Adventures in Swaziland Part 20

This was not the last of "Jennie," however. The young doctor who had taken over my practice was carrying on well, and he adopted the monkey. She had the run of the place and was quite contented in her new home until one morning we were awakened by a fearful row. The peac.o.c.ks next door were screeching at the top of their lungs and their owner, a gruff old Englishman, was out on the lawn using very bad language.

I ran out--and found "Jennie" up a tree with her hands full of the long tail-feathers from several of the proudest peac.o.c.ks! It took me some time to pacify the Englishman, who demanded her life and was calling for his shotgun. Finally I smoothed the troubled waters, but "Jennie" was not allowed to run loose after that.

Having obtained the picture rights, I was anxious to have them taken properly. I scouted about, but could not find the equipment or camera-men I needed, so I decided to go to New York and get them. Oom Tuys agreed to watch things in Swaziland and delay the coronation until I could get back. I felt I could trust him to protect me, so I started to make arrangements for my overseas trip.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE STREAM THAT DIVIDES THE ROYAL FROM THE COMMON GROUND

It was on the banks of this stream that we camped awaiting permission to enter the royal territory. This herd of cattle is being sent to the royal kraal as payment for two Princesses whom a chief has purchased as wives]

[Ill.u.s.tration: TYPE OF AFRIKANDER CATTLE

These cattle are the unit of value among the Swazis and enter into every business transaction]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SWAZI WOMEN AT HOME

Fas.h.i.+on is as inflexible in Swaziland as anywhere, but the styles do not change]

This was not any too easy, because the war had disarranged sailings and there were not many s.h.i.+ps touching at Cape Town. However, I soon saw in the paper that there was a freight steamer in port which was to sail direct to New York. I knew the skipper and telegraphed him that there was an emergency that required my sailing with him.

"If you care to take a chance," he wired back, "join the s.h.i.+p as soon as you can."

Just as I was leaving, Tuys reached Ermelo with a message from Lomwazi that Sebuza would be crowned within the next two months. This made me all the more anxious to be gone, and I left Tuys with the understanding that he would do his best to delay the coronation until I got back from New York.

CHAPTER XIII

I start for New York--The religious atmosphere on s.h.i.+pboard--"Flu"

attacks the Javanese--The missionaries refuse to help--Sharks as scavengers--The little mother's end--Evils of liquor--a.s.sembling my party in New York--Pa.s.sage as freight--St. Lucia and a little excitement--The thin magistrate--Released on bail.

When I reached the s.h.i.+p I found the reason for the captain's peculiar telegram. He had more than three thousand Javanese on board whom he was taking from the East Indies to Paramaribo, Dutch Guiana. From there he would go on to New York. These people were practically deck cargo, since there were no accommodations for them inside the s.h.i.+p.

While making arrangements for my cabin, I found that there was a woman who also had to go to New York. Although my friend, the captain, objected, I gave up my cabin to her and agreed to share the cabin of an old Javanese gentleman who was supposed to be in charge of the others. He was very primitive and ignorant, but spoke Dutch fluently, and I learned a great deal about Java and the East Indies--that is, while he lived, which was not long.

The first night out of Cape Town there were twenty-four of us at the long table in the saloon. All the officers ate with us, and there must have been sixteen or seventeen pa.s.sengers all told.

Most important of the pa.s.sengers were seven American missionaries returning from their G.o.dly work in the waste places of Africa and the East Indies. They were most conspicuous at all times and did everything possible to keep table conversation confined to religious topics. I chummed with a Canadian who represented an American agricultural firm in South Africa, and we soon became weary of religion at all meals.

"There's a place for everything in this world," he said one morning after breakfast, "but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I want to combine kippered herrings with my soul's salvation!"

It was not long before both of us were in the bad graces of the missionaries, who did not hesitate to murmur that "it was no wonder that the savages did not heed the call of Christ when the white men of their country were so irreligious!"

About the third day both the Canadian and I had had our fill of the missionaries. We were thinking of asking the captain to allow us to eat at another hour when something happened that changed the whole aspect of the s.h.i.+p. I had gone to my cabin to get some "smokes" when the little old Javanese crept in. He answered my cheerful greeting very quietly and then shut the door. I could see that something had hit him and that he wanted to talk. So I sat down on my bunk, wondering what the trouble was.

"Doctor, there is great trouble among my people," he said in a low voice. "Last night eleven of them died, and now they are dying all the time. Some terrible plague is among them and they die, they die!"

This startled me. I had not noticed that there was anything amiss forward, but then I remembered I had spent practically all my time aft. Instantly there came to me the recollection of the sudden deaths of my friends at the ford of the Masuto River. I asked him what form the disease seemed to take and he gave me a lot of rambling details, none of which made much sense. He was plainly in a blue funk. I told him to stay where he was and then went to the captain's cabin.

"I was just about to send for you, Doctor O'Neil," he said in greeting. "Something has broken loose among those Java coolies and they are dying like flies. As you know, we have no doctor on board.

Will you go and see what's the matter?"

Then he told me that the first officer had buried more than a dozen the first thing that morning and that he would have to throw another lot overboard by noon.

