LEAVE BARBERTON.—STEYNSDORP.—KOMATI RIVER.—KING UMBANDINI’S
KRAAL.—SWAZILAND.—THE DRINK CURSE AND ITS INEVITABLE RESULT.—INTERVIEW
OF DR. CLARK, M. P., TRANSVAAL CONSUL-GENERAL IN ENGLAND, WITH
UMBANDINI.—NATIONAL DANCE OF SWAZIES.—THE TEMBI.—DELAGOA BAY.
New Year’s day, 1887, found me for the first time for twenty-two years
devoid of all care, whether business or professional, and imbued with
one thought only, that of getting a thorough rest and change in Europe.
Wishing before leaving the country to gain as intimate a knowledge as
possible of the different railway routes to the coast, of which I had
now seen all but one, I made up my mind to walk to Delagoa Bay, through
Swaziland, see Steynsdorp, the headquarters of the Komati diggers,
glance in passing at the formation of the country and the gold reefs,
which Umbandini, the Swazi king, was so liberally giving away in
concessions, and witness, if possible, the yearly dance of the Swazis,
which is a red-letter day throughout the whole of their country. I chose
eight natives to accompany me, mixing their nationality so as to avoid
the chance of any collision on their part. I was especially fortunate in
my _induna_ (head man and guide), who was a tall, fine, strapping Swazi
and knew every inch of the country from Barberton to Delagoa Bay, both
main roads and bye-paths. Many tried to dissuade me from going, telling
me that the journey, which round by the King’s kraal was about 200
miles, was too long and fatiguing, and that I should not find sufficient
compensation for the risk of fever. But in answer to inquiries I made, I
learned that there was no danger of fever except between the top of the
Lebombo ridge and Delagoa Bay, and as the proprietor of the tug on the
Tembi had proffered to carry me from the drift where the tug lay to
Delagoa Bay, a distance of sixty miles by the river, I calculated that I
should be exposed one day only to malarial poison. How I was
disappointed in this promise I will tell in the next chapter. I allowed
my natives to divide my luggage and provisions as they deemed best, one
long headed fellow to my astonishment choosing the heaviest burden,
saying, _with a knowing look as he did so_, “It is food, it will grow
lighter every day.”
All being ready, we formed in procession (natives never walking in any
way together except in single file), I myself bringing up the rear to
prevent any of them lagging behind; and so we started from the Market
Square, Barberton, at eight o’clock, A. M., on Monday, January 10th. Our
road lay over the Makoujwa range, which we crossed a few miles from
Barberton, at the Ivy Reef, feeling, when we had made this steep climb
of 1,600 feet, that we had surmounted the first obstacle in our journey.
We walked along all day, with short intervals of rest, traversing a bold
and magnificently mountainous country, interspersed with stretches of
fine forest, and watered by innumerable streams, which roll down through
the large, deep dongas. I had hoped to reach the roadside accommodation
house at the Komati River on my first night, but darkness coming on, we
stayed at a Kafir kraal six miles on this side, and rising early got
there to breakfast. Here the Komati, fifty yards wide, runs rapidly down
its sloping bed, but with a wire rope thrown over to guide the wooden
pontoon the passage across can nearly always be made. After crossing
this river, we passed the ruins of hundreds of deserted stone kraals
which extended for miles, and were the standing witnesses of the teeming
population which years ago inhabited these valleys, before Umzilikatze
made his murderous raids through Swaziland. Pushing on, we arrived at
Steynsdorp in the mid-day. This little village, which is the centre of a
population of 500 souls, lay at the end of a long valley through which
the Umhbondisi Creek runs, and was increasing so rapidly that, at the
time I passed, a government surveyor was busy laying out a township.
Dotting the hills all round could be seen the tents of prospectors, some
of whom had discovered valuable properties—in fact this district, where
gold had been more or less sought for during the past eighteen months,
was then just beginning to answer the expectations of its pioneers.
