"It's no use, Owen," Tuys said, as we rode down thetrail to the Valley of Heaven. "They are planning something, and I fear it means trouble for that cub, Sebuza. I have a feeling that we ought to get our outfit here and sit tight and watch events. Something is going to happen. It may be a new king or a dead crown prince. I can't tell which."
That night we camped near a kraal of one of the minor indunas and noted that there was less cordiality than usual. Tuys strolled over to the great fire and talked for some time with the warriors. In a little while he came back quite excited.
"Debeseembie, Lomwazi's brother, is over there," he said. "He is inside the kraal, but some of his men let out the fact that he was there. I wonder what he is doing? Suppose we try and find out."
This seemed a good idea, and Tuys went about it in his own cunning way. He strolled over to the fire and told one of the warriors that he had a bottle of gin for Debeseembie, but that he would only deliver it to him personally. Then he came back to where I was stretched on my blankets.
Now a Swazi, like all other kaffirs, will do anything for alcohol, even to the sacrifice of his royal dignity. Debeseembie was the son of a queen and the brother of the late King Buno; nevertheless, he was standing respectfully nearby within a few minutes.
"Nkoos, you have a present for me?" he asked, and I could see his eyes flash in anticipation.
"Yes, if you will sit and talk a while," I told him,and then produced a bottle. Tuys poured out a generous drink and gave it to him. Debeseembie choked it down, just as the kaffirs always do, and then gasped for breath for a moment.
Then Tuys began talking about many things, none of them with much bearing on the information we wanted. In a little while Debeseembie had another drink. He is the most sincere of all the royal family and I have always found him to be very trustworthy. He is not a good liar and seems to know it.
Gradually we led the conversation to the coming coronation and finally asked him the leading question: How soon will it be? He was not angered and gave us the first direct intimation of the trouble we had suspected.
"My brother, Lomwazi, doesn't want it to take place," he said; "and he has great power over our mother. He frightens her by telling her that she will have to die when Sebuza is crowned. All the people of Swaziland want to have a king and are tired of Labotsibeni and Lomwazi, and Tzaneen is working for her son's coronation. No one can tell when Sebuza will be made king. It may be never!"
That was what we wanted to know. Debeseembie, always at the old queen's elbow, ought to know what he was talking about and we felt that he had told the truth. A few moments later I gave him our last bottle of gin and he stumbled back to his kraal.
Next morning we were up at dawn, striking back toErmelo as fast as we could go. Again we skirted Mbabane, but nevertheless made good time. Tuys was very thoughtful during most of the trip, and I cannot remember that he had anything to say until we came in sight of Ermelo.
"Well, it looks as if our friends in Swaziland need some one to make up their minds for them," he said in a musing way. "However, I don't want to have to do it!"
I glanced at the cunning old man, but he was looking into the dust ahead and did not amplify his remark. It was an interesting thought, however, and it did offer one way out of our difficulties.
Outfitting for Swaziland—Our cook becomes "Gunga Din"—Lomwazi's messenger—Off for Zombode—Rossman goes hunting—Too much rain—The oxen die and are replaced by donkeys—Sneaking liquor through Mbabane—Ezulweni mosquitoes rival New Jersey's—We are very unpopular in Zombode—Manaan's damage suit and settlement.
Outfitting for Swaziland—Our cook becomes "Gunga Din"—Lomwazi's messenger—Off for Zombode—Rossman goes hunting—Too much rain—The oxen die and are replaced by donkeys—Sneaking liquor through Mbabane—Ezulweni mosquitoes rival New Jersey's—We are very unpopular in Zombode—Manaan's damage suit and settlement.
Dr. Sugden and the others were waiting for me at the house. They were all ready to start and impatient to be off. The novelty of Boer life in Ermelo had worn away and they now were keen to be out among the Swazis.
"Let's go!" was Sugden's chant. "Come on, let's start! All the things are packed, the wagon's set, and the oxen are eating their heads off. Come on, let's go!"
I assured him that we would be off as soon as possible, and added that he would find plenty of hard walking to use up his surplus energy once we started trekking. Tuys and I, as the old-timers of the party, made a thorough inspection of the wagon and outfit. We had trekked practically all over the Transvaal and Orange Free State at various times and our equipment was all that could be needed for the job in hand.
The wagon was one of the great freight-carriers used so extensively in South Africa. It was along the lines of the old American "prairie schooner," except that it was much bigger and heavier in every way. It was about eighteen feet long by ten wide and could safelybe loaded up to three or three and a half tons. Its wheels were squat and heavy, with broad tires built to prevent their cutting into soft roadways and to roll over the dust of dry weather without sinking into it. The rear half of the wagon was covered with a top, or tent, under which a permanent bed was built. This bed was of the primitive plain-board kind, but saved us from having to sleep on the wet earth on many occasions. When we started out the wagon was drawn by eleven span, or twenty-two oxen. Three Swazi boys were in charge of it and were responsible for its animals.
Then, chiefly for our personal convenience, I had pressed the wagonette into service, and this was drawn by six mules. Sibijaan and Tuis were in charge of this part of the outfit.
I must not forget our cook. He was a most important member of the expedition and came through it in a most remarkable manner—always on the job and always ready to work a little harder. He was an Indian, that is, a native of India who had come to the Transvaal as servant to a British officer during the World War. His right name became lost early in our association. It was a long, three-barreled sort of name, quite melodious, but not handy for trek use. When I was inspecting our equipment I asked him his name again, and he calmly answered, "Gunga Din, Sahib."
"Since when? When did you change your name?" I asked, surprised that he had relinquished his proud paternal patronymic.
"Yesterday, Sahib. The sahib with the large hat says that he can't remember my name and tells me that from now on I shall be known as 'Gunga Din.'"
