THE RAILWAY CONTRACTOR.
Bositi had returned to his village after six years' absence. Most of the time he had spent on the railway construction, where the work was heavy and the pay light. In physique he was improved almost beyond recognition.
The large blue-and-yellow tin box which he carried on his head contained the miscellaneous goods upon which he had spent some of his wages. Much of his money had gone in drink, more in gambling.
After Bositi had been away two years the headman and elders presumed his death. So, too, did his wife; she married again, and had presented her new husband with two children.
Bositi was unreasonable about it. On being told that he was supposed to be dead, he insulted the headman and beat the woman who was once his wife. When her husband protested, he beat him too.
After he had thus relieved his feelings he opened his box, and took from it many strings of pink and white beads; these he gave to the mothers of the pretty marriageable girls of the village. In return he received much strong beer. The beer made him drunk—too drunk to beat or insult anyone else, but not too drunk to grasp securely in a moist hand the key of his precious box.
Next morning he made his peace with the headman by giving him a hat, but he rudely rebuffed his late wife, whose cupidity was excited by the size of that blue-and-yellow tin box.
He also made friends with the men of the village—not excluding him who had married his wife—by distributing pieces of strong twist tobacco.
After a few days' rest he made certain selections from the treasure in his box and set out for the Chief's village. When there he showed off. He wore his best clothes, and spoke bad English fluently and loudly in the traders' stores. While his money lasted the traders suffered him; when it was spent he was told not to come again.
The Chief soon heard of him and sent for him.
Bositi had never been presented at Court before. He was immensely impressed. He squatted in the sand, one of a long row of strangers to the capital, with his gifts neatly folded before him. Immediately in front of him was a long thatched building. Three sides of it were closed in with reed mats, the fourth was open to the public. This, a lounger told him, was the National Council House, or Khotla.
The Chief had not yet arrived, but his orchestra was playing idly. It consisted of three gigantic harmonicas and a number of drums. The instrumentalists showed their utter contempt of all common people by talking loudly as they strummed and thumped.
The Court Fool was aping birds. He had a bunch of feathers in his hair and a few stuck in his waist-belt behind; this was the extent of his make-up. For the moment he was imitating a crested crane. The bird is beautiful, the Fool was hideous; yet such was his art of mimicry that all recognised the bird he had chosen to represent.
The Town Crier paused for a moment to bawl something unintelligibly, and then passed on his way.
Some oxen straying by stopped to sniff at some rubbish. The armed guards drove them off with a few cuts of their raw hide whips.
Bositi had brought as a present to the Chief a large blanket with a realistic lion printed on it, a highly-coloured pocket handkerchief, and a new brass tinder box. He mentally contrasted his gifts with those brought by other men—mostly to the disadvantage of the others.
One old man was about to offer two goodly tusks of ivory. By the fuss the hangers-on made of this old man it was very evident that a possessor of ivory commanded very much respect.
Bositi had smuggled an old Tower musket across the border and knew where to get powder. He promised himself an elephant with larger tusks than those displayed by his rival.
Presently there was a stir. The Chief was coming! The orchestra struck up energetically; the Fool twirled rapidly round on one foot; the hangers-on crouched and shaded their faces as from the rising sun; the long row of visitors bent forward until their foreheads touched the sand; the guards fell upon one knee and all clapped their hands.
Bositi literally buried his face in the sand; a little got into his right eye and annoyed him for days to come.
The Chief moved towards the Council House, preceded by a number of body servants, one of whom pointed with a long stick to imaginary stumps and stones over which his lord and master, if not warned, might trip.
Another carried the Chief's chair. This chair was strongly made on the European pattern. The seat of it was covered with the hide of a Sable antelope, from which constant use had worn much of the hair. A rude face was carved on the bar which supports the sitter's back. To this face men do reverence when the Chief is not in his chair.
A third man beat with two small drum-sticks upon a large harmonica, which was suspended by a bark rope from his neck.
Another carried a green umbrella, not open, because the Chief himself had a smaller one in his own hand.
The sight of the Chief filled Bositi with awe. He paid no attention to the crowd of councillors following in the footsteps of the august personage. He felt that his own finery, which had been much admired by the common herd, was really very mean.