After leaving Steynsdorp the country assumed a wilder aspect. The narrow
and rugged paths, up and down which I had to clamber, in many places on
the verge of precipitous krantzes, ran over the most picturesque country
I had yet seen in South Africa, while the loud splash and hurrying dash
of the mountain stream
“As some bright river, that, from fall to fall,
In many a maze descending,”
rushed down the hillsides, and debouched through the gorges, chanting
incessantly one of Nature’s most melodious of lays. Suddenly a large
tract of open country appeared to our view, and in front, but at least
twenty miles away, we could see the large kraal to which we were bound.
Journeying on with refreshed vigor we finished our seven hours’ weary
walk about an hour or so before the sun went down, which left me time
enough to become master of the whole situation. A most able and correct
account of Swaziland, and the state of affairs then existing, lately
appeared in one of the London papers, which I cannot do better than
quote here:
[Illustration:
KAFIR HUT.
]
“Swaziland is a small native state bounded on the north and west by
the Transvaal; from its eastern border to the sea stretches the
Portuguese territory of Delagoa Bay, and to the south lie the land of
the Zulus and the colony of Natal. The Swazi King rules over a realm
of about 9,000 square miles, containing a population of 50,000. His
people are of the same Zulu race whose prowess has been proved on more
than one ‘well foughten field,’ but of finer physique, and 15,000
warriors are at his beck and call. The country itself is mountainous
and picturesque—a sort of East African Tyrol, with a genial climate, a
fertile soil, and rich in undeveloped mineral treasures—gold, silver,
copper, and coal. The coal measures extend over a large area, are
found within forty miles of Delagoa Bay, and are connected with the
sea by the Tembi, which, though not a large river, is navigable for
small craft and might be utilized for an extensive trade in black
diamonds. Swaziland is, moreover, well wooded and well watered, and
altogether a most desirable possession, a fact of which Umbandini, its
King, an intelligent savage of dark complexion and stalwart
proportions, is fully aware.
[Illustration:
FALLS BETWEEN BARBERTON AND THE KING’S KRAAL, SWAZILAND.
]
“So also are the Boers. They call it the land of Goshen, and covet it
as eagerly as Ahab coveted the vineyard of Naboth. The Transvaal
Government make pressing overtures to Umbandini to place himself under
their protection, which would mean, of course, the practical surrender
of his kingdom, while individual Boers are flocking uninvited into the
country and gradually hemming it in on every side. But the King has a
wholesome dread of the tender mercies of the Boers, and, fortunately
for him, the London Convention of 1884 laid down the boundary line on
the Transvaal side with such precision that little room is left for
misunderstanding or dispute. Here, at least, the Boer Republic can
allege no ostensibly fair or valid excuse for removing their
neighbors’ landmarks. But the Boer trekkers, in dealings with the
natives, are not much concerned to observe the law of _meum_ and
_tuum_; and in April, 1885, Sir Henry Bulwer wrote to Sir Hercules
Robinson that he had received information to the effect ‘that the
Boers are making great encroachments in Swaziland; that they appear to
look upon the country as a winter grazing farm, and that they have
gone so far as to beacon off some farms notwithstanding the protest of
the Swazi king.’ On this, to put matters as briefly as possible, Sir
Hercules Robinson requested the Transvaal government ‘to use every
effort to prevent encroachments on the border,’ a move to which Mr.
Joubert responded by denying the fact on the one hand, and on the
other proposing to Umbandini to place himself and his country under
Transvaal protection with Mr. Kiogh, Landdrost of Wakkerstroom, as
nominal head and medium. This proposal the King and his _indunas_
rejected. They preferred to place themselves under British protection,
and to this effect a formal demand was forthwith made, accompanied by
a request for the appointment of a British Resident, whose duty it
would be to act as Umbandini’s adviser in all outside matters and give
timely notice of Boer encroachments at headquarters.
“To this request no answer has yet been returned. It is understood,
however, that Lords Granville and Rosebery had the subject under
consideration at the time of their retirement from office, and it will
be for Lord Salisbury’s government to give it their most serious
attention, and decide whether the Boers shall or shall not be required
to observe the terms of a convention which they deliberately accepted.
