New Year’s day, 1887, found me for the first time for twenty-two years devoid of all care, whether business or professional, and imbued with one thought only, that of getting a thorough rest and change in Europe. Wishing before leaving the country to gain as intimate a knowledge as possible of the different railway routes to the coast, of which I had now seen all but one, I made up my mind to walk to Delagoa Bay, through Swaziland, see Steynsdorp, the headquarters of the Komati diggers, glance in passing at the formation of the country and the gold reefs, which Umbandini, the Swazi king, was so liberally giving away in concessions, and witness, if possible, the yearly dance of the Swazis, which is a red-letter day throughout the whole of their country. I chose eight natives to accompany me, mixing their nationality so as to avoid the chance of any collision on their part. I was especially fortunate in my induna (head man and guide), who was a tall, fine, strapping Swazi and knew every inch of the country from Barberton to Delagoa Bay, both main roads and bye-paths. Many tried to dissuade me from going, telling me that the journey, which round by the King’s kraal was about 200 miles, was too long and fatiguing, and that I should not find sufficient compensation for the risk of fever. But in answer to inquiries I made, I learned that there was no danger of fever except between the top of the Lebombo ridge and Delagoa Bay, and as the proprietor of the tug on the Tembi had proffered to carry me from the drift where the tug lay to Delagoa Bay, a distance of sixty miles by the river, I calculated that I should be exposed one day only to malarial poison. How I was disappointed in this promise I will tell in the next chapter. I allowed my natives to divide my luggage and provisions as they deemed best, one long headed fellow to my astonishment choosing the heaviest burden, saying, with a knowing look as he did so, “It is food, it will grow lighter every day.”

All being ready, we formed in procession (natives never walking in any way together except in single file), I myself bringing up the rear to prevent any of them lagging behind; and so we started from the Market Square, Barberton, at eight o’clock, A. M., on Monday, January 10th. Our road lay over the Makoujwa range, which we crossed a few miles from Barberton, at the Ivy Reef, feeling, when we had made this steep climb of 1,600 feet, that we had surmounted the first obstacle in our journey. We walked along all day, with short intervals of rest, traversing a bold and magnificently mountainous country, interspersed with stretches of fine forest, and watered by innumerable streams, which roll down through the large, deep dongas. I had hoped to reach the roadside accommodation house at the Komati River on my first night, but darkness coming on, we stayed at a Kafir kraal six miles on this side, and rising early got there to breakfast. Here the Komati, fifty yards wide, runs rapidly down its sloping bed, but with a wire rope thrown over to guide the wooden pontoon the passage across can nearly always be made. After crossing this river, we passed the ruins of hundreds of deserted stone kraals which extended for miles, and were the standing witnesses of the teeming population which years ago inhabited these valleys, before Umzilikatze made his murderous raids through Swaziland. Pushing on, we arrived at Steynsdorp in the mid-day. This little village, which is the centre of a population of 500 souls, lay at the end of a long valley through which the Umhbondisi Creek runs, and was increasing so rapidly that, at the time I passed, a government surveyor was busy laying out a township. Dotting the hills all round could be seen the tents of prospectors, some of whom had discovered valuable properties—in fact this district, where gold had been more or less sought for during the past eighteen months, was then just beginning to answer the expectations of its pioneers. After leaving Steynsdorp the country assumed a wilder aspect. The narrow and rugged paths, up and down which I had to clamber, in many places on the verge of precipitous krantzes, ran over the most picturesque country I had yet seen in South Africa, while the loud splash and hurrying dash of the mountain stream

rushed down the hillsides, and debouched through the gorges, chanting incessantly one of Nature’s most melodious of lays. Suddenly a large tract of open country appeared to our view, and in front, but at least twenty miles away, we could see the large kraal to which we were bound. Journeying on with refreshed vigor we finished our seven hours’ weary walk about an hour or so before the sun went down, which left me time enough to become master of the whole situation. A most able and correct account of Swaziland, and the state of affairs then existing, lately appeared in one of the London papers, which I cannot do better than quote here:

“Swaziland is a small native state bounded on the north and west by the Transvaal; from its eastern border to the sea stretches the Portuguese territory of Delagoa Bay, and to the south lie the land of the Zulus and the colony of Natal. The Swazi King rules over a realm of about 9,000 square miles, containing a population of 50,000. His people are of the same Zulu race whose prowess has been proved on more than one ‘well foughten field,’ but of finer physique, and 15,000 warriors are at his beck and call. The country itself is mountainous and picturesque—a sort of East African Tyrol, with a genial climate, a fertile soil, and rich in undeveloped mineral treasures—gold, silver, copper, and coal. The coal measures extend over a large area, are found within forty miles of Delagoa Bay, and are connected with the sea by the Tembi, which, though not a large river, is navigable for small craft and might be utilized for an extensive trade in black diamonds. Swaziland is, moreover, well wooded and well watered, and altogether a most desirable possession, a fact of which Umbandini, its King, an intelligent savage of dark complexion and stalwart proportions, is fully aware.