Investigation showed that Sugden became fed up on the long, beautiful name of our cook and had firmly given him one that was easy to remember.
"Gunga Din's easy to remember," he explained. "Gunga Din and Rudyard Kipling go together, and you surely can't forget them both. G. Din made R. K. famous, and it's a cinch to remember the cook's name that way. Anyhow, we'll be calling him 'Din' as soon as we get going!"
And he was right. The chef with a name like a great poet became "Din" and remained "Din" until we returned from Swaziland.
The great wagon was heavily loaded with all the dunnage and impedimenta needed for our expedition, among which were gin and a number of mysterious cases I had personally seen packed in New York. My companions did not know what was in them until late in our expedition, but when they found that I had nearly one hundred pounds of glorious five-and-ten-cent-store jewelry they realized that I knew a bit about the kaffir character.
Of course we had all the weapons we could use. The best sporting rifles and revolvers were part of the equipment, though I hoped that we should not have occasion to use them except for pot-hunting. Thingswill happen in Swaziland, however, and Tuys was a great believer in foresight.
After our rigid inspection of the outfit we returned from the kraal to the house, where the whole party assembled for dinner. During the meal a discussion arose as to whether it would not be a good idea to start immediately and work our way into Swaziland on the chance of being able to get action. Tuys maintained that we ought to start at once and hinted mysteriously that the coronation might be arranged whether Labotsibeni liked it or not. Knowing his propensity for taking chances and his liking for trouble, I hesitated to encourage this idea. Sugden, of course, wanted action and rather welcomed the thought of trouble. Crespinell was neutral, taking the stand that anything was better than "sticking around Ermelo," while Rossman said he did not care whether he took pictures of peace or war. But the matter was taken out of our hands.
At about dawn next morning Sibijaan came hammering on the door of my room. I jumped up and let him in.
"Mzaan Bakoor, there is a messenger outside from Zombode," he announced. "He came in the night and would not wait any longer. He says he must see you now."
I had the man in. He was one of the old "king's messengers," but without his distinguishing sign. His lean, hard body and muscular legs would have singled him out, though.
"Nkoos, Lomwazi sends me to bring you a message," he said, with his hands outstretched in salute. "He says that Sebuza will be made king at the next new moon."
Looking back, it seems to me that we must have made a peculiar tableau there in the bedroom dimly lighted by the coming sunrise. The savage, with his great shield, knob-kerrie, and assegai, and the white man in his pajamas! I will admit that the white man had his finger on the trigger of a little 44-caliber bulldog revolver during the first part of this interview. One does not take foolish chances in South Africa.
I asked the messenger for further details about the coronation, but all I could learn was that Sebuza had been in the mountains undergoing sanctification for the last six weeks and would return to Lebombo before the new moon.
Sibijaan took care of the Swazi and saw that he was fed and given a little drink. After which he took to the trail again, and I saw him fade into the distance at a dog-trot just about the time we were finishing breakfast.
His news decided the argument of the night before. The oxen were inspanned, the mules also, and about noon we started off on our trek for Zombode. The expedition had been the talk of Ermelo for some time, and practically every white man and most of the kaffirs were on hand to cheer and give us a rousing send-off. Many of our friends walked with us until we crossed the little bridge and were lost in the willow-groves along the river trail.
This first day the roads were excellent and we made the best speed of any day of the trip. Before night we had gone a full twenty miles, stopping at the fine farm of an old-fashioned Boer. Instead of camping in the open, as we had to do for practically all the rest of the expedition, we stopped with the farmer. I did this because I wanted my American associates to see how real Boers live. We had a regular Boer supper, consisting of grilled meats, such as chops, hearts, liver, kidneys, and Boer bacon; crushed mealies, rye bread, and coffee. There was an abundance of all this and it was cooked to the queen's taste. The twenty-mile trek, during which we walked every foot of the way, had given us wonderful appetites and we were able to do more than justice to the quantities of food set out.
Following supper the old Boer became solemn, as is the custom after the evening meal, and led us in religious services. No matter how poor or how humble, the true Boer never forgets his "night prayers." This is his heritage from those Huguenot ancestors. It was impressive to see my American companions bow their heads silently as the old farmer recited his devotions.
Prayers over, we went to the "parlor," whose chief ornaments were almost priceless relics and skins, and staged an amateur musicale. There was a good piano and we had our ukelele. What more could be desired? All the kaffirs in the neighborhood gathered outside and fairly wept for joy. It was a splendid concert, consideringthe talent, and made a great hit with the farmer and his wife.
Next morning we were inspanned and on our way by dawn. It was raining, and this made it look like bad going all day. The farmer and his wife were up as soon as we, and had rusks and hot, strong coffee for us. It was chilly, and the coffee was a good "pick-me-up" before a day's trek. Before we left the Boer made us promise to stay a week with him on our return from Swaziland. He said he would arrange a feast for us and we would be able to play our "hand-fiddle" for all his neighbors.
By ten o'clock we had made about seven miles, and camped for breakfast on the shores of a small lake. Our progress had been much delayed by the rain, and this made the walking disagreeable as well. We were very hungry for breakfast and Din performed wonders, considering that the rain continued until an hour after we had finished. After a short rest we started on again, and by four o'clock we had reached the banks of the Masuto River. Here we made a good camp, pitching two additional tents, so that we would have a mess-room and cook-house with which the rain could not interfere. This camp was chiefly memorable for the fact that Rossman almost had an "adventure." While Din was getting supper ready the camera-man took a rifle and went along the river with the intention of shooting something. He had been gone only a few minutes when we heard a shout, followed by a shot. Sugden and Crespinellrushed to Rossman's assistance, each with a rifle. They reached his side to find him gazing fearsomely at a large snake whose back had been severed by his bullet. It was a dramatic moment—especially when Sugden picked up the snake and pointed out the fact that it must have been dead for a week or more!
