Chapter Thirteen.
A Forgotten Expedition.
In the early winter of 1874 considerable excitement prevailed in the little mining camp of Pilgrim’s Rest. The Transvaal Government (Mr Burgers being President) was reported to be organising an expedition to Delagoa Bay for the purpose of convoying certain arms and ammunition thence to Pretoria. It had been for some time an open secret that an attack was projected upon Seccocoeni, chief of the Bapedi, who had refused to pay hut-tax. The attack was made in due course, and failed, but that has nothing to do with this story.
The war material in question had, with the exception of ten tons of gunpowder purchased from the firm of Pigou and Wilkes, been presented to the Republic by the German Government. It was part of the loot of the Franco-German war.
Delagoa Bay had a bad name. The previous year was a very fatal one in the “low country.” Out of thirty-five men who went to prospect, to hunt or to amuse themselves between the mountains and the sea in the early part of 1873, twenty-seven died of fever. They had gone too early, and the rains were late. But the seasons were not known so well in the seventies as they are now.
Twenty-five men were wanted, and, among the floating population of the reckless and the restless who are always attracted by an alluvial gold-field, these were not difficult to obtain. Accordingly, in the early days of June the expedition started under the command of Major McDonald (late of the United States’ Army), who held the office of Gold Commissioner. The convoy included eight wagons and sixteen spans of oxen. The country of the tsetse fly had to be traversed; but, unless rain falls, cattle generally live for six weeks or so after being bitten, and it was intended to run the goods through before the oxen succumbed.
We were a various sort of crew, most nations, trades and characters being represented in our meagre ranks. I was the boy of the party, and consequently had a very rough time. My worst tormentor was a powerful brute named Collins; my best protector a herculean and splendidly handsome Highlander from Skye, named Macpherson, who earned my deathless gratitude by thrashing Collins severely. When sober, “Mac” was always my good friend; when otherwise he was wont to use me despitefully. Occasionally, when under the influence of Mauritius rum, he would seize me by the heels and swing me round his head.
We passed over the steep and massive mountain range into the mysterious haze-shrouded country which, without any break save the low Lebombo Range, stretches evenly to the mangrove-cumbered coast. After trekking through the undulating foothills our course led across a dead level sparsely timbered and densely covered with thick, wiry grass. The trees usually permitted a vista of about two hundred yards, at the farther end of which one could often see the wild forest creatures melting into the gloom.
Close to Ship Mountain, where the plains begin, we reached the border of the tsetse region, and here we established a dépôt at which we left eight of our sixteen spans of oxen. The country was teeming with game. Lions were much in evidence. Although we seldom saw the animals, their spoor abounded, and their rumbling groans were at night often audible on three sides of the camp at once. We always camped at sundown, the wagons being drawn up in a double line. Before dark the oxen would be secured to the staked-down trek-chains. All hands gathered fuel, which was very plentiful. Six large fires were kept burning all night, and four men were always on guard.
We crossed the Crocodile and Komati rivers—noble streams of clear water several hundred yards in width, eddying between large rocks upon which many crocodiles basked. Along the low banks stood groves of splendid trees, which harboured buffalo, giraffe, water-buck and many other kinds of game. Elephants we never saw, but their spoor was occasionally visible. On one occasion we heard them trumpeting and crashing through the trees.