Mrs. Dickson protested and argued that her boys were innocent, but about this time, Mr. Honey, British Royal Commissioner for Swaziland, came on the scene in all his majesty. He held an impromptu court and heard both sides of the case. After deliberation, in which we all tried to assist him, he delivered his verdict.
"From the evidence I judge that Mrs. Dickson's boys are innocent in that they did not realize they were killing Mr. Pythian's chickens," he said. "However, the chickens have been killed on the order of Mrs. Dickson, so I think the only thing to do is to arrest Mrs. Dickson!"
Whereupon Mrs. Dickson became indignant and demanded that the commissioner carry out his sentence.
"If he does," she said threateningly, "I can guarantee that the High Commissioner for Swaziland is going to feel very low in his mind before I invite him to dinner again!"
Thus the chicken-stealing ended in a joke, and Pythian was one of the gayest at dinner that night. He remarked, however, that it was no wonder that the roast chicken was so choice, since the birds had been imported all the way from some place in India!
During the meal I sat next to the Commissioner and brought up the question of the crowning of the new Swazi king. I wanted to find out what the government thought about it before I made final arrangements at Zombode.
"There seems to be a difference of opinion regarding this pup, Sebuza," he said. "It looks as though there might be a row either before or soon after he is made king. Of course he is the heir to the job, so there can be no good reason for keeping him out. However, Labotsibeni has been a steady old girl and has kept fairly good order around Zombode, and it's a shame we can't keep her. But she's over one hundred years old, and now Lomwazi seems to be fairly running Swaziland. Sebuza will have to be king some day, but it will be good policy to maintain present conditions as long as possible. We have peace now, and I'd dislike to see anything happen that might start a war."
I could see that the Commissioner was none too anxious to have Sebuza take over the throne. This suited me, for I knew that it would be some time before I was equipped with the right outfit to take the pictures I was after. If Sebuza's coronation could be put off for a year, it would suit me even better.
All the white residents of Mbabane treated us with the greatest kindness and hospitality. They could not do too much for us. There are a number of interesting things about the settlement. It is essentially a little English village set down in the heart of the most primitive and savage principality of the empire. Like all the rest of the English who exile themselves from home, these people had brought a little bit of the motherland with them.
The jail, or "gaol," as they insist on writing it, is an institution in Mbabane, but I must say there is not much punishment about it. The prisoners wear the convict garb, but you meet them all over the village. They are usually working in the gardens, and I have often run across them three and four miles from their penitential abode. No prisoner has ever been known to escape; perhaps the regular food has something to do with this.