The question is not of conquering or annexing Swaziland, or even of
preventing the extinction of an interesting nationality, but of
safeguarding British interests by compelling the Transvaal Republic to
respect the integrity of a state whose independence we have virtually
guaranteed. To effect this object nothing more is needed than the
appointment of a Resident; for much as the Boers covet the land of
Goshen, they have not the least idea of going to war with England and
Umbandini to obtain it. Their policy is to cajole and coerce the king
into accepting a formal protocol; and then gradually swallowing his
kingdom as the anaconda swallows its prey. This consummation, besides
being a severe diplomatic and moral defeat, would be fatal to the
prosperity of Natal, and most detrimental to our commercial interests
in that part of the world. It could hardly fail, moreover, to lead to
serious complications. Gold seekers are already flocking in crowds to
the ‘placers’ of the Transvaal; the time is not far distant when there
will be a rush to the still richer fields of Swaziland. Most of the
adventurers are English and American, and men of English blood have
never yet submitted to the domination of an alien power. If their
government should refuse to protect them they will protect themselves,
possibly set up a government of their own, when difficulties might
arise which it is not pleasant to contemplate. Prevention is better
than cure, and it is significant of what is likely to befall, unless
prompt action be taken, that in September, 1885, Sir Henry Bulwer
transmitted a report ‘that the Boers had so overrun the Swazi country
that they had only left the district immediately occupied by the
king.’ A little later Colonel Cardew forwarded a communication to the
effect that 200 Boers were occupying the Bomba range of mountains ‘on
the strength of rights reputed to be acquired from the Portuguese,’
and according to recent advices, another body are trekking in the
Lebombo range, close to the Swazi border.”
But to return to my own story: The kraal was in a state of complete
confusion; the dance which was to take place on the next day seemed to
have upset every thing and every body. The men and women were in a state
of nervous excitement from beer and expectation; the young girls,
lighthearted and merry, were laughing, darting hither and thither,
coquetting with the young men, while the boys, sedately looking on with
calm content, were enjoying the scene. Alas! this innocent pleasure was
not all I saw. A few yards distant on the outside of the kraal, a crowd
attracted my attention; there I found a tent which served as a canteen,
and was surrounded with Swazis of both sexes, all of whom were buying
spirits, chiefly gin, from the barman, or begging it from the few white
men present. I particularly noticed one woman, not exactly besotted, but
with an air of debauched voluptuousness in the sensual roll of her
glaring eyes, suing importunately for drink, crying out again and again
the only English word she knew “Canteen, Canteen,” being the one which
from experience she had learned would be understood, and bring her the
all-devouring firewater.
Close by, evidently a general favorite, and to whom considerable
deference was shown by the natives, could be seen, edging his way into
the tent, a bright little boy, who, I was told, was the king’s son.
Although but a child not more than six years old, he too had learned to
crave for this fluid perdition, and there he stood clamoring and
entreating to be served, until a white man gave him fully half a pint of
pure spirits, when immediately, without any ado, he swallowed it at one
draught, slowly strutting away as if he had performed some feat of which
he might well be proud. I did not remain long, soon seeing enough of
this melancholy exhibition of growing depravity and demoralization to
convince me that drink was eating into the vitals of the people and
destroying the manhood of a fine race, and that nothing stood between
them and utter ruin but the appointment of a British Resident,[114] of
similar tact and determination to Colonel Clark, who has saved the
Basuto nation from extermination by the same curse. I was very tired,
and the sun sinking fast, suffusing the whole sky with lines of a ruddy,
golden tint, made me tell my boys to prepare for the night’s rest.
Before lying down to sleep, however, I strolled again round this immense
kraal in order to form a more correct idea of its size, the number of
its huts and the strength of its population. In the centre there was an
immense cattle kraal, which I conjectured was not less than ten acres in
extent, the huts, at least 600 in number, being placed in a circle
around, according to Kafir custom.