For the Chief had on a grey top hat with a wide black band to it. He wore a long magenta dressing gown, which fell open as he strode forward, disclosing a pair of pepper and salt trousers. On his feet he had a magnificent—in Bositi's eyes—pair of new bright yellow boots. In his free hand he carried an eland's tail fitted as a fly-whisk, with an ivory and ebony handle.
In spite of his absurd clothes the Chief had a certain air of dignity. He was heavily built and stooped slightly at the shoulders with age; his small beard was tinged with grey.
He stepped along firmly, however, and Bositi noticed with jealousy that his eyes lit up as they rested for a moment on the two great tusks of ivory brought by the old man.
The Chief entered the Council House and sat down. Immediately all present raised their hands and shouted a salutation with such good will that the orchestra was not heard for a space. The Court Fool hopped round with renewed energy. The official Praiser shouted:
The great lion!
The bull elephant!
The thunderer!
The greatest of all lions!
The salutations died down and the orchestra came to its own again.
There is no hurry in a native Council House. The band played out its selection and the Court Fool continued to gyrate. One by one the Councillors took their seats in the Chamber. This was a lengthy business: each man in turn seated himself on the ground before the Chief and clapped his hands and bowed several times; then, collecting his skirts round him, he moved in a crouching position to his accustomed seat.
At length quiet prevailed. One by one the visitors were marshalled forward to present their gifts and state their case—if they had one to state.
Many trivial matters were discussed and trumpery gifts bestowed upon the Chief, when it came to the turn of the old man with the ivory.
"Who is this who brings ivory?" asked the Chief.
"It is Moyo of the Rivoswe country," someone volunteered.
"Oh, the man who is said to have broken our laws. See, he brings two tusks and they are large ones."
"Yes, the tusks he brings are large ones," remarked several of those in the Council House.
"Who accuses this man of law-breaking?" demanded the Chief.
There was no reply. All knew their master's weakness for ivory.
The Chief addressed Moyo: "Tell me, old man, what mischief was in your heart when last you left my village?"
Moyo pointed to the tusks. "I went to hunt elephants for the Chief. For long I hunted before I killed. When I had killed, I brought my ivory to my Chief. I am no law-breaker. Is it against the law for the Chief's slave to hunt elephants for the Chief?"
"If," answered the Chief, "to bring me ivory is to break the law, let many break it. Who accused this man?"
As no answer was forthcoming, the Chief accepted the ivory.
As a matter of fact this old man Moyo had been very troublesome in days gone by. He had refused to pay the annual tribute of honey, corn and skins, and had driven away the tax-gatherers sent to collect. Now, realising that he was getting on in years, he thought it wise to make his peace. No one ventured to remind the Chief of these things in view of the offering of two goodly tusks. Moyo was permitted to go to his home in peace; it was, however, plainly hinted to him that ivory would not save his skin if again he thought fit to defy the Chief's authority.
At length Bositi's turn came. "Who is this slave?" asked the Chief.
Someone spoke for him. "He comes with a small gift. He has been working for many years for the white man."
"Is this the fellow who has been making the white man's stemala?"
(By "stemala" the Chief meant railway, probably an attempt at the word "steamers.")
"Yes, Chief," said Bositi, "I have been making stemalas."
"Can you make good stemalas?"
"Yes, Chief, I can make them. I have been helping the white man to make them for many years."
"What does the white man use stemalas for?"
"To carry goods too heavy for a man to carry, and to travel distances more quickly and greater than a man can travel."
"Could you build a stemala for me?"
Without hesitation Bositi declared he could build a railway for the Chief if he were provided with the necessary men to help him and a few axes and adzes for felling and shaping the timber.
"Is not the stemala made of iron?" inquired the Chief.
"Yes, the white man uses iron from his country where it is found in pieces as long and as straight as a palm tree. He has no big trees in his country. In the Chief's country iron is only found in little pieces, but the trees are large and long."
"If you make a good stemala for me you shall be the headman of your village and the induna of your district. The axes and the adzes shall be given to you. Go and make a stemala for me; go quickly and make the stemala quickly."
