The wagon was one of the great freight-carriers used so extensively in South Africa. It was along the lines of the old American "prairie schooner," except that it was much bigger and heavier in every way. It was about eighteen feet long by ten wide and could safely be loaded up to three or three and a half tons. Its wheels were squat and heavy, with broad tires built to prevent their cutting into soft roadways and to roll over the dust of dry weather without sinking into it. The rear half of the wagon was covered with a top, or tent, under which a permanent bed was built. This bed was of the primitive plain-board kind, but saved us from having to sleep on the wet earth on many occasions. When we started out the wagon was drawn by eleven span, or twenty-two oxen. Three Swazi boys were in charge of it and were responsible for its animals.
Then, chiefly for our personal convenience, I had pressed the wagonette into service, and this was drawn by six mules. Sibijaan and Tuis were in charge of this part of the outfit.
I must not forget our cook. He was a most important member of the expedition and came through it in a most remarkable manner—always on the job and always ready to work a little harder. He was an Indian, that is, a native of India who had come to the Transvaal as servant to a British officer during the World War. His right name became lost early in our association. It was a long, three-barreled sort of name, quite melodious, but not handy for trek use. When I was inspecting our equipment I asked him his name again, and he calmly answered, "Gunga Din, Sahib."
"Since when? When did you change your name?" I asked, surprised that he had relinquished his proud paternal patronymic.
"Yesterday, Sahib. The sahib with the large hat says that he can't remember my name and tells me that from now on I shall be known as 'Gunga Din.'"
Investigation showed that Sugden became fed up on the long, beautiful name of our cook and had firmly given him one that was easy to remember.
"Gunga Din's easy to remember," he explained. "Gunga Din and Rudyard Kipling go together, and you surely can't forget them both. G. Din made R. K. famous, and it's a cinch to remember the cook's name that way. Anyhow, we'll be calling him 'Din' as soon as we get going!"
And he was right. The chef with a name like a great poet became "Din" and remained "Din" until we returned from Swaziland.
The great wagon was heavily loaded with all the dunnage and impedimenta needed for our expedition, among which were gin and a number of mysterious cases I had personally seen packed in New York. My companions did not know what was in them until late in our expedition, but when they found that I had nearly one hundred pounds of glorious five-and-ten-cent-store jewelry they realized that I knew a bit about the kaffir character.
Of course we had all the weapons we could use. The best sporting rifles and revolvers were part of the equipment, though I hoped that we should not have occasion to use them except for pot-hunting. Things will happen in Swaziland, however, and Tuys was a great believer in foresight.