QUEEN LABOTSIBENI, MOTHER OF KING BUNOQUEEN LABOTSIBENI, MOTHER OF KING BUNODuring Sebuza's infancy and boyhood, the throne receded to Queen Labotsibeni, his grandmother. She was blind and more than one hundred years old
LOMWAZI AND HIS COUNCIL OF INDUNAS, OR WAR CHIEFSLOMWAZI AND HIS COUNCIL OF INDUNAS, OR WAR CHIEFS
All this impressed Labotsibeni, but she insisted that the "great white witch-doctor" apply the treatment. I had to do it—that is, if I wanted to keep her favor. For an hour I massaged the old woman, and when the last of the muti was rubbed in she announced that her pains were gone and promptly fell asleep. The hot cloth, as I had guessed, took the aches out of her shoulders and back and the villainous muti bluffed her into a cure, which was good for the time being at least. It was a fine piece of chicanery for a graduate of two of the greatest medical colleges to have to practice, but it did the trick!
Next morning we went to the royal hut as soon as we were sent for. The same gin ritual had to be followed, and we found the old queen quite happy and a trifle under the influence of the liquor. The pictures had turned out well, and Lomwazi was amazed to see himself in all his barbaric beauty. He is one of the strongest men in Swaziland and is very vain concerning his athletic prowess. One of his greatest sports is to wrestle with any one who will stand up to him, and he seldom loses. Hence, when he saw himself in the pictures, he felt very proud. Immediately he christened the camera "the white man's magic" and told Labotsibeni all about it. I watched this talk, and it was pathetic. Lomwazi explained as best he could what we had done and then handed his mother the picture of herself, telling her to look at it. She held it close to her eyes, and then said:
"The white man's little black box is very wonderful!It must be a good magic or my son would not recommend it so highly."
If she had been able to see, she might have remarked that the picture was a remarkably good likeness. It was the only time she was ever photographed, and it seemed a shame that the old queen could not appreciate it.
Again we brought up the question of permission to take the coronation pictures. I explained that we wanted to do the same with Sebuza as we had done with them. This seemed to be all right, and we were getting nearer our goal when Lomwazi brought up the question of paying for the royal permission. He knew that the white man was not asking this favor for fun, and it came to him that we ought to be made to pay for it.
"Nkoos, you have come far to ask this permission," he said. "You have trekked through the rain and sun and it has cost you time and money to get here. You would not have done this if the queen's permission was not of great value to you, would you?"
I had to admit that I was not there entirely for my health, but minimized the importance of the pictures to myself personally.
"These pictures will show the glory of Swaziland to the whole world," I protested. "I shall carry them over the great waters to all the countries and there show the people what a wonderful land this is. I will show the English, the Boers, and all others that Sebuza is a real king. I will show the entire world that the son of Bunoand the grandson of Queen Labotsibeni rules one of the greatest nations in the whole of Africa!"
This oration flattered the vanity of the old queen and practically settled the question. Even the primitive Swazi values publicity. Labotsibeni agreed that we should have the royal permit to take the coronation pictures, and the next question was what I would pay. This was debated for some time. I tried to make Lomwazi set a price for the permission, while he, cunning beggar, tried to get me to make an offer.
Now the Swazi has only a few standards of value. He recognizes the fact that women, gold, gin, and cattle have values that are stable everywhere. These values are about as follows:
One gold pound buys one cow;
Five cows buy one woman;
One quart of gin buys whatever it will, according to the degree with which it is desired by a Swazi.
Five cows, however, are not a standard price for all women. Only the women of the plain people are valued at so low a figure. If the women to be bought are of good family, that is, if they are the daughters of indunas, they are worth more than five cows. I have known princesses to be bought for as much as fifty cows. These were the exception, however, since these girls were the daughters of a high chief.
I was prepared to offer cattle, gin, and money, and had brought along a certain amount of the latter. Lomwazi,however, started the deal with women as his counters.
"How many young women, all maidens, are you prepared to give?" he asked.
"It would take too long a time to get the women," I objected, "and I don't wish to trade women for the permission. I am ready to pay a small amount of gin and money, and perhaps some cows, but I cannot get women now."
"Can't you get ten or fifteen women, Nkoos?" Labotsibeni asked in her husky voice. "My son, Lomwazi, has but few wives and I have so few maids. It would be very agreeable if you could get a small number of women."
Lomwazi agreed with her in this, and I had to argue for some time to get out of the woman phase of the bargaining. Oom Tuys, although he knew it was against the law for white men to buy and sell women, pooh-poohed my scruples and told me to turn him loose and he would get me all the women I wanted. However, I remained firm in my refusal and the dickering took another tack.
"Well then, we'll buy the women we need," Lomwazi said. "Mzaan Bakoor, you will have to give much gin and money, and also cows. The queen has decided that one thousand pounds, one thousand quarts of gin, and one thousand cows shall be the price."
The old queen nodded her approval. I had not seen her confer with her vizier and realized that he was actingon his own authority. This showed me his power and how much the old lady trusted him. I then set out to get the price down to where we could really talk business. I had an idea that Lomwazi did not know how many there were in a thousand, but had used that figure as a basis for the deal.
When I suggested that the thousand figure was preposterous, he reminded me that it was only as many as there were men in the royal impi, thus proving that he actually knew what "one thousand" meant.
We talked back and forth, Labotsibeni every now and then putting in a word. The upshot of it all was that I agreed to pay five hundred gallons of gin, five hundred gold pounds or sovereigns, and five hundred cows for the right to take the pictures.
Oom Tuys thought I was a fool to give them so much.
"That is a tremendous price to pay for a few reels of these savages," he said; "particularly, when there is a good chance that you will not be ready to take the pictures before the coronation takes place. To protect you, I shall make them promise to keep you informed as to when the show will take place, so that you can get on the job."
He then pinned down the old queen, Lomwazi, and Debeseembie to a solemn promise that they would send me word as soon as preparations were under way to make Sebuza king. It is a point of honor among the royalty and high chiefs of the Swazis that their word is good,and this promise assured me that I would not lose my opportunity.
Next came the problem of paying for the rights to take the pictures. Money I had with me, and I was soon able to buy enough cows to make up the required number. The gin, however, was not so easy. It is against the law to bring gin into Swaziland, although the authorities did not object to a few bottles being brought to the old queen. On Tuys's advice, I arranged that the five hundred gallons be brought in through Komatipoort, from Portuguese territory. This confession, I suppose, will make me liable to arrest when I return to the Transvaal. To avoid detection, the gallon jugs were each packed in bags of straw surrounded by chaff, being carried over the border by native women. They looked as though they were carrying corn, and the government officials let them pass without suspicion.
