's kraal I spent a few halcyon days. For one reason or

another, possibly on account of my extremely youthful appearance, I was

treated with great consideration. A very large hut, the whole inside of

which was lined with the finest basket-work, was given me to occupy. It

was the beginning of the season of green maize; every morning an armful

of luscious cobs was deposited at my door. An immense earthen pot of

honey and a skin milk sack were placed at my disposal. All day long I

would drowse under a tree which stood within a few yards of the hut

door, with Indogozan or his companion waving a bough to keep off the

flies. I only woke up to eat or to smoke. The prospectors were

forgotten; so were MacLean and the Pessimist. I tasted, to the fullest

extent, the sweetness of long-needed rest.

But the evenings were somewhat trying to one of my bashful temperament.

My fame had spread abroad; from distant kraals people flocked to see me

every night. For the one and only, time in my life I knew what it was

to be celebrated.

One very old woman, a "doctor," took me under her patronage. I would

lie near a small fire towards the back of the hut, the two Bapedi

crouching behind me. The old woman, with a sheaf of dry reeds in her

withered hand, would squat on the floor near my head. Then the hut

would fill up with men and women, who would arrange themselves in a

crescent shaped mass, with the front rank lying down, the next

crouching, those farthest from me standing.

The old woman would select a few suitable reeds from the bundle, light

them as a torch, which she held so that I would be illuminated, and

deliver a lecture. All my points would be gone over in detail the

unusual color of my eyes, the whiteness of my skin, and the length of

my hair were the occasion of much comment. By request I would take off

my shirt or pull up a leg of my much tattered trousers. Farther than

this modesty prevented my going. Sometimes a similar ordeal would have

to be gone through several times in the course of an evening.

The only work I did was in the matter of repairing guns, of which, by

the way, the Swazis possessed but very few. I had a knife, the handle

of which contained a screwdriver and various other tools; the condition

of my own gun necessitated the carrying of a nipple wrench. The latter

was a very old instrument; it had sockets graded to fit nipples of

various sizes. The trouble with the Swazi guns was almost invariably

dirt or rust. Some I put right without much difficulty; others were

quite beyond the possibility of repair.

After a somewhat wide experience I can truthfully say that the Swazis,

at the time I knew them, were the finest savages I ever came in contact

with. They were gentlemen in all essentials, they were manly, brave,

and independent. The white race had not yet degraded them by contact

with its corroding fringe.

The following incident will serve to illustrate their courage: Six of

'Ntshindeen's men, armed with nothing but spears and sticks, came upon

a full-grown lion among the foothills through which I had journeyed.

The brute was a well known depredator among the herds. He had, in fact,

given up killing game in favor of the easier pursuit of killing cattle.

He had also killed two herd boys. The six attacked without hesitation.

They slew the lion, but in the struggle three men lost their lives. Two

were killed on the spot; the third had his arm chewed to a pulp. He was

brought back to his kraal, but gangrene at once set in, and he died on

the third day. The other three were badly mauled, but they recovered.

The Swazis knew nothing of money, except that it was supposed to be

worth something in parts remote from their then-isolated land. The

value of cash was gauged according to size; you could get more for a

penny than for a sovereign but not much for either. Gunpowder, lead,

and caps they were, of course, anxious to obtain for even if an

individual did not own a gun, it was always possible to borrow such a

weapon.

But the thing they valued above all else was salt. Their country

contained no saltpans, and they were cut off from the sea by a strip of

pestiferous jungle, which, moreover, belonged to the Portuguese or was

supposed so to belong. Fortunately I had brought with me a small bag of

salt; it contained about a pound in weight. Men used to come from long

distances to beg for a pinch. As I did not want the bag to be seen, it

was my practice, when salt was asked for, to enter the hut and bring

out a small pinch in my hand. On such occasions the old show-woman

would watch for me, and after I had transferred the salt to the one who

came for it, she used to seize my hand and lick out the palm.

After a week's rest I began prospecting in the neighborhood. I must

have "panned" in the present Sheba Valley and all over the vicinity, in

which Barberton now stands. It was only alluvial gold for which I

sought; there was a theory current among diggers of those days that

South African quartz contained no metal. It was thought that quartz

reefs had been subjected to such heat that all metals had been

expelled. "Color" I found almost everywhere I tried, but no coarse

gold.

Soon after I commenced prospecting I noticed a change in the demeanor

of the natives; they no longer treated me with the same friendliness.

In this matter they were, it must be confessed, actuated by sound

instinctive considerations; it was the subsequent discovery of gold

that caused their sad deterioration. 'Ntshindeen, who was always my

good friend but who often had to be away from home on the king's

business, gave me a confidential warning to beware of the boys, as they

did not like me. This dislike was shown mainly in a petty persecution

of my two Bapedi, to whom insulting remarks were often made. I felt I

had outstayed my welcome, so prepared to depart.

Accordingly, one morning I packed the swags, distributed the remainder

of the salt among the elders of the kraal giving the old woman who used

to lick my palm an extra allowance bade farewell to my kind hosts, and

started. About five and twenty big boys several of them almost men in

stature surrounded my little party. All these boys had sticks; several

carried assegais. Just below the kraal, on the steep hillside, was a

fence with an open gap; through this I had to pass. The boys ran

forward and collected just beyond the gap. A number of men stood

together, about a hundred yards away. It was abundantly clear that

trouble was coming.

Several boys collected behind me as I approached the gap. I sent the

two Bapedi through first. They went in fear and trembling; I followed

immediately after. As the second of my bearers passed through the gap a

big boy sprang forward and seized his swag. I at once struck the

assailant a smashing blow on the chest with the butt-end of my gun. He

fell headlong among his companions. I then, with deliberation, cocked

both barrels, walked slowly forward, and told the Bapedi to follow. The

boys opened a passage through their ranks and we passed through. Then

the men began to shout and jeer, and the boys, stung by this, ran down

the hillside after us, brandishing their sticks. One poised his

assegai, as though he were about to throw it, but I leveled my gun at

him and he swerved. I then turned, and we went on without further

molestation. But the war-cry pealed forth, and for a long time we could

see people running hither and thither among the kraals.

I believe that on this occasion my Bapedi had a narrow escape, although

I do not think any harm was intended to me, personally. A few months

afterwards a prospector named Coffin was in the same vicinity. His two

boys, also Bapedi, were killed in his presence.