That night we were all very tired and went to sleep as early as possible. Next morning, true to my Boer upbringing, I was up and about before dawn. Coffee and rusks were ready soon after, and my companions were awakened to face their third day's trek. Of course we could walk faster than the oxen, so I pushed ahead as I knew that there was a Mapor kraal a short distance away. We reached the kraal about five miles ahead of the wagons, and this gave me time to show the others their first native settlement.
All the men were away, only women and children being at home. These all seemed to belong to a small chief of the tribe, and they informed me that he was away on a hunting trip. Sugden and the others were intensely interested in everything they saw and I arranged for them to inspect the interior of a number of the huts.
I soon noticed that all the women were much taken with Rossman; in fact, they could hardly keep their eyes off him. I found by questions that they were fascinated by his great horn-rimmed glasses. The upshot was that we allowed a certain few of these dusky Eves to try the glasses on, and they were much amused thereat. Wedistributed about five shillings among them and they treated us to tswala and brought us a number of fresh eggs.
In a little while the wagons hove in sight and camped near the kraal for breakfast. Scraps of wood and "buffalo chips" made our fire, and presently Din had a good "feed" ready. While the cooking was going on the little kaffirs gathered about the camp in numbers. Some of them even drove their goats close so that they might see the white men eat. By the time we began breakfast there were more than forty of these little beggars squatting on their haunches near the table. They watched every motion most intently and followed each morsel to its destination. Every now and then I would take a piece of lump sugar and, without looking, throw it in their direction. Instantly there would be the fiercest sort of a scramble for the tidbit. They were rough beyond reason, and every now and then one of them would be hurt and crawl away for a few minutes until he had recovered. Never, however, would he cry out or show that he felt the pain. No sooner did our wagons leave the spot than there was a wild rush to where we had been. They fought furiously over every scrap in the hope of finding food that the white men had thrown away.
We kept steadily on until five o'clock that night, and then made camp. When Din gave the supper-call at about eight o'clock, Sugden and I went to the mess-tent to find Crespinell and Rossman sound asleep on thefloor. They were worn out by the steady walking and I did not blame them for taking it easy. After a "shot" of Picardy brandy, we all sat down to the best supper Gunga Din had yet given us. There was soup, chicken curry, rice, vanilla pudding, canned fruits, and coffee. Truly, a feast for a trek supper!
That night Sugden and the others were kept awake for some time by the howling of several jackals. They suggested that they take their rifles and go out and "get some of those infernal beasts!" I had to explain to them that it would be exactly like trying to shoot the shadow of a ghost, and they went back to bed grumbling heartily.
The next day was a bad one, rain making our progress slow and miserable. I wanted to reach a certain point, and we forced the oxen until noon before stopping. This trek had been too long and hurt the brutes so that their spirit seemed broken. We camped among some very rugged hills, and here Dr. Sugden showed us all how to handle tents and ropes in wet weather. The ease with which he tied and untied knots in the ropes astounded our kaffirs and filled the rest of us with envy.
The rain increased, and soon everything became soaked. It was such a downpour that we decided to wait for it to slacken and ended by remaining in this camp for two days. Our only amusement was to watch Tuis, the Basuto-Bushman kaffir, in his perpetual conflict with the other boys. Being of a different breed,he did everything in a way all his own and, in addition, was naturally antagonistic and sulky.
ON THE WAY TO THE ROYAL KRAAL AT ZOMBODEON THE WAY TO THE ROYAL KRAAL AT ZOMBODEDr. O'Neil and party going through the Valley of Heaven. The barren mountains in the distance show the rugged nature of the country
THE SECOND TRIP INTO SWAZILANDTHE SECOND TRIP INTO SWAZILANDThe O'Neil caravan shortly after the draft-oxen had died and were replaced by mules and donkeys
MOTHER FEEDING HER BABYMOTHER FEEDING HER BABY
MAIDEN SINGING TO THE CROWN PRINCE SEBUZAMAIDEN SINGING TO THE CROWN PRINCE SEBUZAShe is playing on the native instrument which consists of a bow and one string
In spite of the picturesqueness of this camp, we were very glad to leave it. We were now in the wild country, with no farms, and the only break in the monotony was a little wild goose shooting shortly before we reached the Swaziland border. Our real troubles began about this time. The oxen began to die, and it was not long before we were absolutely stalled. We were then in camp on the border, and it looked as though we would stay there unless I was able to get some other animals to pull the wagon.
Finding further progress impossible, I scouted about and ran into a kaffir living on the border who had a horse. I hired this steed—a sorry one it was—and, following a tip given me by its owner, rode twelve miles to see if I could talk business with a small Swazi chief who was said to have a number of donkeys.
At first this old chief did not want to talk about donkeys at all, and it was not until I began to talk payment first and donkeys last that he consented to get down to business. We finally made a deal, and it was this: I was to pay him the equivalent of one pound sterling in gin for every day I used his donkeys. This was not such a bad bargain because I had to have about forty of the little animals to make up for the oxen I had lost.
The most interesting part of this transaction was to see the chief's men harness the donkeys to our big wagon. They used bits of weed-rope, rawhide, and a stout grassrope that they make themselves. The harnessing took a long time and we were delayed until I began to grow impatient, but there was nothing else to do but wait. Finally we were off, but it was a funny looking caravan. It had been raining hard for some days and we presently came to a little stream which was much swollen. Here we had a terrible time. The "harness" kept breaking, and the way the natives thrashed those poor donkeys was frightful. It seemed to be the only method, though, and eventually we took a hand in the punishment ourselves.