After making the payment we set out for Ermelo. We had been about a fortnight on our trip, and both Snyman and Biddy were anxious to get back. We took the short-cut by way of Mbabane and made good time, the roads being fairly hard.
We had one shock, however. When we reached the Masuto River we found that the "flu" had visited there during our absence. First the Scotch engineer had died and been buried by the Boer farmer who had given us food; then the farmer had died and been put away by the young storekeeper with the hunted eyes; and finally he had died and been hidden in a shallow gravenear his store by some passing strangers. All three were gone, and this cast a gloom over our party, so that we were glad to leave the spot.
The river had gone down and we were able to ford it without much trouble, although Snyman had hard luck and fell out of the wagonette into the only deep spot.
I remembered that there were several women at the house of the dead farmer, so we went there to pay our respects and offer them any assistance we could. The house was closed and they were all gone, evidently to some of their relatives near Ermelo. We were about to return to the wagonette when I thought I saw something stirring near an orange-tree back of the house.
It was a "blaau app," or blue monkey, which was tied to the tree. The farmer's women had forgotten the poor beast when they went away and it was pathetically glad to see me. It must have been very hungry, for it had been eating oranges, as the skins strewn on the ground showed. It was the first time I had ever heard of a monkey eating such food. When I cut it loose, the poor thing jumped into my arms and I took it back to the wagonette, where we fed it. Biddy and Snyman soon started an argument as to what its name should be. The first wanted to call it "Labotsibeni," but the other thought "Victoria," in memory of a late-lamented Queen of England, would be a nice name. So, since it was my monkey, I called her "Jennie," whereat the others upbraided me for my lack of inspiration. To add to their iniquity, no sooner did we unpack in Ermelo than theystarted a preposterous yarn about how I had stolen "Jennie" from old Queen Labotsibeni. They said that the monkey was her consolation in old age and that I had decoyed it away, thus breaking the aged queen's heart.
This was not the last of "Jennie," however. The young doctor who had taken over my practice was carrying on well, and he adopted the monkey. She had the run of the place and was quite contented in her new home until one morning we were awakened by a fearful row. The peacocks next door were screeching at the top of their lungs and their owner, a gruff old Englishman, was out on the lawn using very bad language.
I ran out—and found "Jennie" up a tree with her hands full of the long tail-feathers from several of the proudest peacocks! It took me some time to pacify the Englishman, who demanded her life and was calling for his shotgun. Finally I smoothed the troubled waters, but "Jennie" was not allowed to run loose after that.
Having obtained the picture rights, I was anxious to have them taken properly. I scouted about, but could not find the equipment or camera-men I needed, so I decided to go to New York and get them. Oom Tuys agreed to watch things in Swaziland and delay the coronation until I could get back. I felt I could trust him to protect me, so I started to make arrangements for my overseas trip.
THE STREAM THAT DIVIDES THE ROYAL FROM THE COMMON GROUNDTHE STREAM THAT DIVIDES THE ROYAL FROM THE COMMON GROUNDIt was on the banks of this stream that we camped awaiting permission to enter the royal territory. This herd of cattle is being sent to the royal kraal as payment for two Princesses whom a chief has purchased as wives
TYPE OF AFRIKANDER CATTLETYPE OF AFRIKANDER CATTLEThese cattle are the unit of value among the Swazis and enter into every business transaction
SWAZI WOMEN AT HOMESWAZI WOMEN AT HOMEFashion is as inflexible in Swaziland as anywhere, but the styles do not change
This was not any too easy, because the war had disarranged sailings and there were not many ships touching at Cape Town. However, I soon saw in the paper that there was a freight steamer in port which was to sail direct to New York. I knew the skipper and telegraphed him that there was an emergency that required my sailing with him.
"If you care to take a chance," he wired back, "join the ship as soon as you can."
Just as I was leaving, Tuys reached Ermelo with a message from Lomwazi that Sebuza would be crowned within the next two months. This made me all the more anxious to be gone, and I left Tuys with the understanding that he would do his best to delay the coronation until I got back from New York.
I start for New York—The religious atmosphere on shipboard—"Flu" attacks the Javanese—The missionaries refuse to help—Sharks as scavengers—The little mother's end—Evils of liquor—Assembling my party in New York—Passage as freight—St. Lucia and a little excitement—The thin magistrate—Released on bail.
I start for New York—The religious atmosphere on shipboard—"Flu" attacks the Javanese—The missionaries refuse to help—Sharks as scavengers—The little mother's end—Evils of liquor—Assembling my party in New York—Passage as freight—St. Lucia and a little excitement—The thin magistrate—Released on bail.
When I reached the ship I found the reason for the captain's peculiar telegram. He had more than three thousand Javanese on board whom he was taking from the East Indies to Paramaribo, Dutch Guiana. From there he would go on to New York. These people were practically deck cargo, since there were no accommodations for them inside the ship.
While making arrangements for my cabin, I found that there was a woman who also had to go to New York. Although my friend, the captain, objected, I gave up my cabin to her and agreed to share the cabin of an old Javanese gentleman who was supposed to be in charge of the others. He was very primitive and ignorant, but spoke Dutch fluently, and I learned a great deal about Java and the East Indies—that is, while he lived, which was not long.
The first night out of Cape Town there were twenty-four of us at the long table in the saloon. All the officers ate with us, and there must have been sixteen or seventeen passengers all told.
Most important of the passengers were seven American missionaries returning from their godly work in the waste places of Africa and the East Indies. They were most conspicuous at all times and did everything possible to keep table conversation confined to religious topics. I chummed with a Canadian who represented an American agricultural firm in South Africa, and we soon became weary of religion at all meals.
"There's a place for everything in this world," he said one morning after breakfast, "but I'll be damned if I want to combine kippered herrings with my soul's salvation!"
It was not long before both of us were in the bad graces of the missionaries, who did not hesitate to murmur that "it was no wonder that the savages did not heed the call of Christ when the white men of their country were so irreligious!"
About the third day both the Canadian and I had had our fill of the missionaries. We were thinking of asking the captain to allow us to eat at another hour when something happened that changed the whole aspect of the ship. I had gone to my cabin to get some "smokes" when the little old Javanese crept in. He answered my cheerful greeting very quietly and then shut the door. I could see that something had hit him and that he wanted to talk. So I sat down on my bunk, wondering what the trouble was.
"Doctor, there is great trouble among my people," he said in a low voice. "Last night eleven of them died,and now they are dying all the time. Some terrible plague is among them and they die, they die!"
This startled me. I had not noticed that there was anything amiss forward, but then I remembered I had spent practically all my time aft. Instantly there came to me the recollection of the sudden deaths of my friends at the ford of the Masuto River. I asked him what form the disease seemed to take and he gave me a lot of rambling details, none of which made much sense. He was plainly in a blue funk. I told him to stay where he was and then went to the captain's cabin.