I had for some days been suffering from intestinal disturbance and a

slight headache, so strongly suspected that I had contracted fever. It

took me sixty long and fatiguing hours to get back to the Crocodile

River. I arrived there after dusk, and shouted for the raft. MacLean

and the Pessimist soon paddled across. The latter was, I am quite

convinced, much disappointed at my having turned up. During supper,

while I was relating my experiences, the Pessimist interjected the

remark that I was a liar. After a more or less drawn battle, MacLean

and Niekerk restored peace, so that both supper and narrative were

finished without further interruption. But Niekerk, who had been unable

to understand the words which gave rise to the disturbance, was

confirmed in his ideas as to the essential insanity of the English.

Our little patrol tent stood about ten yards from the tail of Niekerk's

wagon. One morning at daybreak a big black rhinoceros stood grunting

and sniffing in the space between. The barrel of Niekerk's rifle

protruded slowly from the wagon-tilt. When the animal felt the sting of

the bullet it swung round and went off at a gallop along the river

bank. Rhino could not have been much hurt, for his spoor was to be seen

a few days afterwards fifteen miles away, and it was still the spoor of

a running animal. Game was now scarce, so Niekerk decided to shift his

quarters.

As we had done no prospecting to speak of, it was decided to explore

the Crocodile Valley, in the direction of the mountains, before going

home. We accordingly once more crossed the river, and proceeded against

the stream along its southern bank, panning as we went. "Color" was to

be found everywhere, but no sign of "pay." On the second morning we had

an unpleasant surprise; the Bapedi had bolted during the night. They

had taken nothing of our belongings. I was very wrathful; but time

brings perspective; today I am inclined to think that these boys were

justified in clearing out. They had been terribly frightened in

Swaziland, and when we again crossed the river they may have thought,

naturally enough, that we were going back.

In sadness we sorted our belongings, selecting the indispensable and

the more valuable; we cached the remainder in a krantz cleft. I wonder

if it is still where we hid it? Then, the flood having somewhat

subsided, we went westward along the river bank until we found a

fordable spot. Here we crossed and, feeling much chastened, tramped off

in the direction of Pilgrim's Rest. As we struggled on we tried to

comfort ourselves with a foretaste of the vengeance which we would

wreak on Indogozan and his companion when we caught them. However,

catch them we never did.

It now became quite clear that I had contracted fever. Headache,

dizziness, internal pains, and deadly weakness had me in their grip.

Partridges got on my nerves, and became the terror of my life. The

country was full of these birds, which were very tame. The whirring

scream of a covey, when it flushed around me, almost caused

distraction. On such occasions I have often dropped flat in my tracks.

In its early stages, fever is generally more or less intermittent; the

subject generally feels either worse or better than he really is.

Eventually, however, by hook or by crook, I got back to Mac Mac.

MacLean went on to Pilgrim's Rest. I collapsed, and lay in my patrol

tent, alone and untended, for several days. Then Mr. (afterwards Sir

Drummond) Dunbar and his kind wife look me in, and tended me like truly

Good Samaritans. I was as tough as nails. The attack proved to be a

comparatively light one, so I managed to pull through.

CHAPTER XI

Weakness after fever--I engage in commerce--Bats--The commandeered cat--My

commercial ineptitude--Tom Simpson surprises--Wolff--Close of my

commercial career--Saulez--His thrashing of the bullies--Gardiner holds up

the bank--Nicknames--Conferring a patent of nobility--"Old Nelly"--"A poor

man's lead"--"Charlie Brown's Gully"--Swindled by my partner--My discovery

on the mountain--A lonely time--Waiting for rain--Disappointment and

despair--Abandonment of my work--Departure--Once more a tramp.

After rallying from my bout of fever I felt terribly weak. I was kindly

looked after for a few weeks by some friends, but it was imperatively

necessary that I should, at the earliest possible date, once more begin

to earn a livelihood. I was now absolutely penniless. Manual labor was,

for the time, quite out of the question. The least physical exertion,

more especially if it involved bending down, caused a sickening sense

of dizziness and loss of vision. For some little time I resembled one

of those dolls whose eyes disappear when placed in any but an upright

position.

A Natal firm, R. T. N. James & Co., had a store on top of the steep

hill, just where the up-creek road left the Lower Camp. Mr. Shepperd,

the manager, was a friend of mine. One day he saw me at Mac Mac, and,

taking pity on my condition, offered me work in the shop. I jumped at

the chance.

So next Sunday I started for Pilgrim's Rest. The path, which could only

be traversed on foot, led over the big divide, and involved a heavy

climb, followed by a steep descent. I took all day for the journey of

nine miles. It necessitated a terrible effort. Fortunately, however,

the day was cool. Several times I was on the point of fainting, and was

obliged to lie down. Strangely enough, it was the descent that I found

more distressing than the climb. The tendons just above my knees had

become slackened through weakness, and refused to act as a brake. I

shall never forget that walk.

The business was a general one in the most comprehensive sense of the

term. We sold groceries, drapery, hardware, butcher's meat, bread, and

strong drink. The building was a large one of galvanized iron. It stood

on one side of the road, Mr. Shepperd's dwelling-house was on the

other. The store was overrun with rats. I had to sleep on the counter,

and the beastly vermin ran squeaking over the premises all night long.

Often they awoke me by running across my face. I dreaded those rats

more than ever I did the lions hi the Low Country.

A friend, hearing of my plight, commandeered a cat at Mac Mac, and

brought it to me in a bag late one Saturday night. That Eastern

potentate we all have read of in our childhood was not more grateful to

Dick Whittington than I was to this benefactor. The shop was closed at

11 p.m., so, after shutting every place of exit, I let the cat out of

the bag. Although very wild and fierce, after the long imprisonment and

the rough journey, it soon settled down to work.

That night was one of great enjoyment both to the cat and to myself. I

lay awake for hours listening to this good angel preying on the Hosts

of Midian which had so grievously tormented me. Next morning rats lay

dead all over the shop, each with its head bitten off. The cat showed

signs of scandalous repletion, but it, nevertheless, fought the good

fight all through Sunday. It came up at my call to be stroked as though

I had known it from kittenhood. It never made the least attempt to

escape. Soon there was not a rat or a mouse on the premises.

