Adventures in Swaziland: The Story of a South African Boer

by Owen Rowe O'Neil

Following supper the old Boer became solemn, as is the custom after the evening meal, and led us in religious services. No matter how poor or how humble, the true Boer never forgets his "night prayers." This is his heritage from those Huguenot ancestors. It was impressive to see my American companions bow their heads silently as the old farmer recited his devotions.

Prayers over, we went to the "parlor," whose chief ornaments were almost priceless relics and skins, and staged an amateur musicale. There was a good piano and we had our ukelele. What more could be desired? All the kaffirs in the neighborhood gathered outside and fairly wept for joy. It was a splendid concert, considering the talent, and made a great hit with the farmer and his wife.

Next morning we were inspanned and on our way by dawn. It was raining, and this made it look like bad going all day. The farmer and his wife were up as soon as we, and had rusks and hot, strong coffee for us. It was chilly, and the coffee was a good "pick-me-up" before a day's trek. Before we left the Boer made us promise to stay a week with him on our return from Swaziland. He said he would arrange a feast for us and we would be able to play our "hand-fiddle" for all his neighbors.

By ten o'clock we had made about seven miles, and camped for breakfast on the shores of a small lake. Our progress had been much delayed by the rain, and this made the walking disagreeable as well. We were very hungry for breakfast and Din performed wonders, considering that the rain continued until an hour after we had finished. After a short rest we started on again, and by four o'clock we had reached the banks of the Masuto River. Here we made a good camp, pitching two additional tents, so that we would have a mess-room and cook-house with which the rain could not interfere. This camp was chiefly memorable for the fact that Rossman almost had an "adventure." While Din was getting supper ready the camera-man took a rifle and went along the river with the intention of shooting something. He had been gone only a few minutes when we heard a shout, followed by a shot. Sugden and Crespinell rushed to Rossman's assistance, each with a rifle. They reached his side to find him gazing fearsomely at a large snake whose back had been severed by his bullet. It was a dramatic moment—especially when Sugden picked up the snake and pointed out the fact that it must have been dead for a week or more!

That night we were all very tired and went to sleep as early as possible. Next morning, true to my Boer upbringing, I was up and about before dawn. Coffee and rusks were ready soon after, and my companions were awakened to face their third day's trek. Of course we could walk faster than the oxen, so I pushed ahead as I knew that there was a Mapor kraal a short distance away. We reached the kraal about five miles ahead of the wagons, and this gave me time to show the others their first native settlement.

All the men were away, only women and children being at home. These all seemed to belong to a small chief of the tribe, and they informed me that he was away on a hunting trip. Sugden and the others were intensely interested in everything they saw and I arranged for them to inspect the interior of a number of the huts.

I soon noticed that all the women were much taken with Rossman; in fact, they could hardly keep their eyes off him. I found by questions that they were fascinated by his great horn-rimmed glasses. The upshot was that we allowed a certain few of these dusky Eves to try the glasses on, and they were much amused thereat. We distributed about five shillings among them and they treated us to tswala and brought us a number of fresh eggs.

In a little while the wagons hove in sight and camped near the kraal for breakfast. Scraps of wood and "buffalo chips" made our fire, and presently Din had a good "feed" ready. While the cooking was going on the little kaffirs gathered about the camp in numbers. Some of them even drove their goats close so that they might see the white men eat. By the time we began breakfast there were more than forty of these little beggars squatting on their haunches near the table. They watched every motion most intently and followed each morsel to its destination. Every now and then I would take a piece of lump sugar and, without looking, throw it in their direction. Instantly there would be the fiercest sort of a scramble for the tidbit. They were rough beyond reason, and every now and then one of them would be hurt and crawl away for a few minutes until he had recovered. Never, however, would he cry out or show that he felt the pain. No sooner did our wagons leave the spot than there was a wild rush to where we had been. They fought furiously over every scrap in the hope of finding food that the white men had thrown away.

We kept steadily on until five o'clock that night, and then made camp. When Din gave the supper-call at about eight o'clock, Sugden and I went to the mess-tent to find Crespinell and Rossman sound asleep on the floor. They were worn out by the steady walking and I did not blame them for taking it easy. After a "shot" of Picardy brandy, we all sat down to the best supper Gunga Din had yet given us. There was soup, chicken curry, rice, vanilla pudding, canned fruits, and coffee. Truly, a feast for a trek supper!

That night Sugden and the others were kept awake for some time by the howling of several jackals. They suggested that they take their rifles and go out and "get some of those infernal beasts!" I had to explain to them that it would be exactly like trying to shoot the shadow of a ghost, and they went back to bed grumbling heartily.