Incwadi Yami; or, twenty years' personal experience in South Africa

by J. W. Matthews

MASERU, BASUTOLAND.

Bidding farewell to Father Douglas I reached Ladybrand at 6 P. M. “All’s well that ends well,” a good rest and sleep enabled me to start early next morning for Maseru, escorted by a well-known Basuto head man named Makolokolo, who with an escort of ten men had come to meet me. The scenery between Ladybrand and Maseru is magnificent, the mountains, with the grassy plains rolling between, to one who for years had seen nothing but heaps of diamond debris and tailings from washing machines seemed inexpressibly and over-poweringly grand. As we rode on to the drift of the Caledon we passed a long range of hills, where I saw the first signs of the war that had been raging. By faint curls of smoke high up the hillsides, mounting in the air, my attention was drawn to the presence of a number of refugee Basuto women and children living ensconced in caves, who had received permission from the Free State government to squat there pending the settlement of affairs.

Galloping quickly on, at ten o’clock I arrived at the drift of the Caledon River crossing to Maseru. I found the river running in torrents, the pont or horse ferry, damaged the day before, unworkable—in fact the late heavy rains had upset everything, but there, on the other side of the river, exact to the day and hour fixed months before, I could see my friend, the colonel, waiting. A hearty shout of recognition and welcome greeted me, and jumping into a boat I was safely landed on the other side, in Basutoland.

Our progress to Maseru from the Caledon River, about a mile, was one triumphal procession. As members of the Cape parliament who, the loyals knew by report, sympathized with their sufferings, Colonel Schermbrucker and myself were heartily welcomed by these poor broken-hearted people. They regarded us as men who would be able from personal knowledge and inspection to bring their cruel wrongs and sufferings before parliament, reveal their exact condition, and show the world, at least the South African world, the sad plight and the miserable state in which their loyalty and their belief in the flag of Old England had landed them.

Hundreds met us on the banks of the river; the crowd, “lumelaing” (saluting) us and singing and dancing their war dances, and increasing in numbers until our arrival at Mr. Trower’s store when we arranged with the leaders to have a meeting or pitso in the afternoon.

Maseru is a prettily situated village just on the confines of Basutoland, and during the war was an important rendezvous and depot. By good fortune I found an old brother, if not in arms in lancets, Dr. Cumming, stationed here, who invited me to accompany him to the camp of the Cape mounted rifles, when I spent a pleasant hour lunching with him and other members of the staff.

A splendid view of Maseru and the surrounding country is obtained from the high plain on which the camp was pitched.

From our open dining tent I could see on one side the winding Caledon, rushing along in torrents, on the other the grassy plain with the camp and its surroundings, whilst in front, below us, lay the pretty village of Maseru with its houses and stores, its trees and its gardens, and the residency which a short time before had witnessed a most plucky and successful defence against the attacking hordes of Masupha’s rebels. As a background to this lovely scene, three hills nicknamed by our troops, “the world, the flesh and the devil” completed the picture.

In the afternoon there was a large meeting of the loyal Basutos, and we heard from their own lips the story of their sufferings. Among the speakers was Sofonia Moshesh, whose magnificently built stone house I afterward saw in the distance when going to Thaba Bosigo, Makolokolo, a clever, far-seeing man, whose opinion was much thought of by the Basutos, Inodi, Jacob Matseke, N’tsane Moshesh, whose house surrounded by a forest of 2,000 gum trees is a sight ever to be remembered. The enthralled attention and eager anxiety of the assembly struck me very much, and it was impossible not to feel for men like Sofonia Moshesh and N’tsane Moshesh who had lost everything by their loyalty to the government. but who still trusted, still “hoped on” that justice would be done them.

The petition which was to be presented to parliament setting forth their grievances, and praying the house to allow three chiefs they had chosen to appear as their spokesmen at the bar of the house, was signed by all present, and the pitso broke up with loud cheers for the Queen.