"I was just about to send for you, Doctor O'Neil," he said in greeting. "Something has broken loose among those Java coolies and they are dying like flies. As you know, we have no doctor on board. Will you go and see what's the matter?"
Then he told me that the first officer had buried more than a dozen the first thing that morning and that he would have to throw another lot overboard by noon.
"Why, they're dying like flies," he continued, "and we've got to do something to stop it. I shipped a full three thousand of them, but at the rate they're going I won't have a thousand left when I reach Paramaribo!"
So the captain and I went into the forecastle, taking with us the little Javanese head man. It took me about five minutes to find out what was the trouble.
"They've got the 'flu' and got it bad," I told the skipper. "It looks as though we are in for a bad time."
I was right. Here we were in the midst of nearlythree thousand ignorant people who had no idea of what was the matter. All they knew was that the man who was sick now would be dead in a short time. They sat about, perfectly quiet, waiting for death. I have never seen such resignation. In the scuppers there were six or seven bodies waiting for the first officer and his burial crew. No one paid any attention to the dead; they just sat about as though stupefied by what was happening.
"There's just one thing to do," I told the captain when we got back to his cabin, "and that's to organize a life-saving corps and get to work. Let's get all the medicine you have and as much brandy as there is on board and make a fight."
He agreed with me, and we overhauled the medical stores, finding little of any use in the present crisis. I have forgotten now what there was, but I remember thinking that we would have to put our trust in God and alcohol. I told the captain how inadequate his medicines were and he threw up his hands.
"Who'd ever expect to get the 'flu' on board, anyway," he asked, as though it were my fault. "I've got all the medicines I need for the usual ailments and brandy will cure most of the sicknesses that occur on this ship. I'll give you all the brandy, rum, and gin there is, and then you go to it!"
He was panic-stricken and practically told me I was to take command of his ship, except that he would take care of the navigation and discipline. I told him the first thing I wanted was assistants, and asked him tosummon all the passengers to the saloon. When they were assembled, I got up and told them what it was all about.
"These poor devils of Javanese are dying like rats in a hole," I said, "and I want volunteers to help me save them. There isn't much we can do, and every time you go among them you stand a chance of catching the 'flu.' They may not be good Christians, but they are certainly our fellow men and it is our duty to help them! I want volunteers and want them now. Who will join my life-saving crew?"
Instantly the lady to whom I had given my cabin and my Canadian friend volunteered. The others followed one by one, with the prominent exception of the missionaries. I was astounded that they were not among the first, and turned to them.
"What's the matter?" I asked, by that time annoyed at their holding back. "Don't you want to practice a little practical Christianity? Are none of you going to give us a hand in this fight?"
They did not deign to answer. Instead, they looked at their leader, a tall gentleman with lean jowls, and he calmly turned and left the saloon. They trooped after him, and then our captain exploded.
"Of all the yellow dogs!" he exclaimed. "So that's the sort of people they send out as missionaries! I'd like to throw them all overboard! Why, they'll hoodoo my ship! I was brought up to believe a parson put a curse on a ship, and now I know it's so!"
Well, we pitched in and laid out our fight. It was a seemingly hopeless job. These Javanese did not appear to want to help themselves. Their only idea was to die, if they were called, and there was never a peep out of any of them.
Men died and were sent to the sharks, leaving their women mute in their agony; wives and mothers died, and their men never turned a hair; children died in their mother's arms and were cast into the sea without the least outward sign.
I mention the sharks, but even now I hate to think of them. They loafed along beside the ship, their great bodies slipping easily through the water, with now and then the flash of a white belly as they turned to meet the falling body. The Javanese were dying at a rate of between fifteen and twenty a day, and we soon ran out of weights for their bodies. The sharks increased in number until it seemed as though word had been sent out that there was a "death ship" on the sea. Before long they were fighting for the bodies. I watched one such conflict, but one was quite enough.
My volunteers and I worked day and night to stem the tide of the "flu," and through it all the ship plugged along across a sea that was more like beaten brass than copper. It was hot, very hot, and at night the decks seemed to steam. Always the impi of sharks kept pace with us, their bodies throwing up streaks of phosphorescence as they lunged for their food. The whole thingwas like a living nightmare and it seemed as though it would never end.
Out of the haze of those ghastly days there comes to me one vivid incident. One of the Javanese women, a mother of seventeen or thereabouts, had a child of less than a year in her arms. I first noticed her when she held up her baby to me as I was going among the sufferers. The look in her eyes was so pleading, so trusting, that I took the little boy from her and examined him. The baby was as good as dead already. I gave it a sip of the stuff I was carrying, and the poor little thing opened its eyes and looked at me. I knew it could not live, but smiled encouragement as I gave it back to the outstretched arms.
It was about sunset that night when the little mother realized that her son, her first-born, had gone. I was standing on the companionway, looking down on the fore-deck and wondering how long the plague would last, when some of the crew began picking bodies out of the scuppers and throwing them overboard. The glory of the sunset seemed a mockery and the thought came to me that I would be fortunate if I saw many more such sights. Slowly the young Javanese mother got to her feet and stood swaying as she wrapped her baby in a gay shawl. This done, she pressed it to her breast and began to walk to the rail.
"She is going to bury her son herself," I thought, and I was partly right.
She stood at the rail for a moment and then, the dyingsun bright on her wistful face, turned and smiled at me. I smiled back, but the smile died aborning, for with one motion she rolled over the rail and was gone!
I rushed to the place and looked over. The shadow of the ship was broken by some swirling streaks of phosphorescence, and that was all. There was no sign of the little Java wife who could not live without her baby.
That night I asked the old Javanese chief about her. In his clear Dutch he told me that she was the wife of a Javanese who had gone to Guiana some months before. She was to join him and bring his son, of whom he was very proud, when he had established their home in the new land.
"Now, how can I tell him about this?" the old fellow asked. "He will want his wife and child, and I will only have a sad story for him."
But he was spared this. Early the next morning I noticed that he was ill, and in spite of all I could do he passed away before noon. Shortly before he lapsed into unconsciousness he sent for me.
"I must go with those who have already gone," he said. "They need me and have sent for me. I can only go if I know that you, the great white doctor, will guard and care for those whom I leave behind. Will you do this?"
Naturally, I promised, and that was the last I saw of him. He was a kindly, simple, old soul and the misfortuneof his people would have broken his heart, had he lived.
In a little while the "flu" began to lose its grip. Fewer and fewer died each day, and I had begun to think that the end was in sight when the white lady who was going to America came down with it. She had been tireless in her efforts to help in caring for the Javanese and I was not surprised when she fell ill. She was the only white person aboard to catch the "flu." We did everything possible for her, but she died on the second day.
