It was at first supposed that I was dead; and most providential it was that the wounds were not fatal. The shot had passed right through my left hand, and grazing my left temple, had pierced the brim of my hat, leaving the holes blocked up with my hair. For two days I was completely blind with the eye, and suffered from acute inflammation in it for more than a fortnight.
A native view of the occurrence should not be left without record. While my friends in the presence of the three Batlapins were discussing whether it would not be possible to reach Springbockfontein that night, another old Batlapin, who had witnessed what had happened, came up, and addressing one of the three, apparently his son, said, “Go, lad, and look inside that waggon; there lies a Bas dying or dead; he is killed for his wickedness; he was storming against his friends for being so slow in giving him his gun, and the great Morena struck him with lightning and thunder. He fell from the waggon. Never more will he eat his maize or suck his sugar-cane, if he is not dead already.”[4]
Although Springbockfontein was really at no great distance, my condition was such that it proved quite impossible for us to reach it that night; the suffering that I endured from the jolting of the waggon made us abandon our intention, and after two hours’ travelling we halted for the rest which was indispensable. However, next morning, quite early, we accomplished the rest of the way.
Springbockfontein is a settlement of white men, consisting of nothing more than some tents and reed-huts, occupied by four Dutch families, who, apparently, had been driven by debt to flee from their former homes in the Transvaal. I found similar settlements in other Bechuana districts, the occupants supported partly by hunting, and partly by wood-cutting or leather-dressing. As a general rule they appear to lead a miserable existence, and may be said to be about the most uncivilized portion of the Dutch population of South Africa; being without the means of procuring medical assistance, their condition when attacked by sickness is very deplorable.
The Springbock streams were quite insignificant, and as they made their way towards the Harts River, they passed through a morass where I found large numbers of the common South African tortoise.
During the morning I had rallied considerably, and determined to proceed up the valley without delay. My plan was to pass through the district under the control of the Batlapin chief, Gassibone, at that time independent; but owing to the wrong directions given us by some Dutchmen at the springs, we wandered on till nearly evening, when two natives that we chanced to meet informed us of our mistake, telling us, moreover, that our only way to get where we wanted was by going right back again to the Harts River. All day long the toil had been very great, the soil in many places being so sandy that it was necessary to give the cattle continual rests to recover from their exhausting labours. The country as we advanced became more and more wooded, covered in many spots with small tracts of camel-thorns. To compensate in a degree for the loss of time, there was no lack of good sport.
Striking next, according to the directions of the natives, right across the woods to the east-south-east, we made for the chain of hills where the principal kraal of the chief was said to lie. The road, I think, was even worse than any we had yet seen, and it required both skill and vigilance to keep the team from injuring themselves, and the waggon from toppling over. A monotonous bush country brought us to a mimosa-forest, where we met some of Gassibone’s people, who took every trouble to explain the nearest way to their chieftain’s home. We had to cross a depression in the hills, which brought us to a deep circular hollow; in the background of this, there was a meeting of mountain ridges, forming a number of valleys, in one of which the kraal was situated. As we entered the valley it could not but strike us how fairly it was cultivated.
But it was now growing late. The day had been long and unusually toilsome. We were all fatigued, and I ordered a halt for the night.
After allowing our bullocks to graze awhile, we started off in good time next morning for Gassibone’s quarters. The women were already busy at their work; the children, as usual, driving the cattle to their pasture. With fine warm weather, our whole party was refreshed and in the best of spirits.
The full title of this chief is Morena Botlazitse Gassibone. Two years after this time, he voluntarily submitted himself to the Transvaal Republic, and since the annexation of the republic by the English, he has become a British subject. He is said to be addicted to many vices, of which drunkenness is not the least.