I work my way up-country to Matabeleland—Employed as fireman on an engine—Reach Johannesburg—Trek the rest of the way to Bulawayo—Take service in the Matabeleland Mounted Police—Join the Africander Corps engaged in putting down the rebellion—Go into trade in Bulawayo—Return to the coast—I take to the stage—Work my way on an Arab dhow to Mombasa, February, 1898—Cool official reception
Learning that the Matabele War had broken out, I made every effort to get up to the front; but as I had had no previous experience, the military authorities would not take me on. However, I was determined to get to Bulawayo somehow, and with this idea made a start by taking the train for Pietermaritzburg, having just enough funds left to pay the fare. On arriving I was lucky enough to get a job to look after the engine and boiler at a steam bakery, and with the money I thus earned I was able to move on, a fortnight later, to Charlestown. I had now just enough money to pay for a night’s lodging, and the next morning I crossed the boundary between Natal and the Transvaal, and moved on to Volksrust, getting a glimpse of the famous Majuba Hill on my journey.
Of course, I was open to take any job that offered, and it so happened that I was lucky enough to get one that very morning, as fireman on the railway.
On applying at the station, I was asked if I was experienced in the work, and having just left a steam bakery, and remembering my experience with the trawler’s donkey engine, I modestly said that I was, and was duly engaged and told to get on the engine of the mail train for Standerton, which was standing in the station, ready to start, and get on with the work.
The driver was a Hollander who spoke very little English, which fact I looked upon as a stroke of luck, as he would be less likely to ask awkward questions. He did ask me if I had done any firing before, and I gave him the same answer as I had given to the official on the platform. He soon put me to a practical test when, looking at the gauge glass, he told me to turn on the pump to fill the boiler. I had not the slightest idea where the pump was, but, noticing that, as he gave the order he looked at a handle which was sticking out, I promptly seized that, and began working it vigorously up and down. He at once began to shout, and I found that I had made a mistake, the handle only having to be lifted to a certain point, and then a tap turned on. Seeing that the driver seemed to expect some explanation of my mistake, I remarked that the arrangement was different from those I had been used to, which was perfectly true, and this seemed to satisfy him, as he merely said that I should, no doubt, get used to it in time.
But I was fated to exhibit my ignorance still further before we started.
I was looking over the side of the engine, when the driver gave an order which I failed to understand, being engaged in watching the antics of an official on the platform, who was waving his arms and gesticulating wildly. He looked so funny that I burst out laughing, and the more I laughed the wilder he got. In the meantime the driver was grumbling, and came across to find out the cause of my laughter, and, seeing the man on the platform, turned on me, and asked why I had not reported the signal to start? It then suddenly dawned upon me that the order that had been given me was to watch for “Right away,” but his English was so funny that I thought he wanted me to look out for some friend he expected.
As Standerton was two hundred miles on my way to Bulawayo, I had thought of leaving the train there, but my clothes had got so dirty and greasy that I thought it best to stay on a little longer, until I had saved enough money to get some more clothes and help me on my way to Johannesburg.
This particular engine proved to be one of the hardest for firing on the whole line, and I soon found that I had got the job because no one else would take it, and after a fortnight on it I was so knocked up that I decided to take a few days off, but on applying for my pay I was told that I should have to go to Standerton to get it. This suited my book exactly, and the idea entered my head, “Why not get a free pass to Johannesburg?” as they had given me one to Standerton, to draw my money. So when I drew the money the officials at Standerton were somewhat startled when I demanded a free pass to Johannesburg. They seemed to think I was crazy, but I quickly assured them that I was perfectly sane and meant to have the pass before I left the office.
They stormed and threatened, but seeing that I did not mean to budge, they finally gave me the pass, with the remark that the English were always so stupid and obstinate.