We went ahead and called on Mr. and Mrs. Dickson, who gave us tea. It was real English tea and we enjoyed it immensely. The Dicksons had heard of our expedition and were much interested. Mrs. Dickson, however, was greatly amused at our capacity for tea, since we each drank between five and six cups. But we were dead tired and it was wonderful to shut out the whole of Swaziland and sit down in this cozy English home to drink decent tea poured by a white woman!
After thanking the Dicksons, I went to the little store and bought some supplies. I also went to the hotel and bought some liquor, this being merely for camouflage, as I wished them to think I needed it. The supplies and liquor I gave to a native carrier, telling him to take it to the place where we expected to camp for the night. There were six packages in all, weighing about forty-five pounds, and it was amusing to see this kaffir summon five others to help him. Each Swazi, carrying his shield, knob-kerrie, and assegai, started for our camp with a little parcel on his head.
The wagon was late. I began to be worried, for I had estimated that it would arrive in the village about eight o'clock. I spent a nervous hour or so waiting for it to show up, but it did not do so till about 9:30. I told Sibijaan to proceed to the camping place about two miles further on, and we pushed ahead to be on hand when it arrived.
Soon we ran into a typical wonder-sight of that part of the country. I had noticed a red glow in the sky off to the left, and on turning a little hill we saw that the whole side of a mountain was one tremendous fire. While this was at its worst, or most glorious, height, the great red African moon came up over the mountain like a huge ball of flame. The whole scene was so striking that Sugden insisted we ought to take a picture of it. We hurried back to the wagon and found a number of Swazis trailing it out of curiosity. With the aid of a box of cigarettes, I pressed twelve of them into service and got the cameras to the spot from which we wanted to take the picture. While we were doing this little Swazis seemed to spring up out of the ground, and before we had finished there must have been at least four score of them wondering what the white men were trying to do.
Sibijaan saw a chance to air his superior knowledge and I heard him telling these little fellows a preposterous yarn.
"You see those black boxes?" he said, pointing to the cameras. "Well, those are the magic boxes of Nkoos Mzaan Bakoor, the great white witch-doctor. He will look at the fire through them and soon it will go out. If he is offended, he can make the fire burn up the whole country and kill all the Swazis!"
I was afraid to look back and note the effect of this beautiful lie, but I heard the kaffir exclamation of wonder—"Ou! Ou!"—from a dozen throats and decided that my trusty henchman had gotten away with it.
By the time we had packed our cameras again the wagons had caught up with us and we went on. The spot I had picked for the camp was under a small grove of palm trees across a little stream, and we arrived there to find that the six carriers had started a fire. It was about midnight when our wagons reached camp, and soon after we rolled up in our blankets and dropped off to sleep just where we stood.
Next morning we started down the steep slopes into the Valley of Heaven. This was a very dangerous descent for the wagons, so that it was after midday before we reached the floor of the valley. The poor donkeys were completely exhausted, and we camped there until next day.
The Valley of Heaven was certainly living up to its name. It was never so lovely, and my companions were enthusiastic in its praise. I pointed out to them the Place of Execution and Sheba's Breasts as we came down the mountain, and they immediately decided they would visit both before returning to Ermelo.