Here preparations for the approaching yearly celebration and dance were
being made, this festival being a “thanksgiving to the ground for once
again giving its return.” Every one seemed happy and gay, and all I met
were wound up to a high pitch of good-natured excitement, singing as
they danced along, evidently looking forward to the morrow, to the
all-important day when the fête would commence.
My “boys” had in the meantime made me some coffee, prepared my evening
meal and laid out my karosses on the grass in readiness for the night’s
slumbers. Sleep needed no wooing. When I awoke in the morning the sun
was shining brightly overhead. “Umhlatuse,” my _induna_ (head man), had
got my coffee ready, troops of Swazi girls, lithe and handsome, could be
seen racing back from the river where they had been to bathe, the whole
kraal was astir, even the canteen was open, and some devout worshippers
of Bacchus were already paying homage at his shrine. Presently, afar in
the distance, could faintly be traced the dark outline of a moving mass
of sable warriors, coming to make obeisance to their king and add to the
day’s festivities. As the hours passed by, the large cattle kraal I have
mentioned became the rendezvous of thousands of men of superb physique,
dressed in gorgeous array, their shoulders resplendent with black and
snow-white ostrich feathers, their waists girded with leopard skins,
their necks encircled with cow tails, sakabula feathers (a species of
finch) in circular bands around their heads, while handsome shields and
assegais completed their festive attire. The married women, too, and
girls vied with each other in the richness of their costumes, which
according to their custom did not require to be so exact as to hide
entirely the profusion of charms with which nature had endowed them.
About mid-day, when the king, an intelligent but sensual middle-sized,
and to appearance, middle-aged man, his light-copper-colored body,
however, enveloped in rolls of fat, appeared with his retinue (having
first bathed himself in sea water specially brought up for the occasion
from the mouth of the “Usutii”), the commemoration began in earnest, for
then with measured step and dignified air the thousands of men and women
commenced dancing, advancing and retreating in perfect rythm, keeping
time to a rich, deep, warlike song they were chanting in beautiful
cadence. There were three regiments present that morning numbering at
least 9,000 men, and with 3,000 women, as I have described, the scene
was both sensual and sensuous.
On one side of the kraal, and built of green branches cut from
neighboring trees, was a long enclosure, the interior of which was kept
hidden from vulgar gaze, no one being allowed to enter. A trader, who
was well known as being a confidant of the king, passing by at the time,
gained me admittance for a moment, when a sight most unique presented
itself. Kneeling and squatting on the grass were at least 150 boys
eagerly tearing and devouring the flesh of an ox which had been pummeled
to death the previous day. This operation is an old custom, and on this
occasion, I was told, it took about forty young men, unarmed (not even
with clubs), but merely striking the ox with their bare fists, fully an
hour to accomplish. We had only a second of time allowed us by the guard
at the entrance to peep in, as he was afraid some condign punishment for
his temerity, in permitting such a contravention of all precedent as
allowing us to enter, would befall him if he were discovered. Much to my
regret I could not find any one who could explain the meaning of this
rite. Retiring at once we spent several hours in walking around and
mixing with the natives, my impromptu guide drawing my attention to the
strong dialectic difference in the language as spoken by the Swazis and
the pure Zulu, they being a branch of the Zulu nation, who settled in
this region when Zenzamgakona was king, and he also kindly pointed out
to me many men of importance. Among these I may mention Umbovane, the
Swazi general who commanded the native levies which joined the forces
under Sir Garnet Wolseley in the attack on Sekukuni, and Zuhlane, a man
of commanding presence, who had been prime minister during two reigns
and whose word is law. Although an old man, gray, wrinkled, blear-eyed
and with an appearance of dissipation, yet he has well sustained a
reputation among the Swazis for diplomatic tact and foresight. Umbovane
has not even yet forgotten the greatness he had had “thrust upon him”
seven years before, when Sir Garnet Wolseley invited him to dinner,
after the successful attack in which he had assisted the 94th and 80th
Regiments in the Transvaal.