As her body went overboard the captain read aloud from the Bible, choosing the passage, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." This struck me as particularly appropriate, since she had truly given her life for those Javanese. After her death the "flu" devil seemed satisfied and abandoned us. Before the end, however, we had lost more than twelve hundred of the Javanese!
The missionaries kept close to their cabins during the whole "flu" visitation, only appearing now and then on the afterdeck. They even gave this up as soon as the captain suggested that the wind might carry "flu" germs to them. In spite of their protestations, they had to eat with the rest of us or go hungry. The captain insisted on this point, since he felt that they deserved no consideration and it was also highly entertaining to watch their indignation when we all took a stiff nip of brandy with our meals. They spoke of what a great thing prohibitionwas for the United States, and every time they said it they would look meaningly at the Canadian and me. In fact, after the "flu" left us the missionaries varied their religious conversations by giving table-talks on the evils of liquor. I remember how shocked they professed to be when I told them how much old Labotsibeni liked her toddy and how we always brought it to her when we visited Swaziland.
When we reached Free Town, in the Barbadoes, an incident happened which was very amusing, but which these fanatics used to point out the evils of liquor. I knew some people there, and the Canadian and I went ashore and called on them. Of course there was "a party," and we enjoyed ourselves in free and easy fashion.
Now the ship lay about a mile off port, because there was not sufficient water to allow her to dock. We went ashore in rowboats and came back in the same way. The deck was reached by a thirty-foot ladder, which is not the safest sort of footing at best. On our return from the party my friend missed his step at the top of the ladder and fell plump into the sea. There were a number of boats about and he was fished out without difficulty. The captain and I regarded the mishap as a good joke on the Canadian, but at dinner that night the missionaries used it as the text for an extended discourse on the evils of strong drink.
One female missionary told us a story which led to a retort that is worth repeating.
"Forty-odd years ago three prominent Philadelphia doctors decided that drink and tobacco were the two great evils of the world," she said, "so they agreed never to touch either as long as they lived. They agreed that they would all meet after forty years and see how they compared with their drinking, smoking, dissipating friends. All lived up to the agreement faithfully. Then they met in Philadelphia as before, and were amazed to see how energetic, health-perfect, and generally superior they were to those who remained of their friends. They were now between seventy and eighty years old and yet were as active as men scores of years younger.
"This proves conclusively," she concluded, "that all the ills of old age are directly due to drink and tobacco."
Naturally, we agreed with her. This, of course, we should not have done, since the fanatic gets no pleasure unless able to argue for his creed. My Canadian friend, however, could not contain himself.
"Dr. O'Neil told me a similar case this morning," he said quite seriously. "It was about his uncle. This uncle is now one hundred and five years old and is beginning to worry about his health. Not long ago he was talking about drink and tobacco and told the doctor here that he had smoked steadily since he was seven years old; also that since he was fourteen he had drunk like a fish. 'And look at me,' he concluded; 'look at me! I know this whiskey will get me in the end!'"
There was a roar of laughter about the table, but the seven missionaries did not join in it. Instead, we wentout of their lives forever, and in the long days that followed, the skipper, the Canadian, and I spent most of our time together.
The remainder of our voyage was uneventful and we finally reached New York. Here I found a cable from Oom Tuys saying that the coronation was to be held soon and advising me to return as quickly possible.
I realized that no time could be lost and rushed about the city getting my equipment and party together. I engaged Dr. Leonard Sugden, the arctic explorer, as art and field director, William T. Crespinell as technical expert, and Earl Rossman as camera-man. Since they were to do the work, I had them buy the equipment. A feature of this was the manner in which the reels of film were packed. Knowing the difficulties of the Transvaal climate, Crespinell had them soldered in tins which were again placed in other tins. These were also soldered and the air exhausted between the outer and inner tins, so that the films practically traveled in a thermos bottle.
After assembling my party and equipment, the next step was to get the whole outfit to Swaziland. This was a terrific undertaking. The war had so disarranged the world's shipping that I spent days on the docks of Staten Island and South Brooklyn trying to find a ship that would take us to Cape Town. Finally, after almost despairing, I was able to book passage for Crespinell and Rossman on the steamer "City of Buenos Aires," which went direct to Cape Town. A day later the captain of a freighter for the same port was inducedto include Dr. Sugden and myself in his cargo. He did not know when he would start, but assured me that it would be soon.
This was on a Saturday, and I told Sugden to stand by and wait for word to go on board. I saw that our equipment was stowed in the forward hold of the ship, and then went up to Fairfield, Connecticut, where some friends of my Harvard days were living. They invited me to stay until I had to sail, and I settled down to have a pleasant visit. They have a fine farm and a barbecue was arranged in my honor. This barbecue was held in the woods, and we were in the midst of it when a servant came from the house with a telegram from the captain of the ship. He said that he would sail at eleven o'clock the next morning!
At once commenced a mad rush. I got Sugden's hotel on the long distance telephone, but they only knew that he had gone somewhere in the country to spend the week-end. I hurried back to New York and looked up every address where I might get information about him, but was unable to locate him. I kept trying up to the last moment, but finally could only leave word at his hotel that I was sailing. I went aboard very low in mind because his duties with my proposed expedition were of great importance.
But Sugden is one of those mortals who seldom gets left. As we swung down the bay past the Statue of Liberty, I spied a tug coming after us with great speed. In addition, she was whistling and generally acting asthough she was trying to catch our freighter. We were going slowly, so that in a short time the little craft fussed up alongside—and there was Sugden waving his hand from her forward deck! A rope-ladder was lowered, and a moment later I was gleefully shaking hands with him.
Now this was to be one of the most memorable voyages of my life—and I have traveled a good deal. To begin with, we had the worst accommodations I have ever endured on any vessel. Our ship was only a cargo boat and there were no passenger-cabins whatever. We slept in a sort of steerage in the hold, in company with twelve of the crew. It was the most filthy hole I was ever in and reeked with vermin, including rats of the largest and most ferocious kind. The crew were the usual scum found on such boats and were the dirtiest human beings I have ever seen. They disapproved of us—and we of them—to such a degree that I often expected they would try to do us harm. Sugden, however, took all this as part of the game, and his sporting spirit made it possible for us to exist. His experiences in the Far North had made him familiar with all sorts of white men, but I had never seen such as these. People now and then speak slightingly of the kaffir, but the Swazi, with his daily ablutions, is a very superior person when compared with these so-called "white men."
When our ship reached the warmer latitudes our hole became unbearable and we moved our pallets to the poop-deck, where we managed to get some sleep in spiteof the terrific rainstorms we ran into. We felt that it was better to be drowned by clean rainwater than to suffocate and die slowly in our steerage bunks. However, our miserable existence used to get on our nerves now and then and we would drown our sorrows with whatever liquor we could obtain.
