"Well, you're a little bit of all right, after all," the captain said. "Come down to my cabin and I'll give you a real drink!"
From then on we had a pleasant trip. Our captain let bygones be bygones and we enjoyed the few remaining days enough to partly make up for the misery that had preceded them.
Crespinell and Rossman had arrived in Cape Town when we reached there, and came out in a motor-boat to meet us. We introduced them to our new friend, the captain, and he gave them a brief résumé of our activities during the thirty-odd days of the voyage. He gave us credit for being two of the "rarest specimens" he had ever encountered.
"The next time I ship two such wild men as these," he said, "I'll move into the forecastle and give 'em my cabin! What's more, from now on I'm going to limit myself to one doctor a trip, and he won't be a Boer, either. These two devils did everything from start a menagerie on one case of bay rum to instigate a mutiny when we had some fighting stowaways on board."
Then he gave a romantic and none too flattering account of how we had been arrested in St. Lucia, and ended by informing my men that we were "fugitives from justice." This had not occurred to me; perhaps it is so and I shall find the funny black policeman waiting for me the next time I visit the island.
We were glad to get ashore. It is one thing to race across the Atlantic in five days on a floating palace and quite another and none-too-pleasant experience to spend more than a month on a freighter in the warmer latitudes. The solid earth welcomed our feet and we found Cape Town very gay.
After getting settled at the hotel, we started out to enjoy ourselves. Of course we chartered a motor, and our trail could easily be followed by the familiar fumes of gasoline and alcohol. The town was full of "Anzacs," Australian and New Zealand soldiers, returning from the war. They were great big reckless devils, glad to be going home and glorying in the fact that they had won the war. This led to an argument and to my taking a short and sad cruise in the "Mayflower," this being the highflown name of a typical Cape Town hack.
In one of the many places we visited during the course of our rambles, we ran into a number of "Aussies" celebrating the downfall of the Boche. They immediately noted Dr. Sugden's sombrero and greeted him as a "Yank." This was all right, but soon they added a familiar remark, "The Yanks won the war; oh yes, they did!" and Sugden became indignant. The usual argument ensued. Words ceased when Sugden slammed his hat on the ground and offered to lick them all. A second later we were in the center of a fine mêlée, which was ended by the military police breaking in.
Sugden was badly used up and some of the rest of us were severely bruised. The nearest vehicle was the "Mayflower," so we piled the "fighting Yank" into it and took him back to the hotel. He had been badly damaged, so that it was a week before we were able to travel.
In the meantime Oom Tuys had sent me several telegrams in which he urged me to hurry. In one there was the phrase, "Tzaneen making trouble; maybe war," and this sounded as if we were in for an interesting time when we reached Swaziland. I did not understand how she could do anything unless she tried to take the throne for Sebuza by force, but the situation looked as though there was some excitement ahead.