Adventures in Swaziland Part 16

On one of his trips Tuys dropped in to see our old friend Umzulek and came back with the report that the kaffir chief was minding his own business and obeying orders. However, he made Tuys a proposition that showed him to be still willing to make trouble, if it were profitable.

"The old rascal suggested that he make a demonstration with all his impis against our borders," my uncle reported. "If he made a great enough showing, he thought, and news of it reached Oom Paul, our President would be willing to pay him tribute to keep the peace. It seems he has been thinking about Buno's monthly gift of two thousand pounds and the gin that went with it. He has a sort of feeling that it is a shame to let this money get out of the family! The crafty beggar only hinted at his scheme at first, but I finally smoked him out and he admitted what was in his mind."

"What did you tell him?" my father asked, glancing at Tuys keenly.

Father remembered the days of Buno, when ugly rumors used to float out concerning Tuys's activities in Swaziland.

"I told him to go to h.e.l.l," Tuys exclaimed, "or I would come with many rifles and send him there!"

Inasmuch as Umzulek could have no conception of what my uncle meant by "h.e.l.l", since the Swazis have no such place in their daily thought, it is safe to a.s.sume that Tuys was using a figure of speech.

Nevertheless, he gave Umzulek to understand that it would be unhealthy for him to start a row along the border.

We were still living in Belfast when the war came to an end. Our home at Rietvlei was in ruins and it was almost a year before my father was able to get a portion of it rebuilt. However, before returning there we lived for a time in Potchefstroom, where my father had interested himself in some gold properties. Prospecting was always fascinating to him and he was usually successful in these ventures.

His English secretary remained in Belfast, safe-guarding his interests there and making frequent visits to the homestead in the Valley of Reeds. Our kaffir farmers and servants had been widely scattered by the war, but soon began to drift back. Each told a different tale of his wanderings, and many of these were quite harrowing. A number of our people had escaped to Jafta's kraal and not a few had gone into Swaziland until the war ended.

Klaas, our old jockey and one of my dearest playmates, had disappeared during the second year of the war, but one day my father told me that he had returned to Rietvlei. Father was about to make one of his periodical trips to Belfast and the Valley of Reeds, and he promised to bring Klaas back with him to Potchefstroom.

He drove out to Rietvlei from Belfast and found Klaas very glad to see him. The little fellow was thin and worn-looking, but scrupulously clean. Father installed him again as his driver and next day started back for Potchefstroom. A mile or so from the old house father got out of the wagon to inspect a plantation. He was about seventy-five yards from the wagon when a threatening thunder-storm broke and a single bolt of lightning killed Klaas and both horses! This was a great blow to all of us, because we had come to regard the little black boy with genuine affection.

Not long after we returned to Rietvlei--such a happy homecoming as it was!--my father decided the time had come for me to get an education.

Many of the old Boers frowned upon the thought of sending their sons abroad to be educated, feeling that they would never care to return to the farms their ancestors had founded in the wilderness with such bravery and determination. My father, however, was different. He believed that his sons should be abreast of the times, and he sent me to boarding-school and later to universities in Scotland and America, where I received my training as a physician.

CHAPTER XI

Back to Rietvlei from Harvard--I locate in Ermelo--Tuys brings news that Sebuza is to be crowned king of Swaziland--I decide to make a picture record of the coronation--The trek to Zombode to get the royal permission--Snyman plays ghost and almost gets killed--Visit to Mbabane, capital of Swaziland.

Soon after my graduation from Harvard University I returned to the Transvaal. I had been away for years and it was good to get back to the Valley of Reeds. Years in Scotland and the United States had left their stamp on me, and my family and old friends chaffed me about being an "outlander," telling me that now I was an American. I may have had some of the externals, such as the clothing I had had made in Cambridge, but my heart was still the heart of a Boer and I was glad to get back to my own people.

Father was proud to have a son who was a physician and arranged a reception at Rietvlei to which all his friends and acquaintances came.

I was the hero of the hour, and it seemed strange when Tuys and some of the old men who had known me as a boy called me "Mzaan Bakoor." I had not heard my native name for years, and it brought back my boyhood and the little playmates of the toy-factory days.

Sibijaan was a grown man and a fine figure of a savage. He greeted me with effusiveness and saluted me native-fas.h.i.+on as soon as we had shaken hands. Father told me that he had been very useful about the house and was well trained. Then he told me that Sibijaan belonged to me and was to go with me wherever I went. When I spoke of this to my old playmate, he was surprised that I should mention it.