There was one other passenger on the boat. He was a typical American of the western type who had lived in South Africa for years. Every year he made a trip to the United States and brought back blooded stock of various kinds. He was the slap-dash, breezy kind of big-hearted soul and soon became chummy with us. Owing to the fact that he was a regular tripper on this boat, he was able to share accommodations with one of the officers.
It soon became his custom to visit us. He would sing out, "Look out below!" and then would creep down the shaky ladder which was the only means of entry to our place of misery. Always he brought a bottle, and the excellent "hootch," as he called it, did much to make our lives bearable. He was a good story-teller and would always introduce a preposterous yarn with the preface, "Now thisistrue!" We gave him quite a run for his money when it came to yarning, as both of us had been about a bit, Sugden in the north and I in the south of the world.
The first break in the monotony of this dreadful voyage came when we reached St. Lucia, in the British West Indies. This is a gorgeous bit of the tropics set in anopal sea, with cloud-covered mountain-tops that seem to rake the sky.
When the ship tied up in the roadstead, Sugden and I felt that we were due to go on the loose a bit and went ashore with the express purpose of forgetting our troubles. We certainly succeeded in doing so, but ended by jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. Several of the ship's officers went with us, as they felt there were events at hand which they must not miss. Our "party" started at the first hotel we entered. This, it seems, was exclusively for the colored section of the population, for the place fairly reeked with blacks.
After we had had several drinks, Sugden turned to me and asked:
"Well, what are we here for? What do we want?"
"Excitement!" was my answer, and we proceeded to get it.
There was a billiard-table in the room, and this, with its torn green baize, suggested a battle-ground. We started a series of fights between the blacks, with a prize of five shillings to each winner. The conditions of the battles were that the two blacks should fight on the billiard-table, the loser being the one knocked off. There were some gallant battles, and every winner fairly earned his crown.
The noise of the cheering drew a crowd, and soon the large bare bar-room was jammed with black boys and a sprinkling of whites. We whetted our interest bybetting on the combatants, and I was doing quite nicely when the police broke in and stopped the fun.
There was a squad of these funny black policemen, led by what I took to be a sergeant. They carried authority, and the blacks seemed to regard them with a great deal of respect.
The sergeant wanted to know what I was doing. I told him that I was conducting a boxing tournament for the benefit of something or other. He asked if I had "official permission," and I admitted that I had overlooked this formality.
"Then you are inciting riot and rebellion," he said in his clipped English. "I arrest you in the name of the King!"
At this, Sugden commenced to laugh. This was a great mistake, since the black sergeant seemed to think that we were scoffing at the king. Without more ado, he invited us to accompany him to the court.
"This, my dear sirs," he said severely, "is a very serious matter. It is not allowed to stir up strife in His Majesty's colonies."
The court was in an old-style Spanish house, and the room was vacant except for buzzing flies. These zoomed like infant meteors through the narrow streaks of sunlight from the long windows. The benches were worn and comfortable, and I remember dropping off to sleep with the thought that even these flies had more luck than we did, since they had sunlight and fresh air, while our home was that dreadful steerage hole.
I was awakened by Sugden's elbow. There on the high bench sat a thin old gentleman all in white. He had a thin hooked nose much like an eagle's beak, and his eyes were of the well-known gimlet type. As I took him in, the sergeant was reciting the charge against us.
"These are desperate men," I heard him say, "from the ship now in the harbor. They were in the St. Lucia Hotel and were—"
"Yes! Yes!" interrupted the thin magistrate in a voice as sharp as his nose. "But what is the charge? What have they done? Never mind the oration; get to the charge!"
By this time I was wide awake. I suddenly came to a full realization that I was one of those "desperate men" and found myself deeply interested.
"They were inciting riot and rebellion," the sergeant went on, undaunted by the magistrate's impatience. "A boy ran to the police-station and said murders were being done at the hotel. I called out all the police and went there as fast as we could run. Inside the billiard-room were hundreds of whites and blacks, all shouting with their desire for blood. On the billiard-table were two black men trying to kill one another. As I watched, one struck the other. He fell from the table and the crowd cheered.
"Then this man," he went on, pointing at me, "hands money to the man on the table and says, 'You win!' After this he takes money from the other white man"—pointingat Sugden—"and tells him that he is rotten at picking fighters."
"What next? What next?" the magistrate snapped.
"Then the first man demands that more men come and fight," continued the sergeant, "and there was a rush by the blacks to see who could get on the table. Then I brought my men in and arrested them both. Entirely unashamed at being arrested, this man"—again indicating Sugden—"laughs out loud when I say the name of the king!"
It seemed that we were guilty of disturbing the peace and quiet of His Majesty's island of St. Lucia and were very reprehensible characters. The lean magistrate regarded us with severe eye, and I am not surprised that he looked at us with suspicion. The voyage had not improved our looks much and we had come ashore in much-worn "ducks." In fact, we must have looked like a couple of beach-combers.
"You have heard the charge?" he snapped at us. "Guilty or not guilty?"
We were as guilty as could be, of course. Therefore we answered in one voice:
"Not guilty!"
The magistrate raised his eyebrows at our effrontery and then cleared his throat again.
"Then you'll have to stand trial," he said. "I shall admit you to bail. Five pounds each!"
We promptly produced the bail, and I think the "thin dash of vinegar," as Sugden christened him, was surprisedthat we had it. Certainly we did not look as though we had a shilling between us. After our pedigrees were taken, we were informed that we would be tried at "ten o'clock next Thursday morning."
Outside the court-room we found one of the ship's officers in a state of frenzy. It seems that he had been sent to get us, as the ship ought to have sailed several hours before.
"She's been blowing and blowing and blowing for you!" he informed us in an aggrieved tone, "The old man is fair beside himself with rage."
"Oh, that's what all the noise is about," Sugden innocently remarked.
Then he suggested that we take our time and stop at several places. He argued that so long as we kept the officer with us the captain would not dare to sail. But I vetoed this proposition, feeling that we had already run afoul of "His Majesty the King" and not caring to take another chance.
Obstinate stowaways—Free Town and a fight—Bay rum as a beverage—Sugden lets off smoke-bombs—Cape Town, a party, and some Anzacs—Oom Tuys advises haste—Through South Africa—Americans and Boers in Ermelo—Hurried visit to Swaziland for information—Mystery over the coronation—Royal gin for Labotsibeni—Debeseembie drinks and talks.