The night of the second day saw us camped at the foot of the mountain that leads to the village of Mbabane. We found several other transport wagons there, with three white traders whose occupation was to carry goods from Ermelo and Carolina, the two rail stations, to Mbabane and vice versa. These traders were much interested in our outfit, and by treating them to drinks, fresh food, and the payment of one pound sterling I was able to hire twelve donkeys from their caravans to assist us to the top of the mountain. We started at dawn next day, and by noon had reached the summit. There we rested for the balance of the day.
My object in delaying there all the afternoon was mainly on account of the great load of liquor in the big wagon. I did not want to bring this through Mbabane in daylight because I had no permit to bring it into Swaziland and I did not want to get caught doing so. I thought that I could get by practically unobservedif I waited until after dark and then went through the village with other wagons. Our camp at the top of the hill was about three miles from Mbabane, and I ordered Sibijaan to inspan and start on again at five o'clock. This would bring him to the village at about eight o'clock, or shortly after dark.
We went ahead and called on Mr. and Mrs. Dickson, who gave us tea. It was real English tea and we enjoyed it immensely. The Dicksons had heard of our expedition and were much interested. Mrs. Dickson, however, was greatly amused at our capacity for tea, since we each drank between five and six cups. But we were dead tired and it was wonderful to shut out the whole of Swaziland and sit down in this cozy English home to drink decent tea poured by a white woman!
After thanking the Dicksons, I went to the little store and bought some supplies. I also went to the hotel and bought some liquor, this being merely for camouflage, as I wished them to think I needed it. The supplies and liquor I gave to a native carrier, telling him to take it to the place where we expected to camp for the night. There were six packages in all, weighing about forty-five pounds, and it was amusing to see this kaffir summon five others to help him. Each Swazi, carrying his shield, knob-kerrie, and assegai, started for our camp with a little parcel on his head.
The wagon was late. I began to be worried, for I had estimated that it would arrive in the village about eight o'clock. I spent a nervous hour or so waiting forit to show up, but it did not do so till about 9:30. I told Sibijaan to proceed to the camping place about two miles further on, and we pushed ahead to be on hand when it arrived.
Soon we ran into a typical wonder-sight of that part of the country. I had noticed a red glow in the sky off to the left, and on turning a little hill we saw that the whole side of a mountain was one tremendous fire. While this was at its worst, or most glorious, height, the great red African moon came up over the mountain like a huge ball of flame. The whole scene was so striking that Sugden insisted we ought to take a picture of it. We hurried back to the wagon and found a number of Swazis trailing it out of curiosity. With the aid of a box of cigarettes, I pressed twelve of them into service and got the cameras to the spot from which we wanted to take the picture. While we were doing this little Swazis seemed to spring up out of the ground, and before we had finished there must have been at least four score of them wondering what the white men were trying to do.
Sibijaan saw a chance to air his superior knowledge and I heard him telling these little fellows a preposterous yarn.
"You see those black boxes?" he said, pointing to the cameras. "Well, those are the magic boxes of Nkoos Mzaan Bakoor, the great white witch-doctor. He will look at the fire through them and soon it will go out. Ifhe is offended, he can make the fire burn up the whole country and kill all the Swazis!"
I was afraid to look back and note the effect of this beautiful lie, but I heard the kaffir exclamation of wonder—"Ou! Ou!"—from a dozen throats and decided that my trusty henchman had gotten away with it.
By the time we had packed our cameras again the wagons had caught up with us and we went on. The spot I had picked for the camp was under a small grove of palm trees across a little stream, and we arrived there to find that the six carriers had started a fire. It was about midnight when our wagons reached camp, and soon after we rolled up in our blankets and dropped off to sleep just where we stood.
Next morning we started down the steep slopes into the Valley of Heaven. This was a very dangerous descent for the wagons, so that it was after midday before we reached the floor of the valley. The poor donkeys were completely exhausted, and we camped there until next day.
The Valley of Heaven was certainly living up to its name. It was never so lovely, and my companions were enthusiastic in its praise. I pointed out to them the Place of Execution and Sheba's Breasts as we came down the mountain, and they immediately decided they would visit both before returning to Ermelo.
Although I remember the beauties of the Valley of Heaven as though it were yesterday, still the difficulties that befell us there made me at that time regard it asthe "Valley of Hell." We had come down about two thousand feet and the climate was hot, moist, and uncomfortable. Our energy was sapped, the donkeys were worn out, and our kaffir boys were lazy beyond all use.
The trail ahead consisted of a succession of low hills cut by little streams. Many of the inclines were steep, and I estimated that we would be lucky if we made five or six miles a day. It was practically impossible to judge distance, and this led me into error. I had picked out a camping spot seemingly about six miles away, and Sugden and I started to walk to it. The grass was six feet high in most places and full of deadly snakes. Few of the little streams were fit to drink, and the farther we walked the farther the chosen spot seemed to recede. Finally we saw a fair-sized stream which we thought was two miles away, but which turned out to be nearer four. When we reached it we drank, after straining the water through our handkerchiefs. We were very hot and uncomfortable, and were made supremely unhappy by the realization that the wagon could not reach us for at least two days.
There was nothing to do but go back, and we finally reached the outfit at sunset. The donkeys were completely exhausted, so we camped right there. I realized that for the last thirty miles before reaching the royal kraal at Zombode we would be lucky if we made three or four miles a day.
Because of this experience I changed our trek time. Instead of trying to make it in daylight, we did mostof our traveling by dark. This helped a little, but we failed to make more than a mile every two hours, even when the going was good. To add to the misery of the trek, the mosquitoes tormented us continually. However, these pests introduced a little comedy into our suffering, for my companions would recall the mosquitoes of New Jersey, U. S. A. and compare them with those of South Africa.