Commerce never attracted me. At the store of Mr. James I thoroughly

hated my work. Mr. Shepperd, the butcher, the baker, and I formed the

staff. The butcher and baker, respectively, killed and baked by night,

and sold the products of their skill by day. I was principally

responsible for the grocery and hardware branches. But I could never

wrap up a pound of sugar neatly, however hard I might try; and the

entries I made in the books of the firm would, I am sure, have puzzled

the best actuary. Although a good deal of merchandise passed through my

hands, I fear I must have done the business a lot of harm, for there

were many complaints on the part of customers as to the manner in which

their orders were executed.

I well remember the case of a man who came very late one Saturday night

to purchase a pair of boots. The foot-gear then affected by the digger

was enormously heavy and had heel-plates almost as thick as horseshoes.

The boots were joined in pairs by pieces of string, and hung by these

on nails stuck in the rafters, the latter being about twelve feet above

the floor. When a pair had to be lifted down, a long bamboo, with a

spike at right angles to the end, was placed under the string.

This particular customer was difficult to fit; pair after pair was

hooked down, but none were just what he wanted. As bad luck would have

it, he happened to look up as I was Endeavoring to get hold of a

particularly large pair which were hanging just over his head. The

connecting string broke, and one of the boots, iron heel-plate

downwards, caught him across the bridge of the nose and cut him to the

bone. For this purely accidental occurrence I was severely blamed, yet

I never could see that I was at fault.

Tom Simpson, the butcher, was a character in his way. He was a

middle-sized, wiry, foxy-colored man, with a squeaky voice. His habits

were retiring, and his manner was shy. He was, in fact, about the last

man one would have thought capable of "putting up" a fight. However,

a somewhat wide experience has taught me that appearances in this

connection are apt to be deceitful; the quiet, unassuming man is very

often a dangerous customer.

One Sunday afternoon Simpson and I were taking a stroll together. We

met Wolff, who had been my mate at "The Reef." Wolff was a man with the

appearance of enormous strength, but he was slow in movement and

muscle-bound. He very seldom touched alcohol, and the slightest

indulgence made him quarrelsome.

Wolff stopped me, and we had a conversation, about nothing in

particular. Simpson was in a hurry to get back to the scene of his

work, so he asked me if I were going on with him. Wolff, who evidently

had been drinking although he was by no means intoxicated resented

this, and made use of some very insulting language. Simpson made no

reply, so Wolff gave him a hard slap across the face. Simpson retreated

a few steps, rolled up his sleeves, and stood in an attitude of

defense. Wolff rushed at him like a furious bull, and I began to wonder

as to where I would be able to borrow a wheelbarrow for the purpose of

taking home the Simpson remains.

Then followed a most astounding spectacle. For a few minutes Simpson

acted strictly on the defensive, retreating before his antagonist and

guarding himself from the sledge-hammer blows. I noticed that he was

very smart on his feet always a good sign in a boxing-match and that he

was cunningly drawing Wolff uphill after him. Wolff began to breathe

hard and to perspire; I felt that the barrow might not be wanted after

all.

Suddenly Simpson's tactics changed; he got in over Wolff's guard and,

in as many seconds, planted six terrible blows on the latter's face.

With both eyes closed, his nose streaming blood, and his lips badly

tattered, Wolff collapsed a melancholy object-lesson of the truth of

the preacher's text: "The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to

the strong."

About four weeks brought my commercial career to a close. The manager

and I parted good friends, but he made no secret of his satisfaction at

getting rid of me. I was as unskillful in the matter of tying up

parcels at the end of my term of service as I was at the beginning. But

I had been of some use in the matter of clearing the store of rats. The

cat and I had become very good friends; it was quite a wrench parting

with that devoted animal. If the progeny, which were expected to arrive

soon after I left, only inherited the keenness and skill of their

mother, there ought not to have been a rat left, a year afterwards, in

the Northern Transvaal.

279

Reminiscences of a

Tom Simpson and his David-like victory over Goliath-Wolff reminds me of

another man who was very skilful in the use of his hands. He went by

the name of Saulez. I know his real name, but will not mention it,

although I am absolutely convinced that its concealment was not due to

any unworthy cause. Saulez was young, very slightly built, fair-haired,

and almost effeminate in appearance. But he was the wickedest and most

wonderful fighter I have ever seen floor a bully. Although he

thoroughly enjoyed using his fists, he never sought a quarrel. There

were four men in the creek who were always spoiling for a fight. They

were rather dreaded, for on Saturday afternoons they used to go from

bar to bar, looking for an excuse to thrash somebody. In the natural

course of events Saulez met them, and a fight or rather a series of

fights was the result. He thrashed them soundly in detail without

getting so much as a scratch.

A couple of weeks afterwards, three of the four laid in wait for Saulez

and tackled him collectively. He again thrashed them, and with the

greatest ease.

On another occasion Saulez struck a man by mistake. He immediately

apologized, but the man refused to be placated. Saulez then offered to

allow the aggrieved party to strike him, promising not to return the

blow. But there was a condition attached: if the man took advantage of

the offer Saulez would afterwards "go for" him. The man, who was

powerfully built, thought he had the game in his hands, so he hauled

off and struck Saulez a terrible blow between the eyes. But he soon had

cause to regret his action, for he got a most severe thrashing.

I once saw a very smart thing done by an old Australian digger named

Gardiner. He was the one after whom "Gardiner's Point," just below the

Middle Camp, was named. One afternoon he appeared at the Lower Camp

with a barrow, a pick, a shovel, a pan, and four pegs. The latter he

gravely hammered into the ground, enclosing a square with sides of a

hundred and fifty feet. In the middle of this stood the local branch of

the Natal Bank. Gardiner then entered the bank and gave notice to the

manager to remove the building, as the site was required for mining

purposes. This proceeding was strictly in accordance with the Mining

Law. The person giving notice in such a case would, of course, be

obliged to pay the expenses of removal.