Obstinate stowaways—Free Town and a fight—Bay rum as a beverage—Sugden lets off smoke-bombs—Cape Town, a party, and some Anzacs—Oom Tuys advises haste—Through South Africa—Americans and Boers in Ermelo—Hurried visit to Swaziland for information—Mystery over the coronation—Royal gin for Labotsibeni—Debeseembie drinks and talks.
We were certainly unpopular with the skipper when we got back on board. The officers who had attended our fistic tournament had returned slightly the worse for wear, and, of course, their condition was laid at our door. In fact, we retired to our pallets on the poop-deck feeling that we had not one friend on the ship, outside of the gunner, who was heavily subsidized. It was his job to feed us, and we tipped him liberally to get us the best there was. He earned his money, however.
At dawn the next morning there was a fine explosion—the captain fairly blew up. The chief officer had discovered two stowaways, and we were wakened by his marching them up to the captain's cabin. It seems it was the duty of the commanding officer of the ship to return these stowaways to the port where they slipped on board, and the rules made him responsible for their cost until he did so. This annoyed our worthy captain exceedingly and his language was more sultry than the weather, and that is saying a great deal. In his torrentof profanity the skipper included Dr. Sugden and myself, for it seems that he held us responsible for the stowaways getting aboard the ship.
While he relieved himself of all that bad language, the two stowaways, both negroes, stood silent, although there was a baleful gleam in their eyes. They were finally told off to do some work, but flatly refused to lift a finger. Then food was denied them until they did work, and the matter reached a deadlock. The captain finally decided to put into Free Town, in the Barbadoes, and turn them over to the authorities there after making arrangements for their return to St. Lucia.
When the ship reached Free Town the captain gave strict orders that no one should be allowed ashore, adding, "particularly those two doctors!" We did not like this, as Free Town is a pleasant place and we could have found relaxation there that would have broken the tedium of the voyage. We needed the break, too, for the captain had ordered that we should not be allowed to buy any more liquor after the events at St. Lucia.
However, we had commissioned the gunner to see what he could do for us and he had gone ashore with "the old man." In a little while a busy motor-launch, with the Union Jack flying free, came chugging alongside with our worthy captain and six of the Free Town police.
They tumbled on board and announced to the stowaways that they were under arrest.
"We are, are we?" these worthies asked. "Well then, come and get us!"
They tore off their coats and shirts and waited for the attack. The police made no move, and I did not blame them. These two outcasts were the finest specimens of "fighting niggers" I have ever seen. Their torsos were ribbed with muscle and they looked fit to fight for their lives. What was more, they seemed anxious to begin!
The police shuffled their feet, and I saw that they were afraid to tackle them. The stowaways saw it, too, and became cocky. They turned on the captain and officers of the ship and let loose a flood of damaging language quite as strong as their splendid bodies. Expurgated, it ran something like this:
"You white folks think 'cause you've got some gol' braid on yer coats that yu' kin run over us! Come on an' get us! If yu' wanter arrest us, come an' do it! Yu' aint got th' nerve! Yu're afraid, that's wot yu' are! Come on an' fight, white men, come on!"
Not one of the officers or police moved. The stowaways were right; they were afraid. Then Sugden and I broke the tension by cheering the stowaways. Like us, they were the under dogs and we were for them. We cheered and applauded their defiance, and this proved too much for the forces of law and order.
There was a wild rush, and after a few sturdy blows the stowaways were overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers. When the flailing arms stopped, they wereflat on the deck with about six men sitting on each. The irons were brought and clapped on them, and the last we saw of them was when they were hustled on board the launch.
While this party was going on the gunner had been busy on our behalf. He had been unable to sneak away from the captain's gig when ashore, but made up for it by doing business with the bumboat men who came alongside. From one of these he bought two cases of bay rum, paying twenty cents a quart for it. This he smuggled down into our steerage and told us about it as soon as the smoke of battle had cleared away.
Now this bay rum is not meant for drinking, although the blacks of that part of the world consume great quantities of it. I have heard that it makes them wild, and I am not surprised. It did worse than that to Sugden and me.
We started drinking it as soon as we could, and before long we reached the semi-conscious state that made life bearable. From this we went into the second stage—that of hallucinations. We went practically crazy. Sugden insisted that he was a red squirrel and I believed that I was a wild cat. We became violent and were locked in the steerage. However, they did not take our bay rum away.
Now the captain never visited our quarters, so he did not know of our plight until the end of the second day. Then he ordered that we be released. No sooner was the hatch taken off than Sugden tore up the ladder,crying out that "the wild cat" was after him. I was! Believing his assertion that he was a red squirrel, I chased him all over the boat, intent on killing him.
We dashed through the officers' quarters, the captain's cabin, across the decks, up on the bridge and down again, and even got into the engine-room in our mad chase. Every one on the ship followed us, roaring with laughter. It was the funniest thing they had ever seen. Finally they captured us and brought us back to earth with buckets of sea-water.
The captain was so amused that he forgave our previous sins and became our friend. He confiscated the balance of the bay rum and put us on an allowance of one stiff drink of whiskey each evening. This helped, but it was not very much under the circumstances.
The next afternoon Sugden made a hit with the captain. The World War was not long over and the ship had a number of smoke-bombs which were supposed to be used in foiling U-boats. The gunner was in charge of them. Since they were no longer needed, the captain gave orders that they be thrown overboard.
The gunner, however, proved inexpert. He lighted several, and then dropped them over the stern so quickly that the fuse was extinguished without the bomb exploding. Sugden watched these manœuvers with extreme disgust. At each failure his remarks became more insulting. Finally he could stand it no longer—he had not yet fully recovered from the bay rum—and staggered up to the gunner.
"You're a fine gunner," he snorted. "Who ever heard of a gunner who couldn't make a smoke! Stand back and let an expert let 'em off!"
I was deathly afraid that he might have an accident, that one of the bombs would explode and kill him. The gunner had the same idea and hurriedly withdrew. The captain called to Sugden, but he paid no attention. He lighted the first bomb, held it for an interminable time, and dropped it over. It "boomed" as it struck the water and threw out the smoke-screen in most approved navy fashion. We all cheered, partly from relief that there had been no accident. Then Sugden let off all the rest of the bombs without a failure.
"Well, you're a little bit of all right, after all," the captain said. "Come down to my cabin and I'll give you a real drink!"
From then on we had a pleasant trip. Our captain let bygones be bygones and we enjoyed the few remaining days enough to partly make up for the misery that had preceded them.
Crespinell and Rossman had arrived in Cape Town when we reached there, and came out in a motor-boat to meet us. We introduced them to our new friend, the captain, and he gave them a brief résumé of our activities during the thirty-odd days of the voyage. He gave us credit for being two of the "rarest specimens" he had ever encountered.
