By J. T. Newnham-Williams, of Salisbury, Mashonaland.
A trader’s story of the appalling catastrophe which, almost in the twinkling of an eye, wiped out the fruits of a lengthy and arduous expedition and cost him the lives of two faithful “boys.”
It was about the end of October, 1902, when I was returning from a trading and hunting expedition which had taken me into the wild bush-country lying to the north-west of the Limpopo valley, that the following incident occurred—an incident which neither myself nor any of the “boys” who accompanied me are ever likely to forget. I had started out from Pietersburg, in the Transvaal, about five months before, taking with me a good “salted” horse, a wagon and sixteen oxen, and half-a-dozen boys. I had loaded up with a good deal of the usual trading gear, and had made a very successful trip.
It was always my rule, on returning from these expeditions, to shoot the whole of my way back, and I arranged my departure from civilization so that I could get through with my trading in good time and have the game season well in hand on the home trek.
The rains had commenced rather earlier than usual, and, although we had only had a few showers as yet, I felt that there was not much time to lose if I wished to get back to Pietersburg before they had fairly set in. I had started out in the morning from a little native village called M’Sablai, and meant to push on through the day in order to get to a native “staad” called Wegdraai, which lay on the opposite side of the Limpopo River, better known as the Crocodile. Everything went well during the day, and towards five o’clock in the afternoon I sighted the group of kopjes by which Wegdraai was surrounded. Telling the boys to make all possible haste and follow me, I spurred my horse and rode forward to find a suitable ford.
The river at this point is about a quarter of a mile in width, and in the dry season is very shallow, the water usually lying about in pools. It presents a very pretty appearance at this time of the year, being dotted with innumerable verdure-clad islands. I did not anticipate much trouble in crossing, and, on reaching the bank, soon selected a suitable spot. There was rather more water than usual, but this was only to be expected, as it had been raining a little the day before.
Having picked out the ford, I watered my horse and rode slowly back to meet the wagon. When it came in sight, creaking and rumbling, I dismounted and, throwing the reins over the horse’s head, sat down and lit my pipe whilst waiting for it to come up. I had been smoking for a few minutes, thinking of nothing in particular, when my attention was attracted by a curious murmuring sound, very faint and far away; it sounded like the roar of a train travelling at a high speed.
I glanced uneasily towards the river, but as far as the eye could reach it looked peaceful enough. I knew the sound only too well, however—it was the noise of flood-water coming down stream. When the wagon arrived, my head boy, Jim, called my attention to the murmur, at the same time advising me not to attempt to get across. I had half a mind to follow his advice and outspan then and there, but it occurred to me that the river might remain “up” for several days, and then, if more rain came, I should not be able to get across for weeks. It seemed to me to be a case of getting across at once or waiting for an indefinite period.
We were moving steadily forward all the time, and when we came to the river-bank I noticed that by this time the water was looking slightly disturbed, little swirling eddies being plainly visible about half-way across. I looked doubtfully up the river, which here ran nearly straight for about a mile, but, seeing nothing of the wall of water which usually comes down when a river is rising in flood, I threw prudence to the winds and determined to get across. Tying my horse to the rear of the wagon, and shouting to the boys to look after the brake, I seized the long whip which the driver was carrying, and, making it whistle around the ears of the oxen, urged them down the bank. I could see that the boys were scared—they knew the treacherous nature of the river only too well—but I thought that we could gain the opposite bank long before the water reached us.