"Nkoos, what the ou baas says is so," he said. "I have never thought it would be otherwise. When we were children your mother gave you into my charge. Now that you are a man and I am a man, again I take up the trust!"

This suited me. I realized I would have to have some dependable boys and I knew that Sibijaan was faithful, honest, and more intelligent than any kaffir I had ever met.

Meeting Tuys again brought back the several visits we had made to Swaziland, and I asked him how things had gone with our friends, the royal family. He said that the old arrangement was still in effect and that Umzulek had settled down for good and was behaving himself.

"Queen Labotsibeni is blind now, but she still rules as regent," he said, "and Tzaneen is taking good care that no harm comes to her son, Sebuza. This young savage is growing into a man and already has gathered about him several impis. He is an insolent cub and will be hard to manage when he becomes king. As the crown prince he is running wild, and it seems he has been impertinent to the British Resident at Mbabane."

Tuys then told me that he expected to make a short trip to Lebombo and Zombode and asked me if I wanted to go along. My father, however, seemed to think I had "better get over that foolishness" and settle down, so I told Tuys I would go with him some other time.

Next came the question where I was to practice medicine. There was a good doctor in Belfast, who was a friend of our family, and it was suggested that I join him. This, however, did not please me. I wanted to be "on my own" and make my own career. This delighted my father, and after some discussion we decided that I should locate in Ermelo.

This was a little town of about fifteen hundred whites and several thousand kaffirs, in the heart of a fine farming and grazing section in the southeast section of the Transvaal. It has an elevation of about a mile and is a delightful spot. However, I must admit that the fact that Ermelo is only a little more than fifty miles from the border of Swaziland finally decided my choice.

After a few weeks with my family I started for Ermelo. Instead of making an attempt to get there by rail, Sibijaan, Tuys, and I trekked overland and had a most delightful trip. Seldom a night but we met with friends of my father, and they always gave a warm welcome to "the O'Neil from overseas." It seems that these simple people had wondered over my absence, feeling that I would be too learned to ever want to a.s.sociate with them again. They were intensely interested in the United States, and many an hour I spent telling them about its wonders. I happened to have pictures of New York among my dunnage, and I dug these out and showed them. Naturally, the towering "skysc.r.a.pers"

were a most wonderful thing to these Boers, many of whom had never seen a building of more than two stories. I always remember the remark made by one bearded patriarch when he looked at the photograph of the Flatiron Building.

"This is a modern Tower of Babel," he said, pointing at the structure with a stubby forefinger. "These Americans must be good and religious people or G.o.d would throw down such a tower!"

When I explained to him that it was built of steel covered with stone and told him that there were many other greater buildings, he was impressed, but not astonished.

"If it is G.o.d's will, these Americans will conquer the world," he concluded.

I then told him that war had been forced on America and her armies were even then in France fighting the Germans. He knew a good deal about the war and was naturally an enemy of England, which meant that he was friendly to the Germans. The fact that America had been forced into the conflict carried great weight with him, however, and I had a feeling that his pro-Germanism was much weakened by this knowledge.

I quickly found a home in Ermelo and settled down to practice medicine. My work there was hard but interesting. Its chief delight was the fact that I spent most of my time outdoors. A round of visits soon meant that I would be gone several days, spending most of the time in the saddle. Many trips could be made by motor, particularly the periodical ones to the mines, but most of my Boer patients lived where motors could not travel. Except for the mining companies which had appointed me their resident physician, my patients were all white people. The Boers are a hardy lot and hate to admit that they are ill.

Hence, when I received a call to a Boer farm, I always expected the worst and was seldom disappointed.

Bit by bit my practice increased, and I began to regard Ermelo as my permanent home. There were a number of pleasant people there, both English and Boers, and we lived a very contented busy life. Sibijaan turned out to be a valuable servant and did everything for me that he could. Of course I made him head boy about my place, and he kept the other servants in good order and saw that all things went right.

Oom Tuys stayed with me frequently, and his visits were always welcome. He wandered about the Transvaal a great deal and was a source of information of all sorts. It was in December, 1918, that he brought me news that interested me deeply.