"The next time I ship two such wild men as these," he said, "I'll move into the forecastle and give 'em mycabin! What's more, from now on I'm going to limit myself to one doctor a trip, and he won't be a Boer, either. These two devils did everything from start a menagerie on one case of bay rum to instigate a mutiny when we had some fighting stowaways on board."
Then he gave a romantic and none too flattering account of how we had been arrested in St. Lucia, and ended by informing my men that we were "fugitives from justice." This had not occurred to me; perhaps it is so and I shall find the funny black policeman waiting for me the next time I visit the island.
We were glad to get ashore. It is one thing to race across the Atlantic in five days on a floating palace and quite another and none-too-pleasant experience to spend more than a month on a freighter in the warmer latitudes. The solid earth welcomed our feet and we found Cape Town very gay.
After getting settled at the hotel, we started out to enjoy ourselves. Of course we chartered a motor, and our trail could easily be followed by the familiar fumes of gasoline and alcohol. The town was full of "Anzacs," Australian and New Zealand soldiers, returning from the war. They were great big reckless devils, glad to be going home and glorying in the fact that they had won the war. This led to an argument and to my taking a short and sad cruise in the "Mayflower," this being the highflown name of a typical Cape Town hack.
In one of the many places we visited during the course of our rambles, we ran into a number of "Aussies" celebratingthe downfall of the Boche. They immediately noted Dr. Sugden's sombrero and greeted him as a "Yank." This was all right, but soon they added a familiar remark, "The Yanks won the war; oh yes, they did!" and Sugden became indignant. The usual argument ensued. Words ceased when Sugden slammed his hat on the ground and offered to lick them all. A second later we were in the center of a fine mêlée, which was ended by the military police breaking in.
Sugden was badly used up and some of the rest of us were severely bruised. The nearest vehicle was the "Mayflower," so we piled the "fighting Yank" into it and took him back to the hotel. He had been badly damaged, so that it was a week before we were able to travel.
In the meantime Oom Tuys had sent me several telegrams in which he urged me to hurry. In one there was the phrase, "Tzaneen making trouble; maybe war," and this sounded as if we were in for an interesting time when we reached Swaziland. I did not understand how she could do anything unless she tried to take the throne for Sebuza by force, but the situation looked as though there was some excitement ahead.
Sugden was still recuperating from his battle with the Australians and expected to remain in bed for a few days more when this wire reached me. I showed it to him and he immediately became excited.
"Come on, let's go" he said, getting out of bed."We're wasting time here. Let's get into Swaziland and see what's doing."
We left next day for the Transvaal. It is a long journey, but to one who has not made it before there is much of interest.
After leaving the coast there come the beautiful mountain passes of the Cape Colony. Then the train drops to the Karoo Desert, with its endless brown stretches broken only by dry rivers, near which can be seen great herds of sheep. Kimberley, with its barrenness and huge dumps of dark, diamond-washed soil comes next, and finally the Great Fish River is crossed to the grassy plains of the Orange Free State. Across these plains the train runs for hundreds of miles, and then comes the Vaal River, after which the veldt of the Transvaal is reached. After a while the huge smoke-stacks and great white ore-dumps of Johannesburg loom, and the journey is practically ended.
My companions were keen to hear all about this country, so new to them, and I was kept busy running from side to side of the car supplying their thirst for information. Dr. Sugden, I found, was well up on the history of the country and would often supply a missing date when I related the romantic story of the Boer and British conquest of South Africa.
We spent several days in Johannesburg, and my companions were delighted with it. They frequently commented on its being like an up-to-date American city, as they found practically everything there that theywould expect in the United States. In fact, Sugden was loud in his praises of the telephone service, which he insisted was "almost as good as that at home." The city has developed extensively during the last twenty years and now has buildings, hotels, and streets of the most modern type. The great contrast lies in the character of the street traffic. There are hundreds of motors of all kinds, but there are also innumerable rickshaws drawn by Zulus, thousands of kaffirs, and not a few horse-cabs.
Then, of course, the huge mine-dumps right in the heart of the city struck my companions as extraordinary, but it must be remembered that the city grew up after the mines were sunk. There are miles and miles of smoke-stacks, and the crushing of the ore mills can always be heard. My party was much impressed by Parktown, the millionaires' suburb to the north of the city. Here there are libraries, a zoological garden, and all things essential to a thoroughly equipped and prosperous city. I have many friends in Johannesburg and my companions had a pleasant time visiting them with me.
They had their first view of a real Boer village when we landed in Ermelo a few days later. The morning we reached there we saw several score of Cape carts loaded with farmers and their wives coming to town to shop. Then there were several of those great canvas-topped freight wagons, drawn by seven or eight span of wide-horned oxen and driven by a number of kaffirboys. These walk alongside with their long goads, and the entire progress of the caravan is one long shout. With the yelling of the kaffirs, the creaking of the great wagon, and the frequent lowing of the oxen, the noise of such an outfit is as striking as is its picturesque appearance.
Sugden was intensely interested in these great freight trains, and reminded me of their similarity to those which made the overland trail in the States during the days of the forty-niners. The heavy-set men riding beside the wagons particularly impressed him.
"Why, they are the same men that settled the West of my country," he exclaimed. "Their steady eyes and great beards remind me of the days of Crockett and Boone. Their rifles, ready for instant use, carry out the picture. Fred Remington would have been crazy over these ox-teams!"
I noted that the interest was not all on our side; these farmer Boers were quite as curious about us as we were about them. They called each other's attention to our strange clothes, and not a few looked with envy at Dr. Sugden's sombrero. He was right about these men. They are the true pioneer breed, the men who found and make empires!
Oom Tuys was not in Ermelo. One of his boys was waiting for me, however, with a message that preparations were being made for the coronation at Lebombo, but that Labotsibeni had made no sign as yet. Heassured me that I need not worry and that he would join me at Ermelo in a day or two.
I commenced assembling our expedition, and while I was so occupied my companions visited about and made many friends among the Boers. None of them had ever seen any Americans, although they had heard much of the United States, and they were greatly interested in everything the latter said and did. In fact, word reached the outlying districts that some Americans were in Ermelo and several hundred Boers trekked in to see them. Of course my companions could not talk Dutch and it was seldom that an interpreter could be found. It was no unusual thing for several great, bearded Boers to shake hands with them and say, "Hello, America!" this being the extent of their English. Sometimes conversations would take place in very broken English, the Boers always wishing to get news from the outer world.
I remember one such talk. The Boer was a sort of preacher and was fairly well read. He spoke English of a kind—that is, it was understandable. He caught Sugden and me when we were returning from looking over some oxen and asked us a question that had been perplexing him. I translate his words into ordinary language, as otherwise they would be difficult to understand.