Before the manager had time to recover from his surprise, Gardiner went

to a spot on the right-hand side of the steps leading to the bank

entrance, loosened a couple of square yards of the surface ground,

shoveled it into his barrow, and trundled the latter down to the

nearest part of the creek. After a short time he returned and informed

the manager that, as he had changed his mind, the bank need not be

shifted. Then he pulled out his pegs. Here is the explanation: Most of

the creek gold was crusted with flakes of ironstone, so that when

nuggets were brought to the bank for sale, they used to be placed in a

large iron mortar and pounded. The pounding was done by a native always

at the spot from which Gardiner removed the surface ground. This

practice had been followed for a very long time, and Gardiner inferred

that small particles of gold must have escaped from time to time under

the loose cover of the mortar and through the central hole in which the

pestle worked. The amount of the "wash up" was three and a half ounces.

Quite a large number of the diggers were known by nicknames; in most

instances these quite superseded the original patronymics. Most men who

knew the Transvaal thirty years ago will remember "Count" Nelmapius.

The title was subsequently dropped, but for years it was used, and

apparently enjoyed, by the holder. It may be of interest if I describe

how the patent of nobility came to be conferred in this case. The thing

happened at Mac Mac, in a hostel known as "The Spotted Dog," which was

run by old Tommy Austin. Half a dozen diggers were lounging in the bar.

Quoth one "I hear a new chum's turned up today."

"So. What's his name?"

"Oh, I did hear it, but I've forgotten. It sounded like Nellapius, or

Nelampus, or something of that sort."

"I expect he's some foreigner," said old Austin; "let's call him the

Count."

Accordingly, Count he became, and Count he remained for many years. Up

to the middle eighties the papers invariably referred to this

individual as Count Nelmapius.

Many other nicknames come to mind as I think of those old days. "Yankee

Dan," "Boozer," "Texas Dan," and "Old Nelly" are specimens. The latter

was a strange character. He was seventy years of age, but was as active

as a cat and as strong as a buffalo. He was, except Sandow, probably

the strongest man I have ever seen. Bred from a navvy stock, Old Nelly

had wandered over the world for many years, from one mining camp to

another. He invariably got drunk on Saturdays, and, whenever he could

afford it, on other days as well. For some reason, which I could never

fathom, this strange being took a fancy to me, and used to inflict on

me long homilies on the dangers to which youth was exposed. He

continually urged me never to get drunk on anything but beer. When I

suggested the application of his principles to himself, he would say

"Ah! lad, but oi'm different."

Whenever he had money in hand Old Nelly would spend it in drink. I once

asked him how long he had been doing this sort of thing. His reply was

"All me loife, lad, all me loife."

I left the James Emporium with about 2 in my pocket. I was still too

weak to be able to earn wages; ague used to recur regularly every

fortnight. So I decided to go down and "fossick" among the Blyde River

terraces. Here was "a poor man's lead," out of which one could make

about a pound a week by working hard. By working easily I thought I

might be able to earn about half that sum. This would be enough to keep

body and soul together. So I spent most of my 2 in buying a

wheelbarrow, and in this I trundled down more than half a ton of wash

every day to the rapid in which my sluice box was fixed. I managed to

earn about two shillings per day.

One afternoon I saw several diggers going over to one of the terraces,

where a man I knew named Charlie Brown was working in a shallow gully.

I saw that a "rush" was in progress, so joined in. The gully was short;

it contained but seven claims in all. As I got my pegs in at one end of

a claim, another digger was putting his in at the corresponding corner

opposite. There was nothing to do but take up the claim in partnership.

My partner was a Swede, who went under an Irish name. I hated him from

the beginning, feeling that he was a rogue. We harrowed the stuff down

to old Lochhead's race, where we hired a water right. Our wash-up for

the first week was a couple of ounces of gold. I worked in the claim

while my partner attended to the sluice-box. He became more and more

offensive. Soon a friend of his came along and offered me 15 for my

share. I accepted the offer.

It is quite certain that I was swindled, that my partner had found much

more gold than he divided with me. The lead was both narrow and

shallow, so that the claim was soon worked out. The gold found in it

sold for over 1,400. "Charlie Brown's Gully" was one of the richest of

the smaller leads that were struck.

Immediately after leaving the Lower Camp, when proceeding up-creek, if

one looked squarely to the right, a high saddle between two mountain

peaks was visible. I had several times walked over this place and been

struck by its similarity to the formation at "The Reef," which I have

already described. On the day after I sold out at "Charlie Brown's

Gully" I again visited this saddle and took a "prospect." There was a

small spring some distance down the mountainside. I bagged about fifty

pounds of wash, carried it down to the spring, and panned it out. The

result was most encouraging; I found several small nuggets of rough

gold.

Reaching the top of the saddle involved a breathless climb. There was

no water in its vicinity nearer than the little spring I have

mentioned. This was a mere trickle at the base of a big rock. However,

by "puddling" I managed to make a small dam which would at night

collect enough water to admit of a limited amount of panning or

cradling by day.

For several consecutive days I ascended the mountain. The wash, which

consisted of rough quartz pebbles mixed with earth, was about nine

inches deep; it lay on a soft slate bottom. The wind blew hard and the

wash was dry, so I lifted shovelful after shovelful of the latter as

high as I could and let it trickle slowly down. The object of this was

to winnow out as much of the sand as possible. After picking out nearly

all the pebbles, I placed about forty pounds' weight of the residue in

the gunny bag and humped it down to the spring. Load after load I

carried down. It was then too late to do any panning, so I stumbled

down the mountain side in the gathering gloom.

Next morning I recommenced my humping. Early in the afternoon I panned

out all I had carried down. I found nearly half a pennyweight of gold

in the heel of the dish. This was a splendid prospect. It was evident

that the ground was rich. On the following days I took a prospect from

a different spot on the saddle, with a similar result. I should,

perhaps, explain that the finding of "rough" gold in a new place is

always an event of considerable significance. Fine gold, or, as it is

called, "color," does not count; it is to be found everywhere.

Here, then, was payable gold; that is to say, it would have been

payable had there been water in the neighborhood. The prospect I had

taken was an extremely rich one. What was to be done? After long

consideration I decided to excavate a reservoir on the hillside in the

vicinity of the deposit, and trust to its being filled with rain. The

month was October; thunderstorms were due. So far, however, the season

had been exceptionally dry.

With the assistance of a couple of boys, hired for the purpose, I moved

my tent and other belongings up to the saddle. My commissariat

arrangements were simple mealie-meal and sugar, being all I required in

the way of food. Bush tea grew all over the mountain; I could pluck

sackfuls of it within fifty feet of my tent.

