CHAPTER XIV. LETTERS FROM HOME.
We wish we could say that from this time forward Oscar prosecuted his journey without any mishap, but such was not the case. Accidents of all kinds were of almost daily occurrence, and that was no more than one could expect in a country in which the roads are left to take care of themselves, and are passable only for the strongest of wagons, drawn by teams the most powerful.
Before the foot of the Drackenberg Mountains was reached Oscar had fashioned three new dissel-booms with his own hands, and the trek-tow had been repaired more than once. But there was something of which he no longer stood in fear, and that was treachery. His men were all capable, honest, and willing, and never shirked their share of the work.
Before attempting the ascent of the dreaded Drackenberg Oscar off-loaded and had his wagon thoroughly overhauled by a blacksmith.
He afterward told himself that it was well he did so, for he found the pass to be the worst place he ever got into. His own oxen alone never could have pulled his heavy wagon up that steep incline.
But, as good luck would have it, he came up with a couple of Dutch farmers, who had spent two days in camp at the foot of the mountains, smoking their pipes, and looking first at the pass and then at their wagons, and trying to make up their minds whether or not they could reach the top with two teams to each vehicle.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Oscar found them. He immediately out-spanned a little distance away, and, in company with his interpreter, went over to invite the Boers to drink coffee with him; but, to his surprise, the men flatly refused to have anything to do with him.
"What's the matter with them, Thompson?" asked Oscar.
"They say they don't like Englishmen, and won't drink coffee with them," answered the interpreter.