The nearest hut is the “Coffee–Room.”
The farther one is the “Bedroom.”
The “Smoking–Room” is in the open
air.
At Massi Kessi (alias Macequece) we got into Portuguese territory. Massi Kessi was the place where the Chartered Company’s forces (consisting of thirty–three men) were attacked by the Portuguese to the number of seven hundred (five hundred of them native troops). A few volleys and rounds of case–shot from the British sufficed to drive back the enemy; and their officers, unable to rally the men, stood on one side and surrendered. The British force then went on to the fort—a very strong place from which the Portuguese had sallied—and took it with all its contents. These included the flag (which had been left flying in the hurried departure of the garrison), some guns, machine guns, and mess furniture, which are still in use with the Chartered Company’s forces. That Massi Kessi has since been replaced by the present township, eight miles from it.
This is a township of one square of about fifteen houses altogether, of which one is the Government House, and twelve are drinking bars. In Rhodesia liquor is not allowed to be sold to coloured men, but in Portuguese territory there is no restriction; consequently all our drivers (seven) and those of Mr. Rhodes’ and Lord Grey’s waggon, which were with us, all got more or less drunk—most of them more. They had saved up their pay in anticipation of this occasion. I was not sorry to hear that two of them, having got hopelessly incapable, were robbed of £30 by the liquor–seller. We had to adopt strong measures with our own hands the next two nights to keep their fighting and noise within tolerable bounds in camp.
17th December.—At the Revuwe River and hut hotel we were overtaken by Cecil Rhodes, Sir Charles Metcalfe, and others, also travelling to the coast.
Rhodes had asked us to stay at his beautiful old place near Cape Town, Groot Schur, but when he met us this morning, he said, “I am sorry to find that I shall not be able to give you accommodation at my house. It has been burnt to the ground. It is a great pity, because there were some old things there that could not be replaced. I liked my house. Providence has not been kind to me this year: what with Jameson’s raid, rinderpest, rebellion, famine, and now my house burnt, I feel rather like Job, but, thank God, I haven’t had sores yet. Still, there remains some of the year, and there is yet a chance for me to develop some totally new kind of boil. That would be the height of evils, to have a boil called after one. Fancy being inventor of the Rhodes boil!” And then he sent a telegram: “Having heard indirectly that my house has been burnt, please put up tents in the garden, as I don’t want to live at an hotel.”
Our last trek, eight miles to–day, brought us to the railway. It was a delight to come on an embankment with its rails and telegraph in the midst of wildest–looking bush—and then to hear the shriek of the engine as an empty train came rumbling up to fetch us to the coast. All that night and up to four o’clock next day we rattled along through the bush, at first among small hills, latterly over the flats—all the time in deep, soggy heat. How one longed for a breeze—and when it came, how disappointing it was—like hot eider–down pressing against one. At times in the thicker bush one could well imagine oneself on the new railway in Ashanti.
18th December.—Early in the morning, about four, a hurried whistling of the engine and much jabbering of our nigger servants in the baggage truck apprised us that three lions were calmly walking along the line in front of us, thinking the road had been made especially for them. They deigned to make way for the beast that breathed flame and smoke, and they skipped off into the jungle. A month ago a prospector named Brown was killed by lions while walking along the line here.
Now and again we pass camps of railway men, a white overseer’s tent, with a few straw huts of native labourers; and once or twice small stations where up and down trains pass each other, and travellers can get food; but we had no need to avail ourselves of them, for our train was full (too full for comfort) of railway officials and others, each of whom had brought a box of food, chiefly champagne, beer, and sandwiches; and at odd hours of night as well as day one thirsty soul or another would get at his box, break bulk, and wake up everybody to have a snack. They meant well, but eternal champagne and beef, especially at 5 a. m., when one would have given worlds for a cup of tea or coffee and some bread and butter—it was cloying, to say the least.
Fever was evident everywhere. At one station the telegraph clerk handed us in some perfectly illegible and nonsensical telegrams. He was half–unconscious with fever, and we never discovered who were the senders or what the purport of these messages. We had to change engines, as our driver had an attack of fever. At a new bridge five out of eleven white men were down.