I marked out the site for my reservoir just below the gravel deposit,

at a spot where the fall of the hillside was about one in fifteen. Then

I sank an approximately level trench, the upper end to be flush with

the bottom of the reservoir, and the lower running out to the surface

of the ground. In this I placed a long wooden box which was open at the

lower end, and had a small flood-gate working in a vertical slide at

the other.

I then excavated my reservoir, working longer hours than I have at any

other time. When completed it was thirty-five feet long, ten broad, and

four deep; but of course the holding capacity was much greater than

these dimensions would imply, owing to the excavated ground being

banked on the lower side, thus forming a dam wall.

I was quite alone, but I seldom felt lonely. I worked so hard that I

slept soundly from the moment I finished supper until day broke.

Sometimes I was so weary that I would fall asleep as I sat, with a

half-consumed plate of porridge resting on my outstretched legs, and

would wake up at dawn in this position.

The rains were overdue, but at first I did not mind this, because dry

ground is easier to lift than wet, and I was anxious to have my

reservoir completed before the heavy thunderstorms set in. At length

the work was finished, so I set my sluice-box in position below the

vent. Then I spent some days in opening out shallow trenches from the

dam along the sides of the mountains to left and right, so as to catch

the storm water.

But the rain still held off; an occasional thunderstorm would trail

over the ranges, but none came to the saddle. Sometimes it was as

though an invisible hand held them back; I had more than once seen a

rain cloud heading straight for the saddle, only to swerve to right or

left, and pass sometimes within a few hundred yards of it.

I loosened quantities of wash, and harrowed it to the sides of the

trench in which my sluice box lay embedded. I computed, taking the

prospect I had as my basis, that there was upwards of two hundred

pounds' worth of gold in those two heaps.

Having now come literally to the end of my resources, I again started

carrying down stuff to the little spring and there panning it out. But

the spring was failing on account of the drought, and the little

puddled dam hardly collected enough water during the night to admit of

panning. The result of a fortnight's unspeakably hard work was about

four shillings' worth of gold. The trickle of water diminished daily,

until the spring yielded barely enough for my drinking. Then my boots

began to wear out under the strain of clambering up and down the steep,

rocky path. So I plied my barrow barefoot, only using my boots when I

went down to the spring for my daily supply of drinking-water.

Few (excluding, of course, those suffering from actual thirst) have

ever longed for rain as I did. But the sky remained pitiless, and from

my mountain eyry I could see the valley bottoms growing sere and

yellow. Then I suddenly turned against my work; for a few days despair

and I tented together. I lost heart, for that Fate seemed to have

declared against me. During previous seasons I had seen torrents

foaming down the gorge from the saddle; the mountain tops between which

it lay had been the favorite haunts of thunderstorms. It was now late

in December, and not a drop of rain had fallen. When I look back at

myself then, from where I now am, I seem a very pathetic figure.

On Christmas Eve I struck my tent, packed my swag, and descended the

mountain. The spot at which I expended so much useless labor has since

become well-known as the Theta Mine, one of the best gold producers

belonging to the Transvaal Gold Mining Estates Company.

Within a few days I unexpectedly became possessed of about 10. But I

was at the end of my tether in the matter of mining. I made up my mind

to leave the goldfields; to return to the old Cape Colony, via Natal,

as a tramp.

So in the afternoon of the 3rd of January, 1876, I climbed up the long

and steep mountain out of the valley of the Blyde River, along the very

pathway by which "Artful Joe" and I had descended with our hearts full

of hope. My dreams of affluence had eventuated in nothing; my hard work

had been thrown away. Three times had fortune tantalized me by placing

rich gifts almost within my reach and then snatching them from my

outstretched hand.

When I reached the rocky summit I threw my heavy swag to the ground and

gazed back with dimming eyes. A lump rose in my throat. It had, after

all, been a man's life that I had led. I had made many friends and but

few enemies.

As I gazed, the sun was low behind me, and the immense valley at my

feet was filled with gloom. Deepening purple shadows were stealing up

Pilgrim's Creek in a slow brimming flood. Through this the scattered

tents gleamed white, here and there a tiny sparklet showed where some

digger was preparing his evening meal. . . . I knew the occupants of

these tents; with some I had shared danger, with others toil.

I was loath to leave them all. One last look and the scene was

obliterated by a sudden gush of tears.

Then I once more humped my swag and started on my long journey through

the cool night, under the inscrutable stars.

CHAPTER XII

On the road--Heavy rain--Mosquitoes--Natal--Thunderstorms--A terrible night

Maritzburg--My cash runs out--A halcyon day--Hospitality--D'Urban--Failure

to get work--The Fighting Blacksmith and the eccentric old gentleman

Narrow escape of the latter--East London--Experiences in a surfboat--A

Perilous venture--I enter the Civil Service--Further reminiscences

deferred--Au revoir.

My swag was heavy, but my frame was tough. It was early in the forenoon

of the following day when I reached Lydenburg. Having had to purchase

boots, socks, flannel shirts, and a waterproof, more than half of my 10

had melted away; it would be necessary, therefore, to exercise the

strictest economy.

From Lydenburg and through the Eastern Transvaal I was fortunate in

finding wagons going Natalwards on which I could load my swag. Once or

twice I got a lift myself but this I was not particularly anxious for.

I had my small Low Country tent with me. For its capacity this was the

lightest thing of the kind I have ever seen. It weighed with poles,

pegs, and whipcord guys about six pounds. Its height was two feet six

inches; its poles were of bamboo which had been split in two and

rejoined, the split pieces being relatively reversed. Its pegs were

made of a very hard but comparatively light wood which I had found in

one of the forests of the Blyde River Valley.

When about half-way to the Natal border I encountered heavy rain.

One-tenth of the thunderstorms that broke over my luckless head would,

had they but visited the mountain saddle a couple of weeks previously,

have made an independent man of me. This was quite typical of my luck.

Mosquitoes were a terrible plague in the Transvaal. I shall never

forget my experiences one night close to the source of the Vaal River.