"I will go, but the Chief must know that a stemala is a big thing to make. Many men and many days are wanted for its making."
"It is well; I understand," said the Chief. Then turning to one of his principal advisers, he directed him to see that Bositi had all the men and all the tools he required.
That night much fuss was made over Bositi who was to become the headman of his village and the induna of his district—when he had made a railway for his Chief.
As for Bositi, he talked big things and adopted the manner of a big man, bearing himself as if his railway were already built and he installed in his high position.
In due course were settled such small details as where the railway was to be built, how many men were required, and what tools would be wanted from the Chief's store.
At length the party set out. Bositi was the most important member of it. Next, and with authority in some respects even greater than his, was the Chief's representative. This man had power to requisition slave labour in the Chief's name and free food from the villages near to the seat of operations.
The spot chosen for the railway was some two hundred miles from the Chief's village. This was fortunate for Bositi, for the distance freed him from too much tiresome supervision. It was on the main river where free navigation is interrupted by a waterfall of considerable size and a series of formidable rapids. For centuries travellers had been content to drag their canoes overland round these obstacles. The going was very heavy as the soil was loose and sandy. The railway was to save this labour. Canoes were to be put on the rails above the falls and so transported to the quiet water below. A more useful railway, from the natives' point of view, could not have been planned.
I was shown over the works by Bositi himself in the early days of construction, before those difficult problems arose which sooner or later confront all who "bite off more than they can chew."
If Bositi had paid strict attention to business and had attached that importance to details which details have a way of demanding, I think his railway would have been a success. But this is too much to expect of any native.
He began well.
I found firmly fixed to the ground by means of stout wooden pegs half a dozen well-made wooden rails. Much labour had been expended on these, for they were cut from large trees. They were perfectly straight and set in true parallel. Resting on the rails were two pairs of wheels: each pair was linked together by a heavy axle bar, rounded at either extremity to permit the wheels to turn freely, but squared between the wheels. The wheels, which were secured to the axle by wooden pins, were shaped like cotton reels: that is, they were doubly flanged in order to keep them from slipping off the rails.
Bositi ordered his men to put a long, heavy log across the axle of the two pairs of wheels and proudly pushed it backwards and forwards along the short length of line, some sixty feet.
He explained that when the work was finished it would be necessary only to place a canoe, fully loaded, across the axles and push it along.
I asked him how many months he had been at work on the construction. He said six. I pointed out that as the distance to be covered by the rails was some three miles, it would be forty years and more before the railway was ready for use. In the meantime, what about the ravages of the white ant?
Bositi appeared hurt but not discouraged. I think he put my criticism down to the natural jealousy which a white man would feel upon finding that a native is not incapable of great things.
He explained that the work had required some planning out, that the local people had been slow to respond to the calls made upon them by the Chief's representative for food and labour, and that the rains had hindered progress.
I admitted that these were difficulties which required time to overcome, and asked to be shown his working camp.
Bositi led me some distance into the forest. Here I saw a number of men busy with tiny native adzes upon some felled trees, shaping them into wooden rails. In very few instances were the rails in the making as straight as those already laid. It was clear to me that the wheels would somehow have to negotiate very awkward turns and twists in the line, and I wondered how they would do it.
By no amount of questioning and patient explanation could I get Bositi to see the difficulty which lay ahead of him, so I presently continued my journey, encouraged by the promise that when next I passed that way with my canoes I should enjoy a ride on the wooden railway.
That section of the Cape to Cairo railway was never finished. I inspected the abandoned line many months later and found, as I had expected, that the white ants had eaten the rails almost as quickly as they were laid. I also saw that less trouble had been taken in making them. The trees from which they were cut were crooked, so here the rails widened, there they narrowed. Here there was a hump, there a depression.
I made it my business to find out what had become of Bositi. He had not been made a headman of his village nor an induna of his district; but, having failed in his undertaking and squandered all his substance, he had gone south again to live the careless life of the railway camp, where, under the hand of the white man, difficulties seem to disappear as quickly as the morning mist before the rising sun.