"I have come from Zombode," he said, "and there is h.e.l.l to pay in Swaziland. Old Labotsibeni tells me that Tzaneen and her right-hand man, Lochien, are plotting to have Sebuza made king and are making preparations for his coronation. Lomwazi, who is a son of the old queen and acts for her, tells me that Labotsibeni will not give up the throne. She will have to die if she does. As you know, it is the Swazi custom to sacrifice any ruler who loses the throne, and the old girl doesn't want to be killed.

"It looks to me as if there is going to be trouble. I talked to Lomwazi and his mother and told them it was the agreement that she was to remain regent until Sebuza came of age, and that the Boers and British both would protect her when the young man was made king. This seemed to rea.s.sure them, but I don't think Labotsibeni and her crowd want to lose control. Yes, Owen, I think there is going to be trouble in Swaziland."

We talked the matter over, and I agreed with him that things were going to happen soon in Swaziland. The Swazis had been at peace too long a time for such a warlike nation and it would not take much to start a war of some sort. The fact that Prince Sebuza was to be made king stood out above everything else, and I made up my mind to see the ceremonies.

About this time I had become interested in the cinematograph.

Moving-pictures were a hobby of mine, and it suddenly occurred to me that it would be a fine thing from an historic and educational standpoint to take some reels of Sebuza's coronation. Tuys told me that this would probably be the last affair of its kind, and it seemed to me that a cinematograph record of it would be most valuable and instructive.

I suggested this to Oom Tuys, and he agreed with me.

"But you'd better arrange to take the pictures," he cautioned me. "It would be just a waste of time to rush into Swaziland with a camera and take a chance. We don't know when the coronation is going to take place, and what's more, we don't know that the Swazis would stand for your taking pictures of it. The witch-doctors might tell them that you were putting some sort of a curse on them, and then where would you be?"

This put another light on the matter, and Tuys finally advised me to see Labotsibeni and get her permission to film the ceremonies when Sebuza was made king. I was afraid that I might not be able to get what I wanted from Labotsibeni, so I asked Tuys to help me. This he agreed to do, arranging to meet me in Zombode. This meant quite a trip for him, because the British objected to his going into Swaziland, owing to certain activities there in the past, and he had to go in through Portuguese territory. I have forgotten what reasons the government had for not wanting Tuys to visit Swaziland, but the officials evidently had not forgotten--Britishers seldom do, particularly when the matter affects one of their princ.i.p.alities.

So it was arranged that Tuys should slip into Swaziland through Komatipoort, a town on the border between Portuguese East Africa and Labotsibeni's country. I was to leave as soon as I could, and we would meet at Zombode and there transact our business with Lomwazi and the old queen.

I arranged for another doctor to handle my patients while I was away and then set about making preparations for the trip. News of my venture soon got about, and I was deluged with requests to take friends along. If I had given in to them all, I would have invaded Swaziland with an impi. As it was, I took Laurie Snyman, a cousin of mine, and Joel Biddy, the accountant of the little bank in Ermelo.

Snyman had some years before been postmaster at Mbabane, the government seat of Swaziland, while Biddy had been a useful friend on many occasions.

We had some interesting adventures on the trip, but suffered intensely from the weather. Heavy storms dogged us all the way and made life miserable. We traveled light, but the rains prevented us making good time. Our outfit consisted of a wagonette, drawn by mules, in which we had intended to ride. Sibijaan was our cook and general handy man, while the mules and wagonette were in charge of Tuis, a half-breed Basuto bushman.

The rains made the roads so heavy that it was all the mules could do to drag the wagonette. Hence we had to walk practically the entire way, and it was "foot-slogging" of the hardest. Tuis was a very obstinate kaffir and made a nuisance of himself on every opportunity.

If we had not needed him so badly, I would have either killed him or sent him back.

One of the features of the trip was the fact that both Sibijaan and Tuis were constantly ill. That is, they said they were. The only medicine which seemed to help them was gin, and they would frequently feign illness to get some. Now and then I would refuse, and then Tuis would give an exhibition of sulking that was wonderful. Of course it is strictly against the law to give alcohol to kaffirs in the Transvaal, but the fact that it was administered as "muti," or medicine, made the act less criminal. Those boys of mine, however, needed "muti" frequently, but the rain was a sort of justification, for I know that we white men were only able to keep going by using it.

On the second day out of Ermelo we ran into the Scottish section of our country. The little villages there have such names as Lochiel and New Scotland, and the people are quite as Scottish as these names. In fact, we were able to get some oat cakes at one of the farm-houses.

These would have been rusks, had the people been Boers.