The sun was hardly down before the tormentors came out in myriads. They

seemed to thrive on smoke; at all events they were less incommoded by

it than I was. I closed my tent up tightly and placed some live embers

inside. On these I laid some tobacco and damp grass, at the same time

pulling at my pipe as furiously as I could. 'But all was in vain; the

wretched insects crowded in as though they enjoyed the dense reek.

Although dead tired after an exceptionally fatiguing day, I struck the

tent, repacked my swag, and tramped on until morning. Then I left the

road and made for a kopje about a mile away, on which were some very

large rocks. I flung myself down under a ledge, and was fast asleep

almost before I reached a recumbent position. It was late in the

afternoon when I was awakened by the heat of the sun. Then, after a

hearty meal of askoek and tea, I tramped on again until another morning

broke.

I passed Laing's Nek and Majuba Hill, the slopes of which were destined

within a few years to flow with the blood of brave men, and to be the

scene of feats of arms which startled the world, and, in a certain

respect, revolutionized warfare. But it was water that was there

flowing on the day I passed, for the whole range was lashed by a

succession of furious thunder storms.

From Newcastle onward I adopted a different system one which enabled me

to travel much more quickly. At Newcastle I went to the Resident

Magistrate's office, and through the police secured the services of a

strong native to act as carrier of my swag as far as Ladysmith. I left

ten shillings the amount of remuneration agreed upon with the Chief

Constable, to be drawn when the native returned with a note from me

certifying that he had done his duty. It was a wonderful relief to be

free from the straps which had galled my shoulders for so long. The

distance to Ladysmith is, I think, about a hundred miles. We covered it

easily in three nights.

At Ladysmith I disposed of my tent for ten shillings, which was less

than a quarter of its value. But my money, was rapidly running out; the

heavy rains had on several occasions driven me to ask for shelter, and

this always meant spending money. At Ladysmith I engaged another native

to accompany me to Maritzburg. This was necessary; had I attempted to

travel alone I should certainly have lost my way.

The heat for it was now midsummer was extremely trying. I accordingly

made it my rule to travel by night, trusting to being able to get a

sheltered place wherein to sleep by day. This kind of accommodation

which I was usually fortunate in being able to secure did not cost

anything. When I bought food at a farmhouse I would usually ask to be

allowed to lie down in one of the sheds.

The thunderstorms were a serious embarrassment. In the comparatively

flat Transvaal they did not matter so much, but among the convoluted

hills which are such a salient feature of the Natal landscape, some

kloof which ordinarily held a mere rivulet was apt to be suddenly

filled by, a roaring torrent. Occasionally I was hung up for hours at a

time by such obstacles.

At a small village, the name of which I forget, but which must have

been about forty miles from Maritzburg on the Ladysmith side, I was

detained for two days by a cold, drenching rain. I was forced to take

refuge in the hotel. Here the cost of accommodation for myself and my

bearer depleted my capital almost to vanishing-point.

The weather cleared, and I made another start, but the condition of the

roads was such that I was unable to travel at more than half my usual

rate. Next day, just after I crossed the Umgeni River, the rain came

down again. I intended to get to Maritzburg that night, but was only

able to reach the heights from which that town is visible. We entered

the forest on the left-hand side of the road and camped. After enormous

difficulty we managed to kindle a fire and make some tea. There was

plenty of dead wood lying about, so we made a roaring blaze and sat as

close to it as we could. That night was a miserable one; the rain never

ceased for a moment, so sleep was quite out of the question.

It was still raining when we started next morning. We reached

Maritzburg after a tramp of a couple of hours. I went to an hotel on

the market square, kept by a man named King. He promptly refused to

take me in; this did not surprise me in the least, for I must have been

a sorry object. However, on my explaining the situation and producing

my few remaining shillings, the proprietor relented so far as to let me

have some food and allow me to sleep in a forage store. He nevertheless

insisted on taking away my pipe, tobacco, and matches. He wanted to

lock me in, but this I would not stand. I slept warm and dry, at least,

I was dry when I awoke next morning.

In the afternoon the rain ceased, so I again set out. My capital was

now reduced to one and ninepence. Just before sundown I called at a

farmhouse a few hundred yards from the road and asked for work. Here I

was kindly entertained, and given a corner of an outhouse wherein to

sleep, and some bags and straw wherewith to make a bed. But I insisted

on paying for my entertainment by working. Before darkness fell I

mended a fowl house, and I got up early in the morning and chopped a

lot of firewood.

After a hearty breakfast of delicious bread, butter, and milk I made

another start. But that day I loitered. The sky was bright, the sun

shone mildly, the wind was warm and caressing. I wandered slowly along,

enjoying the incomparable scenery, and feeling that the world, which

had hitherto shown me its rough side, was not such a bad place after

all. I began seriously to regard the universe from the standpoint of a

professional tramp to realize that there is something to be said for

the philosophy of the unmitigated vagrant.

At an especially enticing spot I turned out of the road and strolled

for a while along the bank of a stream. I stripped and plunged into a

swirling pool. Then I washed my entire wardrobe and spread it out on

the grass to dry. I lit my pipe, laid myself naked under an erythrina

tree, and praised the gods for the gift of life.

When my clothes were sufficiently dry I dressed and went on. It was now

fairly late in the afternoon. I caught sight of another farmhouse, so

I went to it. The men-folk were away, but a dear old lady of ample

proportions and kindly countenance was standing in her garden mourning

the damage wrought therein by the heavy weather of the past week. I

asked for a spade and a rake; within little more than an hour I had

vastly improved things. Vegetables and flowers, which grew side by side

in an eccentric jumble, had been flattened out by the rain into a

wallow of mud. I obtained the cover of a packing-case; this I split up,

and a judicious use of the fragments, together with some string, soon

showed that little irreparable damage had been done.

Two small children, a boy and a girl they were grandchildren of the old

lady made my task entertaining by virtue of their quaint and original

talk. However, they rather embarrassed me by bringing quantities of

biscuits and coffee, being distressed when I was unable to consume all.

At dusk the proprietor of the farm, with his wife and a baby, returned

in a cart. They warmly seconded the old lady's invitation for me to

stay over the night. So I slept in a real bed an experience I had not

enjoyed for years. I hope that kindly roof-tree still stands firm, and

that the little children have not alone prospered, but taken after

their immediate forbears.