The most engrossing subject of conversation even at this time, although
two months had elapsed, was the visit of Dr. Clark, the Consul General
in London for the Transvaal, and the interview he had had with the king
on November 7th, 1886. This gentleman, as a member of the House of
Commons and an Englishman, seems to have acted in the most extraordinary
way—if Mr. Kannemeyer, an influential miner whom I knew well, and who
was present at this interview, can have understood correctly. Dr. Clark,
according to this gentleman’s description, seems all through to have
acted as a paid agent of the Boers would have acted, and his disparaging
remarks to the king about the English in the Transvaal war grated upon
my informant’s ears. His evident object was to impress the king with the
idea that the Dutch was the dominant power, and to imply that the king’s
request for an English resident was not the wish of the nation, but was
like the petition originally sent to the English government praying for
the annexation of the Transvaal. This, he said, a few only had sent, a
war resulted, and the Dutch got back their country; and then he further
went on to say that he had been sent out to inquire from the king,
personally, whether he was willing or not to hand over his country to
the English government. The king then postponed the interview until next
day, revolving in his mind whether Dr. Clark was or was not an
ambassador from England, or as General Smith of Majuba history, in
introducing Dr. Clark to the king, said, an _induna_ (councillor) sent
specially by the Queen. Next morning the king, in presence of his
principal _indunas_, told him (Dr. Clark) that he had no wish to ask
either the English or the Boers to take him over, but as he could
neither read or write, he was treating for an honest white man to look
after his interests. The conversation, as repeated to me, was a lengthy
one, but to make a long story short, Dr. Clark expressed his pleasure at
hearing this, and among other things cautioned the king against granting
concessions of gold-bearing districts to white men, telling him he was
giving away the independence of his country. “But,” said the king, “what
am I to do? I am only keeping my promises.” Dr. Clark said: “You can
easily get out of that difficulty; the Transvaal joins; you ask them to
exchange an equal extent of grazing land for a similar extent of
gold-bearing land already conceded.” The king and his councillors on
hearing this burst out into a most sarcastic laugh, the king observing,
“Why should I give stones with gold in them for grass? Have you anything
more to say?” and then rising bid the deputation “good-bye.” After Dr.
Clark, General Smith and their interpreter had gone, the king, turning
to the other white men at his kraal remarked, “He says he comes from the
Queen; but he pleads for the _Transvaal_, that is clear!”
Listening to these interesting statements of eye-witnesses, time flew
rapidly by. On inquiry I learned that this dance would be kept up for
two or three days, and as I had yet more than 100 miles to walk before
reaching Delagoa Bay, and was anxious to catch the mail steamer to
England, I collected my servants, and taking a last look at the crowd,
who were all engaged as eagerly as ever, started off again late in the
afternoon.
After walking about three miles I passed a fine brick-built store, owned
by an enterprising trader named Colenbrander. A little further brought
me to the favorite kraal of the king, where he chiefly resides, when,
darkness overtaking me, I selected a spot under a large shady tree where
we spent the night, sleeping round a blazing fire. The air of this
elevated region is stimulating in the extreme; the dryness of the
transparent atmosphere acting like a charm on the nervous system—every
breath a draught of sparkling Burgundy or Champagne! Though ready for
sleep as each nightfall came around, I never felt the exhaustion such as
a low country produces. We started early next morning and walked on
without resting until the middle of the day, when we came to a kraal
where we were kindly received. Here we rested a couple of hours during
the intense heat, refreshing ourselves with cool delicious “amasi” (sour
milk), which we were fortunate enough to procure from the natives.
Leaving this place just before sundown we struck the wagon-road running
between the Tembi and New Scotland in Natal, which was as smooth and
level as any colonial road I have seen. Between the kraal where I saw
the king and my joining the main road, the country was mountainous, but
the cross foot-path or “short cut” by which my guides brought me ran
chiefly along the mountain ridges, thus giving views diversified and
grand. I was much struck by the absence of all animal life—no birds,
game, no animals either wild or tame, added to the beauty of the
landscape, or relieved the monotony of our journey through these parts.
