Chapter Twenty Four.
These African thunderstorms occur at different seasons in different localities, and everywhere they are terrible. They do more harm by their violence than the rain which accompanies them does good. During their continuance (fortunately they never last long) the water comes down in veritable sheets, rushing down slopes and mountain-sides in a resistless flood, swelling rivers in a few moments from ditches into torrents.
A storm in the mountains at times fills the streams leading out from them to such an extent that with scarcely any warning the waters come tumbling down in cataracts, the rivers rising to a height of forty feet in as many minutes. A friend of ours with his partner had been trading for years in the Zambesi country, and was bringing down a large quantity of furs, feathers, and ivory to the colonial market. On reaching the banks of a little river, remarking that it was running somewhat swifter than usual, they entered it with their wagon, without any thought of danger.
Suddenly, as they reached the middle, the waters came rolling down with a roar like Niagara, sweeping away the results of two years’ labour in a moment; they barely escaped with their lives. We asked our friend what he did at the time. “Why,” said he, “we tried to express the situation in words, but we could not do it justice, so we just sat down on two ant-hills, laughing at one another and our luck.” Several similar cases occurred during our stay in the upland country. A coach with four passengers was swept away in a moment while fording a swelling river at night, the driver only escaping.
The boys were soon at work coaxing up a fire, with the help of some dry wood we had in the wagon, and coffee was made. The meal was rather dismal, for night had fallen, and the boys were looking anxiously at the condition of the road, and the hopeless state of the wagon wheels, which had sunk into the sloppy turf almost up to the hubs. There was no use trying to go on that night, so putting out our swinging lantern, we lay down to sleep.
At daylight we were awakened by the jolting of the wagon, and found that our bodyguard had inspanned, and, having dug us out of the muddy prison, had succeeded in getting us under way. Hastily making our toilets with difficulty, we were thrown from side to side of the wagon at every lurch; we jumped out and walked, finding the exercise preferable to the jarring of the vehicle. Indeed, we walked most of the journey, and were better for it. Enjoying an excellent breakfast, which again put us in good spirits, we were beginning to think we should have a clear day, but another spell of rain at ten o’clock came on. It continued raining all day, with short intervals of sunshine. These were taken advantage of to make short treks.
At four o’clock, as we were sitting in the fore part of our chariot looking out at the drizzling rain, the front wheels slowly sank and nearly disappeared in a deep mud hole, bringing the steaming oxen to a full stop. In vain the driver cracked his long whip and yelled; we were hopelessly stuck. I was sitting in front when the accident occurred, and jumped out, landing in a deep mud hole. We slept that night at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees, and when morning broke it was welcome, as it brought with it some bright sunshine and prospect of clearing weather.
It took five hours and the effort of the combined lungs of the party upon the oxen, together with the inventive genius and experience of all the members of our staff, to get us out of that mud hole. They outspanned and inspanned three times before the wagon stirred, and a hole had been dug big enough to bury us all in before the wheels were released. At last, with a whoop and a yell and a groan, it was hoisted out of its oozy prison and drawn onto the veldt, when the oxen were outspanned and breakfast was eaten.
During several successive days, while travelling in the Orange Free State, we passed hundreds of huge ant-hills. One might say there are villages of these; they are formed together in thousands, they disappear for a space, and are again met with. Some of them measure ten feet and more in circumference, and are between three and four feet high, and are filled with black and yellow ants. The clay becomes hard from the sun’s rays. An ox-wagon driver hews out an ant-hill forming an oven, in which he cooks his bread, the clay burning like a slow fire, and with an intense heat.
From this time on the weather was delightful; with the exception of one thunderstorm it continued so during the six weeks we remained in the wagon. We soon forgot the unpleasant experiences of the first few days. In forty-eight hours the sun had dried the road, so that travelling was comparatively easy, and we passed over the level plain, arriving in Smithfield on the fifth morning after leaving Bloemfontein, where we outspanned on a plateau adjoining the village. We here met with a lady friend from the diamond fields, who invited us to visit her for a few days; but we had now become attached to our gypsy life, and preferred our own fireside.
Smithfield is a fair-sized village of the usual Free State kind, possessing a few fine churches, a few streets of one-storey roomy houses, and several stores. When our tented home began to move along the road away from the village we trudged alongside of it as happy and healthy as school-girls, and feeling as free from restraint as the birds.