Next morning I started very early, for I felt I had dawdled enough. I

passed down the long, lovely Intshanga Ridge, and must have walked

well, for I reached Pine Town fairly early in the afternoon. Here I met

a man whose name I have forgotten; he also was about to walk to

D'Urban. We did not, however, go together, for the reason that I had

made up my mind to go by a direct route over the Berea, whilst he had

some special reason for taking a more round-about course.

I passed a number of coolie huts, each standing in a little pineapple

patch. I spent ninepence of my capital in the purchase of a dozen

pines, getting three separate lots of four at three-pence per lot. It

was late in the afternoon when I reached D'Urban. The date was the 27th

of January, so I had spent twenty four days on the road. Considering

the weather I had encountered, I had not done so badly. Next morning I

read in a newspaper that the man with whom I had foregathered on the

previous day had died from the effects of the bite of a mamba; the

reptile had attacked him as he was walking through the bush close to

the town.

I knew two men at D'Urban. One was Mr. Jack Ellis, at present of the

firm of Dyer and Dyer, East London. The other was a man named Sims, who

had been known on the diamond-fields as "The Fighting Blacksmith." He

was of small stature, but possessed great strength, and was skilled in

the use of his fists. Mr. Ellis was in those days not by any means the

prosperous merchant he is today. Nevertheless he gave me what

assistance he could, and thus earned a claim on my gratitude which I

shall not forget.

Sims was working at his trade, but was not making more than a bare

living. I walked from one end of D'Urban to the other looking for work,

but times were bad and employment correspondingly scarce. Besides, I

knew no trade but mining, and was utterly without such education as

would have fitted me for office employment.

Three dolorous weeks I spent at D'Urban. Once I got a job with a

roustabout gang ballasting a ship, but the wages were only two

shillings a day; besides, the job did not last. The problem for me to

solve was, how to get away to East London. Once there I would be with

my family. Every morning I would go to Sims's shop to see if he had

succeeded in getting me anything to do.

At length tidings of joy Sims thought he had secured for me a suitable

billet. Could I drive four horses in a cart, he asked? Well, I had

certainly driven a pair of mules in a Scotch cart with fair success and

I could, in a way, handle a team of oxen. But when Sims explained the

situation further, my heart sank. An eccentric old gentleman, lately

from England, had purchased a cart and four and wanted some one to

drive him to King William's Town. This meant traversing the Native

Territories, where, at that period, the present fine highways were not

in existence. In fact, the only roads were, as I happened to know, a

series of criss-cross tracks leading from one trading station to

another over an extremely mountainous country. And I had never driven

two much less four horses in my life.

However, beggars cannot be choosers; moreover, Sims appeared to

consider that I was unduly conscientious. He thought I should be able

to learn how to handle my team before starting. Besides, the practice I

would get in driving over the high-roads of Natal before reaching the

more difficult country ought to make me an efficient whip. There was

something in this idea, and if Sims and the old gentleman were prepared

to take the risks, why should not I? So a bargain was struck, and I was

provisionally hired. My remuneration was to be 5 for the trip, plus all

expenses while on the road.

But on nights I used to be harassed by doubts. Which was most likely to

be the result, I would ask myself, assassination or suicide? Most

probably both, conscience would shriek. However, Providence

occasionally interferes to protect the innocent; the old gentleman trod

on the edge of a step and sprained his ankle severely. Thus do

unspeakably great blessings sometimes come painfully disguised. That

eccentric old gentleman little knew that in twisting his ankle he was

saving his neck.

There was no hope of his immediate recovery. To an elderly person a

sprained ankle necessitates lying up for weeks. The steamer for East

London, the old Basuto, was due in a few days. I could not bear the

thought of hanging on any longer in idleness, so inquired as to where

the agency of the Union Line was to be found. Then I boldly presented

myself before Mr. Escombe, the agent, explained the plight I was in,

and asked him to let me have, on credit, a deck passage to East London.

Fortunately Mr. Escombe knew something of my people. He invited me to

sit down, and seemed interested when I told him something of my

adventures. He let me have the passage ticket on credit, I promising to

remit the price out of the first money I earned. So next day I embarked

on board the Basuto, and in the afternoon of the day following reached

my destination.

After a short visit to Breidbach, near King William's Town, where my

people were at that time staying, I returned to East London and entered

the service of the boating company. The work was not congenial. For one

thing, although sea sickness has never troubled me on board ship, I was

constantly ill when in a lighter. Moreover, the boatmen with whom I had

constantly to associate were unintermittently foul-mouthed and

blasphemous. I was not easily shocked; the men with whom I had for

years foregathered were much given to realism of speech, as well as to

picturesquely lurid verbal illustration. But this was different; the

language of these men was crammed with filth for filth's sake, and

flat, pointless profanity. I have no doubt that my inability to avoid

expressing disgust made them worse than they otherwise would have been.

It was my habit to get up at 2.30 a.m., breakfast on coffee and bread,

and then report myself at the wharf, where I was due at 3 a.m. About

half an hour later we would man a lighter, pick up a thick Manila rope

from the bottom of the river, lay it between the chocks, and haul out

across the bar to the roadstead where the ships were anchored. From the

main warp others branched off in various directions, and by means of

one of these we would get as close to the ship which we were

discharging as we could. Then the lighter would be towed alongside.

All going well, we were usually back at the wharf at 2.30 p.m. with the

boat loaded. But things did not invariably go well; the wind had a

habit of springing up suddenly, and the breakers 011 the bar would

follow suit. Under such circumstances we often had to cast off from the

vessel's side and anchor in a tumbling sea, with only a small portion

of the appointed cargo on board. Perhaps, if it were not considered too

dangerous, Captain Jackson might come out with the harbor tug and tow

us in; otherwise we ran the risk of having to remain all night on the

lighter.

The work was apt to be very dangerous indeed. It was nothing so very

unusual for a boat to capsize on the bar and for half the crew to be

drowned. Once only had I to swim for my life; on that occasion all in

the boat escaped. But a few weeks afterwards a lighter capsized under

almost similar circumstances, and either four or five of those on board

lost their lives.