Crespinell summed up the comparison when he said:
"For brutality and ruthlessness these 'skeeters take the biscuit, but the New Jersey breed have got 'em skinned a mile when it comes to technique!"
At the end of five days of untold hardships we climbed out of the Valley of Heaven and reached the stream that divides the royal from the common ground at Zombode. We arrived there at about nine o'clock at night.
Fires were burning in front of many of the huts and there was a hum of life in the air. The sounds were all the more noticeable because no one appeared to have any intention of meeting us or giving us a welcome. We pitched camp and Din prepared the evening meal. By this time we had a score of little visitors, all Swazi children of about ten or twelve years of age. Usually these little beggars are in bed at this time of night, but the noise of our wagons had aroused them and they had sneaked out of the huts to investigate.
None of the indunas, warriors, or women came near us, and I soon realized that we were in disfavor for some reason or other. Only a direct command from Lomwazior the old queen would have made the people avoid us in this manner. However, it was not fitting that I should visit the royal kraal without invitation, so I did not stir from our camp that night. In the morning I announced my arrival to Labotsibeni without the indignity of supplicating an interview. This came about in a peculiar manner.
Shortly after dawn I was awakened by the deep bass of a native who seemingly was greatly annoyed. The voice was strangely familiar, but I could not place it for the moment. In a little while Sibijaan came into the tent with my coffee and announced that I had a visitor.
"Ou Baas, there is a great induna outside," he said, "and he wants to see you. He says he is very angry. Shall I tell him to go to hell?"
Thirsting for information regarding things at the royal kraal, I bade Sibijaan send him in. This my old playmate did with poor grace, since he would have preferred to be cheeky to the chief.
To my surprise, Manaan—he of the savings-bank account—strode in. He was carrying his war tools and stood facing me for an instant in quite a belligerent attitude. I was wearing only a thin bathrobe and for a second or two the angry black man faced the white. Then the age-old supremacy of race asserted itself and Manaan dropped his eyes with the familiar "Nkoos!"
"What the devil is the matter with you?" I demanded angrily. "Why do you make all this row so early in the morning?"
"Peace, Nkoos, peace!" the old induna answered. "I did not know that it was you. I would not have made talk if I had known."
Then he went on to explain that our donkeys had strayed across the stream during the night and had ruined his corn patch. He insisted that the poor beasts had eaten all the young corn and that he and all his wives faced starvation during the coming year. What he really was worried about, it developed, was that there would be no corn to make tswala and in consequence he would have to go without his beer until a new crop came in.
I sympathized with him and told him that I would go over and see the damage as soon as I was up and about, agreeing to pay him for it. I felt sure that he was lying, but did not want to make an enemy of him, since I knew that he was said to be close to Labotsibeni. In the olden days he was leader of one of Buno's crack impis and was a noted warrior.
In a little while I accompanied him to look at the ruined crop, and, as I suspected, found he had lied like a kaffir. The damage was about three shillings worth, and I told him so and offered to pay him the money. He became very indignant.
"This is not right, Nkoos!" he almost shouted. "I am a great induna and cannot be treated in this way. I am one of the queen's most important chiefs and I shall report this injustice to her."
Now this threat suited me. If the old fool reportedthat I was robbing him, he would also be notifying Labotsibeni that I was in the neighborhood.
"I am willing to abide by what the queen decides," I said. "You tell her that I await her word. I shall state my side to her, and you can state yours!"
This was what I really wanted. It would bring me before the old queen and allow me to ask her about the coronation. With this understanding Manaan left for the royal kraal, while I went to breakfast. Shortly after we had finished, Manaan returned.
"I have seen the queen," he announced in an important manner, "and she is much offended because you have treated Manaan so unjustly. She says that you must pay me five shillings and a bottle of gin, and then the debt will be satisfied."
To make the payment seem greater I protested for a moment and then gave it to the old fellow. I asked him how the queen was, but he answered evasively. This brought the suspicion that he had not seen Labotsibeni at all and had concocted the story about her decision as to the payment. Manaan would have been quite capable of this because he had lived for some time among the whites in Johannesburg and had been schooled in guile.
Nevertheless, I was satisfied that he had brought word to the royal kraal that I was there, and I expected that I would soon receive a message from the queen to come and see her. When the sun showed that it was nearly noon I decided to force her hand and sent Sibijaanwith presents, which means gin, to the royal kraal. He returned presently, saying that Lomwazi had taken them from him and that they had been accepted by the queen.
Sunset came and yet there was no word from the old lady, and I began to grow anxious. I sent for Manaan and cultivated him in an attempt to get some information. He soon became drunk and told me many little things, none of which threw much light on my problem. One statement, however, was important.
"All the people, except Lomwazi and a few of those close to the queen, want Sebuza to be king," he said. "They are tired of being ruled by a queen, and Lomwazi asks too much. He always wants more cattle and corn from each kraal, and the people are dissatisfied. Even now they are waiting for Sebuza to come down out of the mountains and it is said they will demand that he be made king then!"
Part of this was very interesting. I was glad to know that the people wanted Sebuza, but I doubted that they would dare to ask for him to be appointed king. The Swazis are subservient to their rulers and it was unthinkable that they would assume to ask Labotsibeni to abdicate. They were very afraid of the old queen; she seemed to exert some sort of extraordinary influence over them. It was cheering, however, to know that I had public opinion on my side.
Labotsibeni refuses to see me—Sugden and my men escape assassination—A fruitless conference—We flee to Lebombo—Oom Tuys turns up—We confer with Queen Tzaneen and Lochien—Five-and-ten-cent-store jewelry has persuasive powers—Sugden falls ill—We build his coffin—Sebuza returns from his sanctification.