"Why, they're dying like flies," he continued, "and we've got to do something to stop it. I s.h.i.+pped a full three thousand of them, but at the rate they're going I won't have a thousand left when I reach Paramaribo!"

So the captain and I went into the forecastle, taking with us the little Javanese head man. It took me about five minutes to find out what was the trouble.

"They've got the 'flu' and got it bad," I told the skipper. "It looks as though we are in for a bad time."

I was right. Here we were in the midst of nearly three thousand ignorant people who had no idea of what was the matter. All they knew was that the man who was sick now would be dead in a short time. They sat about, perfectly quiet, waiting for death. I have never seen such resignation. In the scuppers there were six or seven bodies waiting for the first officer and his burial crew. No one paid any attention to the dead; they just sat about as though stupefied by what was happening.

"There's just one thing to do," I told the captain when we got back to his cabin, "and that's to organize a life-saving corps and get to work. Let's get all the medicine you have and as much brandy as there is on board and make a fight."

He agreed with me, and we overhauled the medical stores, finding little of any use in the present crisis. I have forgotten now what there was, but I remember thinking that we would have to put our trust in G.o.d and alcohol. I told the captain how inadequate his medicines were and he threw up his hands.

"Who'd ever expect to get the 'flu' on board, anyway," he asked, as though it were my fault. "I've got all the medicines I need for the usual ailments and brandy will cure most of the sicknesses that occur on this s.h.i.+p. I'll give you all the brandy, rum, and gin there is, and then you go to it!"

He was panic-stricken and practically told me I was to take command of his s.h.i.+p, except that he would take care of the navigation and discipline. I told him the first thing I wanted was a.s.sistants, and asked him to summon all the pa.s.sengers to the saloon. When they were a.s.sembled, I got up and told them what it was all about.

"These poor devils of Javanese are dying like rats in a hole," I said, "and I want volunteers to help me save them. There isn't much we can do, and every time you go among them you stand a chance of catching the 'flu.' They may not be good Christians, but they are certainly our fellow men and it is our duty to help them! I want volunteers and want them now. Who will join my life-saving crew?"

Instantly the lady to whom I had given my cabin and my Canadian friend volunteered. The others followed one by one, with the prominent exception of the missionaries. I was astounded that they were not among the first, and turned to them.

"What's the matter?" I asked, by that time annoyed at their holding back. "Don't you want to practice a little practical Christianity? Are none of you going to give us a hand in this fight?"

They did not deign to answer. Instead, they looked at their leader, a tall gentleman with lean jowls, and he calmly turned and left the saloon. They trooped after him, and then our captain exploded.

"Of all the yellow dogs!" he exclaimed. "So that's the sort of people they send out as missionaries! I'd like to throw them all overboard!

Why, they'll hoodoo my s.h.i.+p! I was brought up to believe a parson put a curse on a s.h.i.+p, and now I know it's so!"

Well, we pitched in and laid out our fight. It was a seemingly hopeless job. These Javanese did not appear to want to help themselves. Their only idea was to die, if they were called, and there was never a peep out of any of them.

Men died and were sent to the sharks, leaving their women mute in their agony; wives and mothers died, and their men never turned a hair; children died in their mother's arms and were cast into the sea without the least outward sign.

I mention the sharks, but even now I hate to think of them. They loafed along beside the s.h.i.+p, their great bodies slipping easily through the water, with now and then the flash of a white belly as they turned to meet the falling body. The Javanese were dying at a rate of between fifteen and twenty a day, and we soon ran out of weights for their bodies. The sharks increased in number until it seemed as though word had been sent out that there was a "death s.h.i.+p"

on the sea. Before long they were fighting for the bodies. I watched one such conflict, but one was quite enough.

My volunteers and I worked day and night to stem the tide of the "flu," and through it all the s.h.i.+p plugged along across a sea that was more like beaten bra.s.s than copper. It was hot, very hot, and at night the decks seemed to steam. Always the impi of sharks kept pace with us, their bodies throwing up streaks of phosph.o.r.escence as they lunged for their food. The whole thing was like a living nightmare and it seemed as though it would never end.

Out of the haze of those ghastly days there comes to me one vivid incident. One of the Javanese women, a mother of seventeen or thereabouts, had a child of less than a year in her arms. I first noticed her when she held up her baby to me as I was going among the sufferers. The look in her eyes was so pleading, so trusting, that I took the little boy from her and examined him. The baby was as good as dead already. I gave it a sip of the stuff I was carrying, and the poor little thing opened its eyes and looked at me. I knew it could not live, but smiled encouragement as I gave it back to the outstretched arms.

It was about sunset that night when the little mother realized that her son, her first-born, had gone. I was standing on the companionway, looking down on the fore-deck and wondering how long the plague would last, when some of the crew began picking bodies out of the scuppers and throwing them overboard. The glory of the sunset seemed a mockery and the thought came to me that I would be fortunate if I saw many more such sights. Slowly the young Javanese mother got to her feet and stood swaying as she wrapped her baby in a gay shawl. This done, she pressed it to her breast and began to walk to the rail.

"She is going to bury her son herself," I thought, and I was partly right.

She stood at the rail for a moment and then, the dying sun bright on her wistful face, turned and smiled at me. I smiled back, but the smile died aborning, for with one motion she rolled over the rail and was gone!