My most striking experience in this connection happened one day towards

the end of my term of service with the boating company. We were

alongside a French vessel, the Notre Dame de la Garde, taking in boxes

of Gossage's blue mottled soap. Before we had received more than a

quarter of our appointed cargo, the wind and the sea rose suddenly

together. We had to cast off from the vessel, and in getting clear the

lighter shipped some water. Before we got the hatches fixed, a number

of the boxes had broken up, and the fragments, mixed with bars of soap,

were awash. It was about eight o'clock in the morning when we cast

loose and dropped our anchor.

The wind increased to a gale; this brought a bitterly cold rain. We

bobbed and curtsied at the end of our cable until about four in the

afternoon, listening to Gossage's products churning and lathering down

below. It grew colder and colder; we were wet to the skin and almost

numbed. A consultation was held, and it was unanimously decided that

the risk of drowning was preferable to the certainty of slowly

perishing to death; therefore we would make a dash for the harbor.

To use the warp was, of course, out of the question, so we rigged a

sail from the big hatchway tarpaulin. We lashed the hatch-battens

together in the form of a parallelogram, fastened the sail to this, and

stayed the structure by means of various devices. We slipped our cable

and made for the bar. Wind, tide, and sea were all with us; had the

tide been unfavorable, the attempt would have spelt almost certain

death.

There was more than a mile of open sea between where we had anchored

and the breakers. The port-office signals were against us, but what did

we care? When people on shore realized what we were attempting, they

came down by hundreds, in spite of the rain, and thronged the

breakwaters on either side of the harbor entrance.

We ran gallantly, straight before the wind. I never thought a lighter

could sail as ours did. As good luck would have it, we reached the

worst part of the bar just after one bad set of breakers had passed,

and before the arrival of the next. But there was no child's play in

the matter. We had one very tense moment; the boat was flung sideways

in the turmoil, and nearly got taken aback. However, a providential

buffet on the port bow gave us a set in the right direction; once more

our tarpaulin filled, and we drew slowly and laboriously out of the

area of danger. I looked back and saw the angry combers roaring after

us, as though enraged at our escape. As we ran into the harbor, the

people Who were watching cheered themselves hoarse.

Upwards of four months were spent at this purgatorial work. Then

release came unexpectedly. One day I got a letter from the Civil

Commissioner, Mr. Orpen, asking me to call at his office. I went, and

to my amazement he read me a telegram from Captain Mills, who was then

Under-Colonial Secretary, offering me the post of clerk on probation to

the Resident Magistrate of Tarka, with a salary of 120 per annum.

Were I now to be offered the Prime Ministership of the Union my

surprise would hardly be greater than it then was. Curiously enough I

was on the same day offered a post in a mercantile firm, that of Joseph

Walker & Sons, at a salary of 7 per month. But, for family reasons, the

difference of 3 per month was just then an important consideration, so

I accepted the first offer, a step I have ever since regretted.

I had grave doubts as to my ability to do the duties required of me.

While at East London I had worked every day at a copy-book, striving to

improve my handwriting, but my fingers were more at home with the

trigger and the pick than with the pen. Moreover, my spelling was

phonetic and wonderful. Although I knew most of Shakespeare's sonnets

by heart, I did not know a single rule of English grammar. This

ignorance has remained with me to the present day, but I cannot say I

feel it much of a handicap. However, there was no examination to pass,

and my chief would have to put up with my shortcomings for the present.

I had faced lions on the Lebomba and crocodiles in the Komati; why

should I quail before a mere magistrate?

It may be advisable to explain how my appointment came to be offered.

My father and the then Lord Carnarvon, who happened to be Colonial

Secretary, had been friends in the old days. Lord Carnarvon wrote to

Government House, Cape Town, asking that something might be done for

us. My father was beyond the age-limit; I, clearly, was not.

Responsible Government had arrived; nevertheless, a certain amount of

informal patronage was still occasionally exercised.

Thus it was that I, after a strange and varied apprenticeship in some

of the roughest of life's workshops, became cogged down as a little

wheel in that clumsy, expensive, and circumlocutory mill, which,

consuming much grist but producing little meal, is still believed to be

an indispensable adjunct to our civilization.

Here I must break off. But my reminiscences are by no means complete;

some day and I trust before very long they will be brought up to date.

Whether or not the supplementary volume will reach the printer's hands,

depends on how far the public becomes interested in the work of which I

am now writing the last words of the closing chapter.

After careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that so long

as the official collar galls my neck, I cannot adequately deal with the

period during which I have been a public servant; I would have to walk

too delicately. [I have since modified this decision.] For one of the

disadvantages of being in the public service lies in the circumstance

that it is impossible to speak or write of experiences gained therein,

without embarrassing reserve.

But the days of my retirement are rapidly drawing nigh; when they

arrive, and the collar drops, I shall have much to say about many

things, for my life as a public servant during six-and-thirty years has

been an interesting one. Most of it has been spent in places as far as

possible from centers where conventionality reigns.

My still unrecorded experiences include, inter alia, war, hunting, the

administration of native tribes in remote areas, rovings under special

commission in those waterless regions to the north-west through which

the boundary common to British and German territory runs and perhaps

most interesting of all, a microscopic study of human infusoria

inhabiting isolated and therefore stagnant towns and hamlets.

I intend to retire soon with a typewriting machine and some beehives,

to a little farm I have acquired in a sleepy locality on the south

coast. There I hope to be spared for some few years to develop the

economic products of the honey-bee, to meditate on the Universal

Postulate, and to watch, from afar, my children cultivating the

difficult fields of Experience. May their task be easier than mine has

been!

Having thus taken the public into my confidence, I will say

AU REVOIR.

L'ENVOI

As a pack of wolves is the hungry Past;

It hunts Man laden with hopes and fears;

Its bay swells loud with the hasting years,

Till the red fangs sink in his flank at last.

The bay grows louder, the flame ringed een

Glow with greed as the night sinks, black;

Swerve and double still o'er your track

The pitiless, questing nostrils lean.

Mark, O brothers, before I fall,

I fling this sheaf of script to your care;

Take and read it; I fain would share

My scanty gatherings with you all.

With all with the hunted, whose eyes search mine

In vain for the hint of a 'scaping clue;

With those still tranc'd, where the skies bedew

The half-op'd blossoms that round them shine.

Take my sheaf it was gleaned with toil

From fields now dimm'd in a long-sped day;

In a clime where naught but dim shadows stray

Yet its grain may sprout from a kindly soil.

UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.