Labotsibeni refuses to see me—Sugden and my men escape assassination—A fruitless conference—We flee to Lebombo—Oom Tuys turns up—We confer with Queen Tzaneen and Lochien—Five-and-ten-cent-store jewelry has persuasive powers—Sugden falls ill—We build his coffin—Sebuza returns from his sanctification.
Next morning I got up, pocketed my pride, and decided to call on Queen Labotsibeni. When I reached the entrance of the royal kraal I was met by Lomwazi. He was furtive in manner and did not look me in the eyes. His voice, as usual, was quite low, and for once his dramatic gestures were lacking.
I demanded to be allowed to see Labotsibeni. Lomwazi shook his head and spread out his hands deprecatingly.
"The queen will not see you, Nkoos," he said, "and she sends word that you are not to camp on the royal ground."
"But why won't she see me? I bring her presents and much gin," I protested. "She promised that I should attend the coronation of Prince Sebuza!"
"She is very, very old, but still she doesn't want to die," added the wily Lomwazi, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
At last I understood. Lomwazi had let the cat out of the bag and the delay in the coronation of Sebuza explaineditself. Tempted by the great price I had offered for the picture rights—five hundred cattle, five hundred gallons of gin, and five hundred pounds in gold—the old queen had overlooked the fact that Sebuza's accession to the throne meant her death. At the time I made the bargain with her, or with Lomwazi as her agent, she had consoled herself with the thought that the British Government would be able to save her life. Now she was afraid that the government might not be able to do so and wanted the coronation delayed indefinitely, or put off for good.
Labotsibeni and Lomwazi were in an uncomfortable position. They faced either the certainty of being sacrificed when Sebuza mounted the throne or the breaking of their contract with me. In addition, the sentiment of the people of Swaziland was against the old ruler and Lomwazi must have known it. Under Labotsibeni there had been more than twenty years of peace, and there had grown up a feeling that the nation was becoming decadent without a war, if only a little one against some inferior tribe. The British had backed the old queen in all her moves toward keeping peace within her borders, and the fighting men of Swaziland were unhappy at not having any opportunities to show their mettle. From the days of Ama-Swazi the Swazis had been a warlike people, and the bloodthirsty Buno had developed their ferocity by frequent raids and forays on neighboring tribes. The accession of Sebuza, young and warlike, made the Swazis feel that they wouldhave a real leader again, and the fact that the crown prince was the son of Buno added to their desire for him to reign.
I had left Oom Tuys in Ermelo with the understanding that he would join us in Zombode. I began to wish he would show up, since I seemed to be butting my stubborn Boer head against a brick wall and my uncle was the one white man in all the Transvaal in whom old Labotsibeni placed her trust. I knew that she would not refuse to see him and there was a chance of his getting her to agree to the coronation.
Realizing that we were in for a delay that might last several months, Dr. Sugden and his companions decided to study the Swazis at close range and compile data concerning the tribe. To me was left the politics and "wangling" of the expedition, while they started out blithely one morning to catch Swazis.
Their expedition was abortive, to put it mildly. Of course Sugden would only be content with Swazi life as exhibited in the royal kraal, and it was there that he decided to begin. I did not know this, and thought that he was going to visit some of the little kraals where the indunas lived.
I was sitting in my tent thinking about sending a man to find Tuys, when Sibijaan came running in very much excited.
"Ou Baas, Mlung Emantzi Eenui, Makofa, and the other white man are going to be killed at the royal kraal!" he cried.
Now Sugden was called Mlung Emantzi Eenui—"The Man of Living and Burning Words"—by the kaffirs, and Crespinell was given the name of Makofa, which means "The Small Alert One." The other white man was Rossman, of course.
I sprang out of the tent, across the little stream, and ran to the royal kraal. There I found my companions surrounded by a full impi of warriors who had hemmed them in with their assegais. The white men had drawn their revolvers and were ready to use them. It only remained for some one to make a sudden break and there would be a killing.
"Make way! Make way!" I yelled, diving through the throng.
In a second or two I reached Sugden, who had the grim look that means fight. He had Lomwazi covered with his revolver and I could see that the induna would be the first to go if the shooting started.
"What's all this trouble?" I demanded, as though I were the chief of all. "Why are these warlike manœuvers? Why have these warriors stopped my men?"
Lomwazi hesitated for a moment, during which I could see the tension relax and the Swazis begin to drop their spear-points.
"It is forbidden that white men enter the royal kraal," the chief said. "These men tried to force their way in. They said they wanted to see all things in the kraal. The queen sent her own impi to stop them and gaveorders that they were to be killed if they did not go away!"
Sugden was much disgusted, and gave his side of the affair.
"I only wanted to take a look around," he said. "We were just inside the kraal when these men came running from every direction and surrounded us. I thought we would have to fight our way out and would have popped some of them off if Lomwazi had not come up. He told us to get out, and here we are!"
That seemed to be all there was to it. However, it was a bad affair, as it put me in the position of trying to break into the queen's kraal without permission. Later I realized that it did not make much difference, since we were out of favor at Zombode anyway.
I was well nigh desperate now. It seemed as though nothing could be accomplished through Labotsibeni or Lomwazi, but I decided to make one last appeal to him. I sent him a present by Sibijaan and asked that he come and see me at my camp.
My boy brought back word that Lomwazi would see me next morning, but would meet me at the crossing of the little stream. "When the sun reaches the royal kraal" was the time set, which must have been about seven or seven-fifteen o'clock.