We were now able to walk much more quickly and more easily, so pushing
along far into the night we again slept in the “veldt.” Resting
uneasily, I persuaded my “boys” to start early, which we did by the
light of the moon at three in the morning. The Lebombo range, some
twenty miles distant, over which we had yet to climb, was ever before us
and present to our view, walling in as it were the vast flat, thickly
covered with mimosa trees, across which our road led us, while at our
back lay the Umzimbi range of mountains we had journeyed over the day
before, the towering summit of Mananga closing up the scene. About noon
we arrived at the foot of the Lebombo range, where we stopped an hour
for rest and refreshment; after that, a stiff climb and the summit of
the Lebombo was reached. We walked on a few miles, then another night in
the open and another day’s weary walk over a most precipitous country! I
shall not forget in a hurry the descent of a tremendously steep and
stony ravine, at the bottom of which ran the Umnyama, a rapid mountain
stream, nor the wading through, nor the ascent beyond! The night rapidly
came on, and everything was wrapped in a thick mist, when fortunately
for us we fell into a foot-path, which led us to a house where we were
most hospitably received and cared for until the morning.
Sunrise saw us all ready to start. A short walk through the veldt
brought us to the main road along which the descent of the Lebombo range
is made by the easiest gradients. On reaching the bottom and entering
the valley below, the narrow road bordered by groves of trees, with the
grass growing exuberantly rank, winded and turned like an English lane,
the glaring sun and stillness of the air meanwhile making the stifling
heat almost unbearable. Tramping on until the sun was nearly overhead we
rested during the mid-day on the banks of a stream of crystal water
which, murmuring its sweet music unseen through the forest glen,
suddenly appeared flowing along its bed across our path. But as I had
determined to reach the Tembi that night, where I was promised that a
tug, which plied between this and Delagoa Bay. would be placed at my
disposal, and many a long mile having yet to be covered, my readers can
well suppose that not much time was lost. Everything in this world has
an end, and so had this long day. I cannot describe the almost
unutterable relief the faint shimmer of the river I had so long expected
to see gave me, as in the clouded starlight I caught the first view of
its waters. I eagerly looked for the steam-tug, which to my intense
delight I found moored to the banks, but never did I more fully
appreciate the truth of the saying in Holy Writ, that “Man is born to
trouble” as when my hopes were suddenly shattered by learning from the
only white man there, who, by the way, I found tossing in semi-delirium
from malarial fever, that the master of the boat was away. I saw at once
that there was no other alternative left me but to cross the Tembi and
continue my walk next day. The poor fever-stricken fellow was very kind
and invited me into his tent, where he gave me refreshment and a
shake-down, and nothing gave me more pleasure than that this attention I
was able in some measure to repay by persuading him to accept some
medicine which I had brought with me to take in the case of a similar
emergency.
The Tembi, a tidal estuary about one hundred yards broad, is here sixty
miles from the sea, and has an ebb and flow of some eight feet. I got
four of my boys to carry me across early next morning when it was
fordable, and began what I thought would be my last day’s journey. Our
path, a narrow Kafir one, lay for miles over what seemed an endless
plain, where silence the most profound reigned supreme, and the thick
tambooti grass waving far over our heads, the dew falling off like rain,
and soaking us through and through. After four hours’ incessant walking,
the monotony of the path being here and there broken by glimpses of the
dark flowing Tembi, the landscape changed and we came to a part which I
can compare only to an English park, interspersed ever and anon with
cool and shady groves. Here we began to come across indications of an
increased population; passing through tracts of cultivated land on which
the mealies were growing most luxuriantly. Suddenly we arrived at a
large Kafir kraal. The style of the huts was different from that of the
Swazis or the Zulus, and showed at once we were among a different race
from that we had left a few miles back beyond the Lebombo mountains.
Entering one of the huts I was taken by surprise at seeing a Banyan
(Arab trader) sitting on the floor and articles of European merchandise
exposed for sale. This man could not speak a word of English, but my
boys soon found means to communicate with him, or he perhaps guessed
their requirements, as in less than a minute the main curse of
civilization in the shape of brandy was introduced. This spirit, I
afterwards learned, was imported in large quantities at a cheap rate
from Chicago, and I could see was fast working its full share of evil
among these Amatonga tribes.