"The war is over, yes?" he asked. "And America sent more than two million men and spent hundreds of millions of pounds. England, France, and the others willtake much from Germany and Austria, but America says she will take nothing. Is this so?"
"Yes, that's right," Sugden answered.
"Why is America so foolish?" he asked in a puzzled way. "She loses thousands of men and millions of money, and yet wants nothing from Germany! Why did she go into the war?"
This question was not asked so often in those days, and I was curious to hear Sugden's reply.
"America went into the war to save herself," the doctor answered positively. "If Germany had won, she would have had to fight her alone, so she went in to avoid such a war."
This satisfied the greybeard, but he went off muttering, "America wants nothing! America wants nothing! Such a foolishness!"
Naturally, he could not understand this. Every time the Boers made war they gained territory, as did the British, and he judged from his own experience. I was glad that Sugden had stated the facts, instead of the old cant about America fighting to "save civilization." I know the old Boer would not have understood that and would have regarded it as what Sugden called "bunk."
I had about finished assembling our outfit when Tuys came. He brought word that the coronation was indefinitely postponed, so we settled down to wait a bit before starting for the wilds of Swaziland. As usual, the unexpected happened. One of Tuys's men cameto Ermelo in hot haste, bearing word that the coronation was to take place as soon as possible.
This was disconcerting information, and Tuys and I held a council of war.
"I don't believe that they intend having the coronation right away," he said. "I don't think that Sebuza has been properly consecrated yet."
"Well, you know what we've just heard," I said. "I wish we could get some first-hand information about it. I'd hate to lose out after all the trouble I've taken."
"Owen, lad, there's just one thing to do—let us make a quick trip to Zombode and find out about it," my uncle advised.
We talked the matter over for some time, and that seemed to be the only solution. There were still a few details of our expedition to be attended to, but I turned these over to Sugden and made up my mind to leave next morning.
Dawn saw Oom Tuys and me on the trail. We rode fast ponies and went unattended. What food we needed we carried in saddle-bags, and the most weighty part of our load consisted of several bottles of gin. These, of course, were a necessity.
The trip proved uneventful. The weather was good and we were able to sleep out comfortably. We skirted around Mbabane, since it would not do for Mr. Commissioner Dickson to know that Tuys was going into Swaziland.
When we reached Zombode we found Lomwazi onguard at the royal kraal. He came out to meet us and received our gift of gin with rather poor grace. He seemed uneasy and not at all glad to see us. We asked to see Queen Labotsibeni.
"Nkoos, the queen is not well and cannot see you," he answered, lying badly.
"But she sent for me," Tuys said, catching his eye and meeting lie with lie. With the assured air of the white man, he was able to tell his lie convincingly.
We knew that we would be caught if we allowed Lomwazi to return to the old queen alone, so we dogged his footsteps and arrived at her hut with him. Tuys fairly pushed in ahead of Lomwazi, and a moment later was talking to Labotsibeni.
"Nkosikaas, mother of Buno the Great," he said, "I, the White King of Swaziland, am here to do your bidding. Your son, Lomwazi, told me that you are not well and I have brought Mzaan Bakoor, the great doctor, to cure you."
I could see the old woman seemed very feeble. She nodded approval as Tuys finished and answered by asking for gin. Lomwazi pulled out the glass stopper and a moment later held the earthenware cup to his mother's lips. She gulped and choked, then repeated her action, and finally finished the drink, gasping for breath.
We sat and watched and saw a transformation. As the alcohol went down we saw her strength return. In a few minutes she was the same old queen I had knownbefore. Lomwazi squatted behind her with sullen look. When he glanced our way there was murder in his eyes, and I did not like it. Tuys, always reckless and utterly fearless, gave him glance for glance, and the black man's eyes always fell.
"I am cured, Nkoos," Labotsibeni began in quite a strong voice. "I am well. The 'muti' of the white man cures all ills of the body, even when it numbers the years as the leaves of the trees. Why have you come to see me?"
"I wish to know when you plan to make your grandson, Sebuza, the son of Buno, king of Swaziland," Tuys answered without fencing. He thought that a direct answer might get the truth.
"When all is ready Sebuza will be made king," she answered without hesitation, and it seemed to me there was the ghost of a smile on her lips.
Tuys then asked her how soon that would be, but she said she did not know. This time I was sure she smiled. I had a feeling that we would get no information out of her and that Zombode was not any too anxious for the coronation.
Tuys then asked for Sebuza and wanted to know where he was. The blind old queen let Lomwazi answer us, and the wily vizier said he did not know, but that he thought the crown prince was in the mountains being consecrated.
According to the ancient customs, before the new king takes office he must go through a lengthy ceremonialin the mountains. This usually lasts for two months, or "two moons," and the priests, or witch-doctors, are in charge of the rites. In the case of Sebuza the sanctification was also the celebration of his attaining manhood.
After Lomwazi's evasive reply—for I felt that he was lying—Labotsibeni began to ask questions. I knew that we must answer them in detail if we wished to get any further information, so we did so. She became quite peevish when the effect of the gin wore off and was nothing but a querulous old woman. But she asked the most extraordinary questions! I realized more than ever that she had brains, for she went from one end of the world to the other. Of course she had no education as we know it, but she asked about the Boers and British and how they were getting along together, "lying in the same bed," as she put it.
She had heard that all the white men were at war with one another, and she asked question after question about the world conflict. It seems that aëroplanes had flown over parts of Swaziland during the war, and she was curious about these. They had been described to her as great birds carrying men and guns, and she wanted to know how it was done.
Tuys and I kept our patience and answered everything we could, always trying to get a stray bit of information concerning Sebuza's coronation. She had several drinks of gin during the talk, which ended after about three hours with our being no wiser than whenwe came. Once or twice we thought the news was coming, but each time the watchful Lomwazi stepped into the breach and turned the subject. We were completely baffled.
Finally we gave it up. As we made our farewell speech, in which we wished the old queen "long life and good health," I offered her the "going-away present." Then ensued an incident that showed how keen she was in spite of her great age and lack of sight.
The gin bottle was an unusual shape; that is, it was long and tall, instead of being squat and square. When I handed it to her she passed her hands over it with rapidity and then asked what it was, for she had never had a bottle like it before.
"It is royal gin," I assured her. "It is gin that is made only for kings and queens. It is the gin that the queen of the English drinks. It is the only gin worthy of you, Nkosikaas!"
This satisfied her and she accepted our farewell, so we went back to our horses. Tuys was amused at the old queen's keenness and told me I had committed treason by making the Queen of England drink gin to placate a Swazi potentate. Lomwazi came with us to do the honors, though really he wanted to make sure we did not talk to any one and get information. He was still sullen and suspicious, and we pointedly did not present him with the gin he hoped for, although he saw that we had several bottles left.