The stream was only a short distance from our camp, and I watched until I saw Lomwazi coming to the rendezvous. I had expected that he would arrive with four or five of his indunas, and I had arranged that all mywhite companions should accompany me to the interview. Instead, Lomwazi brought practically the whole royal impi with him. The savages were in full war costume and made a splendid picture as they marched, the sun reflecting from their black shoulders and assegais. It was the first time that Sugden and the others had seen a whole impi in all its glory and they were much impressed. The warriors were drawn up in a sort of regimental formation at the meeting-place, with Lomwazi waiting in front, by the time I decided we should leave our tents.
Since they had come armed to the conference, my companions and I shouldered our rifles—we always wore revolvers—and walked in a leisurely manner toward the little stream. As we came close Lomwazi raised his arms in greeting and the impi gave us the royal salute. It was the first time in some years that I had been thus honored. The shrill whistle following the heavy stamp of the thousand feet gave the Americans a real thrill.
Lomwazi and I shook hands in a formal way and then sat down to talk things over. I little thought that this would be the last friendly conference I would have with him. Behind me sat my three companions, while behind the vizier sat four or five of his high men, all lesser indunas and leaders of warriors. It was an imposing gathering, much like many out of which peace has come during the various savage wars between the whites and kaffirs in the Transvaal.
After the necessary conventional amenities, which have to do with health and the condition of wives, I came to the main question, but from a widely different angle.
"Lomwazi, you and Queen Labotsibeni made a paper with me that shows I gave you five hundred cows, five hundred gallons of gin, and five hundred pounds in gold for the right to take pictures of the coronation of Sebuza," I began. "Now the queen will not see me and you will not tell me the truth when I want to know about the coronation. Other indunas have told me that you and the queen have plotted to prevent Sebuza becoming king—"
"Nkoos, that is not so!" Lomwazi returned hotly, interrupting me. "We wish Sebuza to become king and will do nothing to prevent it. It is the government that does not wish him to become king; it is the government, and not my mother, Labotsibeni!"
This I knew to be partly true, but I felt sure that the government would be willing that Sebuza should reign if the change in rulers was accomplished without bloodshed.
"Then if the government refuses to let Sebuza be king," I went on, "you and the queen have obtained much wealth from me for something you knew you could not give. There is only one thing for me to do—that is, to hold you and the queen liable for the price of the rights she granted me. I shall notify the government at Mbabane and ask that it collect the money value of what you received from me. I am a friend of the governmentand close to the Commissioner, and he will send to Johannesburg for troops who will come and collect from you. If you do not care to have me do this, you can make restitution now by giving me the price in cows."
Now this meant that Lomwazi would have to round up at least two thousand head of cattle and turn them over to me. This I knew he could do, but I also knew that he would not do it without such compulsion as I was unable to bring.
He glanced keenly at me while I laid down the terms of my ultimatum and saw that I was in dead earnest. With his great cunning, Lomwazi is a keen judge of human nature, and he watched me to see if I was bluffing or not. He decided that I was not and listened in silence to the end. Then he raised his eyes and spoke in the same low, level tone he always used.
"Nkoos, what you ask is unjust," he said. "Labotsibeni gave the word of a Swazi queen and her word cannot be broken. You will have the opportunity you have bought and I shall see that it is so!"
"Yes? Then how soon will Sebuza be crowned?" I asked.
"When Queen Labotsibeni, mother of Buno, gives the word the ceremonies will take place," he said, and this ended the interview.
Lomwazi threw his leopardskin cloak about his shoulders and rose, and I got to my feet also, feeling that I had gone as far as I could, but had gained nothing.The indunas shook hands and the impi gave their salute as he raised his arms with the salutation, "Nkoos!" Then he turned and went back to the royal kraal followed by the great warriors, their plumes nodding in the sunlight.
I realized that I had come to the end of my string at Zombode. The old queen would not give the word for the coronation to take place and undoubtedly Lomwazi was behind her refusal. Looking back, I do not blame them very much; the coronation would be their death warrant and the government was not prepared to send troops to protect them.
That night I had a little talk with Sugden, who was feeling ill, explaining to him what we were up against.
"It looks as if we are out of luck," was his comment, "but there must be some way to beat the game. I'd hate to lose out, now that we're here. It seems to me that you ought to be able to find a way to prevent Lomwazi from sitting on the lid much longer. Let's see if we can't get action by talking to the other indunas."
This did not seem a good plan to me. Sugden did not know these people and underestimated the power of the old queen. She represented the established order of things, and the government always objected to anything new, particularly in the way of rulers.
"No, I can't agree to that scheme," I told him; "but I believe I will have a look at the other side of this game. Queen Tzaneen is reported to be much incensed becauseLabotsibeni doesn't allow the coronation and I think I will have an interview with her."
Having taken this decision, I made arrangements to start for Lebombo, the royal kraal of Queen Tzaneen and her son, the next morning as soon as it was light enough to trek. That night the donkeys were all driven in, so that they would be ready when wanted. During the weeks we had spent at Zombode these poor animals had greatly improved. There was good feed and water there, and they looked sleek and fresh again.
Dawn saw us on the road to Lebombo. Camp for breakfast was made on the bank of the little river that separates the land belonging to the two villages, and we came in sight of the kraals after about two hours.
Our reception here was very different. Lochien, who was the vizier, or secretary of state, of Queen Tzaneen, and one of the sons of King Buno, her late husband, came out to meet us. He had a number of indunas with him and was most cordial. His first words gave me great pleasure.
"Welcome, Nkoos," he said. "Welcome to Lebombo! Last night the White King of Swaziland came to Lebombo and waits for you at the royal kraal."
This was good news, indeed. Oom Tuys had arrived and was waiting for me! I thanked my stars that he had not gone to Zombode and thus missed me. At last it began to look as though we would get some action.
A few minutes later, our great wagon creaking and the boys shouting to the donkeys, we approached thekraals and I saw a solitary figure coming out to meet us. It was a tall heavy white man, long bearded and wide-hatted, with the rolling gait of one whose only home is the saddle—Oom Tuys Grobler, my uncle, the "White King of Swaziland."
