When Sebuza finally finished, he motioned to me to come forward. I did so and stood just below him on the mound. An induna handed him a plumed headdress and he placed it on my head. It was much as though he were conferring a decoration. I stepped back, and Sugden took my place and received his headdress. Crespinell followed, and then we turned and faced the royal impi. Sebuza gave a sign and the impi saluted us. Then we stepped into its ranks and we all saluted the king.
That was the end of the ceremony that made us the only white men to hold commissions in the royal impi of Swaziland. After leaving the "parade ground" we were only too thankful to hobble back to camp and minister to our numerous scratches, cuts, and abrasions. But we had not yet come to the end of our torture! Din, however, practically saved our lives by rubbing some concoction he made on our abused feet. It eased them wonderfully and made it possible for us to get through the rest of that day.
The same afternoon the real celebration started. Every one had been drinking tswala, some of which runs as high as twelve per cent. in alcohol, and this seemed to add to their desire to dance. The warriors danced before the royal kraal, and we had to perform with our impi. In spite of Din's treatment, it was agony. The ground was hard and blistering hot. Sugden's remark that "the hobs of hell have nothing on this" was fully justified.
But we went through with it somehow. In addition, we were able to get many pictures of the dancing, and Crespinell even took some of Sugden and myself doing our best to be true Swazi indunas.
The dancing continued all that afternoon and late into the night. As soon as it became dark hundreds of great fires were lighted, and it was a weird sight to see these thousands of savages leaping and prancing in their light.
The celebration lasted for three full days and nights and on the morning of the fourth the visiting tribesmen set off for their homes. There was a general exodus, so that by nightfall Lebombo had returned to its wonted calm. When I saw how empty it was, I realized that Tuys's estimate of the number of people who attended the celebration was very conservative.
We were resting and recuperating after the ordeal of becoming "white Swazis" when Lochien came in haste to see us. We were about packed up and expected to leave Lebombo within a few days. Lochien was troubled and wanted our advice.
"A messenger has come from Mbabane," he said. "He says that the government will not allow Sebuza to be king. The government chief has heard that Labotsibeni is dead and wants to know how she died. Tzaneen wishes you would tell her what to say to the messenger."
This was unpleasant news. I had not believed that the government would interfere when it heard that Sebuza had actually been made king and that all Swaziland was rejoicing over it. There was only one thing to tell the messenger.
"Tell Tzaneen to speak the truth to the messenger," I directed. "Tell her to say that she does not know how Labotsibeni was killed. If the messenger asks about the war, tell the queen to explain how Labotsibeni's warriors attacked her indunas and killed them, and that she made war only to protect her people."