The blazing sun, and the puffs of heated air every now and again blowing
across our path, tempted us, later in the afternoon, to halt at another
kraal. The head man at once came out and offered to sell us many
delicacies which we had not tasted for days. Fresh milk, honey, eggs,
etc., were brought us, but when a haunch of venison was produced, my
boys fell into such raptures that I could not resist buying it and
staying to let them cook it, making up my mind to divide the journey and
arrive at Delagoa Bay the next day. By sundown our luxurious repast was
finished, and we all lay down to sleep under the branches of a large
tree that stood in the centre of the kraal. The misery and discomfort of
that sultry night will ever remain a vivid memory. After a few hours’
rest I was roused up by the patter of heavy rain-drops on the leaves of
the tree above, and the almost pitchy darkness, now and again
illuminated by flashes of lightning, told me a storm was brewing. To
what agony and well-nigh maddening torture was I not awakened! All
around, advancing and retreating. buzzing and singing like a swarm of
angry bees, were millions on millions of mosquitoes, which, as if
suffering from unappeasable hunger and insatiable thirst, were stinging,
biting, and sucking my blood, pitiless creatures that they were! Now I
began to understand why some would rather hear the lion’s roar than the
hum of the mosquito, as from the one prudence or courage could be a
defence, while nothing but some “mean” contrivance, as grease, sand,
smoky smudge or nets could be a protection from the other. So
insignificant an assailant, yet so venomous and intolerable a little
demon, is he! My clothes, I soon found, were useless, as these “swamp
angels” revelling in the prospect of the “Carnival of Blood” in store,
pierced their powerful, insinuating barbs through everything I had on,
although, seeing the small proportion of them that could ever have
tasted human blood, I thought that so many need not have made merry at
my expense.
To lie down again and sleep was an utter impossibility, to rouse my
natives from the state of perfect oblivion into which their supper had
assisted them seemed cruel, and to remain at the mercy of my tormentors
was too great an act of self-denial to exercise. The struggle in my mind
was not long. I roused them quickly up, when piteous were their
complaints, until the jingle of gold silenced their reluctance to moving
on. The rain had ceased, but yet the night was densely overcast. Not a
foot-path could be seen. Not a breath stirred the thick and stifling
air, a dead stillness prevailed, the flame of my candle even burning
without a flicker, and so carrying it, unprotected in my hand, I
pantingly led the way for hours. Again the sullen drops of rain fell
here and there, and my poor candle did not long escape—one big drop, and
darkness covered all. I had now to trust to the bare feet and tact of
the South African native to keep me in the narrow path, and my
confidence was not misplaced, the light of the candle after all being no
real loss. The rain now began to pour down in driving torrents, as it
can do in the tropics only, the heavy leaden clouds shutting out the
faintest streak of light, while to add to the novelty of the situation
our path led us into dense bush through which we groped in line, holding
on, as we walked, to one another, until daybreak. The incessant rain
still continuing, and my boys seeing a kraal in the distance, made up
their minds they would take shelter and with until the worst had passed.
For a long time I could not dissuade them from stopping, but shivering
and shaking as I was in all my limbs from the cold and rain, and in the
centre of one of the most malarious districts in South Africa, I knew
that delay meant fever, so on I determined to go. Money again proved
successful in providing the “sinews of war.” Soon we came to some low
marshy ground which the Tembi overflows according to the tide. Through
these I had to wade, when on crossing one part which did not present
anything particular to my attention. I suddenly sank up to my waist in
the alluvial deposit. Umhlatusi quickly pulled me out, but not before
the stinking malaria I had stirred up thoroughly sickened me. A little
further on we ascended a bank bordering this morass, and then crossing a
narrow, flat and climbing a sandy ridge struck the shores of the Tembi
near its mouth, Lourenço Marques lying exactly opposite, two miles away.
Taking a ferry-boat we sailed across, and a few minutes more saw me
snugly ensconced in Mr. Otto Berg’s hotel, nine days from Barberton.
[Illustration]