He threw his great arms about me and gave me a "bear hug," and then held me at arms' length and looked me over.
"So you are all right, Mzaan Bakoor?" he asked in his gruff voice. "This morning a kaffir came and said that last night a plan was made to stop you from coming here, and I was anxious. I only heard about it a few minutes ago, and was on the point of starting for Zombode when the runners came and said you were near."
This was news to me. I did not know that Lomwazi had decided to prevent me from going to Lebombo. It showed that he was afraid to have me learn the truth from Tzaneen and Lochein. I was thankful that we had not had trouble, for our patience was well nigh exhausted and there would have been a battle if Labotsibeni's men had tried to bar our path.
I asked Tuys about the lay of the land at Tzaneen's kraal, and he told me that she was very much excited over the situation.
"The queen mother is very angry at Labotsibeni," he said. "It is another case of the mother-in-law over again. Tzaneen feels that the old lady will hang on to the throne as long as she lives, and as she is now in her second hundred years that is likely to be a long time.Only last night Tzaneen reminded me of the Swazi saying, 'If you live to be a hundred, you live forever,' and she spoke of Labotsibeni with bitterness.
"Sebuza will soon return from the mountains and it will be a national scandal for him to have to wait for his kingdom. His mother is frantic over the situation and even talks of taking the throne by force. Of course such things have been done,"—and he smiled—"but I told her that the government would not stand for such action."
Lochien then told us that the sanctification ceremonies were about ended and Sebuza would return within the next week. As these ceremonies also included the coming of age of the young crown prince, he was attended by the chief witch-doctors and made to undergo scarification and circumcision. He had to live on the barren slopes of the mountains, his only food being wild berries and the game he killed himself. Only the witch-doctors could visit him, and their visits were official and hedged about with much flummery and hocus-pocus.
Tzaneen was waiting to see us when we reached the royal kraal, and I immediately sent her the regulation presents. A little while later Lochien ushered Tuys and me into her presence. She is a remarkable woman and has a very sweet and charming personality. Tall and splendidly formed, she is an ideal Swazi queen, just as she was the pick of the Zulu princesses at the time she became the royal wife of Buno. Her head is large and well shaped, and she has an active brain. With education,Tzaneen would have been a leader anywhere in the world.
Her greeting to us was gracious and cordial. She asked if we had brought our wagons and camp outfit, and said she would send an impi to get them and bring them to Lebombo from Zombode if we had not. This gave me a clue to the feeling between the two queens, because I knew that Labotsibeni must have been annoyed when she learned that our entire outfit had left for the rival camp. After I had assured Tzaneen that we had arrived bag and baggage, Lochien introduced the subject of our mission to Swaziland. In this he seemed to have the approval of Tzaneen, who listened closely to my answers.
I told them that I intended staying in the country until I had seen Sebuza crowned, and this statement met their approval. But there was a fly in the ointment, I found.
"Queen Tzaneen is the rightful ruler of Swaziland," Lochien announced, "because she is the royal widow of King Buno. She is the mother of Prince Sebuza, who will soon be king. You want to see Sebuza made king and wish to look at the ceremonies with the black boxes on legs that you have with you. Is this not so?"
Evidently he had heard about the cameras we had brought with us.
"Yes, that is so," I assured him. "These black boxes make all things live again so that everybody may seethem, and we want to show all people that Swaziland has a son of Buno for king."
"Then, Nkoos, why did you pay Lomwazi and Queen Labotsibeni all the money, cows, and gin for the right to use the black boxes?" Lochien asked.
The truth was out. They were jealous because Labotsibeni and Lomwazi had received the purchase price of the picture rights, while they had been ignored. I was thinking quickly and was about to smooth matters over, when Oom Tuys broke in.
"Mzaan Bakoor has not yet paid you for your permission to do this thing he desires," he assured them. "He could not come to Lebombo before, but now he is ready to pay you even more than he gave Labotsibeni and Lomwazi."
"The white king speaks truly," I added. "Even now I have in my wagons more precious and more beautiful presents than I gave to them. These presents I brought from America, across the great water of which you have heard. I bought them in the greatest city of the world and have carried them here for you, Nkosikaas!"
This was a tall statement, but I knew that I could make good on it. Tzaneen was much interested and her curiosity was whetted. We dickered a little more, and I agreed to pay them a large amount of gin and a certain sum of money. Then, to avoid any further demands, I ended by going to the wagon and getting one of the mysterious packing-cases. This I opened before Queen Tzaneen. Very slowly I began takingfrom it quantities of the five-and-ten-cent-store jewelry. It fascinated her beyond words. She put it on, draping the tawdry necklaces about her full throat and loading her fingers with the gaudy rings. She was completely won over, and Lochien also was deeply impressed. So peace was restored on the subject of the price of the picture rights. Now the road was clear for taking the pictures, that is, if we could find the place of coronation of the savage king.
Tuys motioned to me to leave soon after the jewelry episode, and we went back to our wagons.
"One thing at a time, Owen," he said. "You wanted to ask about the coronation, I know, but we'd better wait until to-morrow. I want to see how the land lies and find out what is going on before we force that issue. To-morrow we'll see Tzaneen again and find out what she plans to do about Sebuza."
Lochien soon came to the wagons and told us that it was the queen's pleasure that we camp a few hundred yards from Sebuza's kraal, which adjoined that of his mother. The spot chosen was in a small grove of tall trees among which were buried indunas who had died at Lebombo ever since the village was founded. This was a great honor to us, since it was sacred ground, the most sacred in the land with the exception of "The Caves" near Zombode, where only kings and queens are buried.