“So also are the Boers. They call it the land of Goshen, and covet it as eagerly as Ahab coveted the vineyard of Naboth. The Transvaal Government make pressing overtures to Umbandini to place himself under their protection, which would mean, of course, the practical surrender of his kingdom, while individual Boers are flocking uninvited into the country and gradually hemming it in on every side. But the King has a wholesome dread of the tender mercies of the Boers, and, fortunately for him, the London Convention of 1884 laid down the boundary line on the Transvaal side with such precision that little room is left for misunderstanding or dispute. Here, at least, the Boer Republic can allege no ostensibly fair or valid excuse for removing their neighbors’ landmarks. But the Boer trekkers, in dealings with the natives, are not much concerned to observe the law of meum and tuum; and in April, 1885, Sir Henry Bulwer wrote to Sir Hercules Robinson that he had received information to the effect ‘that the Boers are making great encroachments in Swaziland; that they appear to look upon the country as a winter grazing farm, and that they have gone so far as to beacon off some farms notwithstanding the protest of the Swazi king.’ On this, to put matters as briefly as possible, Sir Hercules Robinson requested the Transvaal government ‘to use every effort to prevent encroachments on the border,’ a move to which Mr. Joubert responded by denying the fact on the one hand, and on the other proposing to Umbandini to place himself and his country under Transvaal protection with Mr. Kiogh, Landdrost of Wakkerstroom, as nominal head and medium. This proposal the King and his indunas rejected. They preferred to place themselves under British protection, and to this effect a formal demand was forthwith made, accompanied by a request for the appointment of a British Resident, whose duty it would be to act as Umbandini’s adviser in all outside matters and give timely notice of Boer encroachments at headquarters.

“To this request no answer has yet been returned. It is understood, however, that Lords Granville and Rosebery had the subject under consideration at the time of their retirement from office, and it will be for Lord Salisbury’s government to give it their most serious attention, and decide whether the Boers shall or shall not be required to observe the terms of a convention which they deliberately accepted. The question is not of conquering or annexing Swaziland, or even of preventing the extinction of an interesting nationality, but of safeguarding British interests by compelling the Transvaal Republic to respect the integrity of a state whose independence we have virtually guaranteed. To effect this object nothing more is needed than the appointment of a Resident; for much as the Boers covet the land of Goshen, they have not the least idea of going to war with England and Umbandini to obtain it. Their policy is to cajole and coerce the king into accepting a formal protocol; and then gradually swallowing his kingdom as the anaconda swallows its prey. This consummation, besides being a severe diplomatic and moral defeat, would be fatal to the prosperity of Natal, and most detrimental to our commercial interests in that part of the world. It could hardly fail, moreover, to lead to serious complications. Gold seekers are already flocking in crowds to the ‘placers’ of the Transvaal; the time is not far distant when there will be a rush to the still richer fields of Swaziland. Most of the adventurers are English and American, and men of English blood have never yet submitted to the domination of an alien power. If their government should refuse to protect them they will protect themselves, possibly set up a government of their own, when difficulties might arise which it is not pleasant to contemplate. Prevention is better than cure, and it is significant of what is likely to befall, unless prompt action be taken, that in September, 1885, Sir Henry Bulwer transmitted a report ‘that the Boers had so overrun the Swazi country that they had only left the district immediately occupied by the king.’ A little later Colonel Cardew forwarded a communication to the effect that 200 Boers were occupying the Bomba range of mountains ‘on the strength of rights reputed to be acquired from the Portuguese,’ and according to recent advices, another body are trekking in the Lebombo range, close to the Swazi border.”

But to return to my own story: The kraal was in a state of complete confusion; the dance which was to take place on the next day seemed to have upset every thing and every body. The men and women were in a state of nervous excitement from beer and expectation; the young girls, lighthearted and merry, were laughing, darting hither and thither, coquetting with the young men, while the boys, sedately looking on with calm content, were enjoying the scene. Alas! this innocent pleasure was not all I saw. A few yards distant on the outside of the kraal, a crowd attracted my attention; there I found a tent which served as a canteen, and was surrounded with Swazis of both sexes, all of whom were buying spirits, chiefly gin, from the barman, or begging it from the few white men present. I particularly noticed one woman, not exactly besotted, but with an air of debauched voluptuousness in the sensual roll of her glaring eyes, suing importunately for drink, crying out again and again the only English word she knew “Canteen, Canteen,” being the one which from experience she had learned would be understood, and bring her the all-devouring firewater.

Close by, evidently a general favorite, and to whom considerable deference was shown by the natives, could be seen, edging his way into the tent, a bright little boy, who, I was told, was the king’s son. Although but a child not more than six years old, he too had learned to crave for this fluid perdition, and there he stood clamoring and entreating to be served, until a white man gave him fully half a pint of pure spirits, when immediately, without any ado, he swallowed it at one draught, slowly strutting away as if he had performed some feat of which he might well be proud. I did not remain long, soon seeing enough of this melancholy exhibition of growing depravity and demoralization to convince me that drink was eating into the vitals of the people and destroying the manhood of a fine race, and that nothing stood between them and utter ruin but the appointment of a British Resident,^[114] of similar tact and determination to Colonel Clark, who has saved the Basuto nation from extermination by the same curse. I was very tired, and the sun sinking fast, suffusing the whole sky with lines of a ruddy, golden tint, made me tell my boys to prepare for the night’s rest. Before lying down to sleep, however, I strolled again round this immense kraal in order to form a more correct idea of its size, the number of its huts and the strength of its population. In the centre there was an immense cattle kraal, which I conjectured was not less than ten acres in extent, the huts, at least 600 in number, being placed in a circle around, according to Kafir custom.

Here preparations for the approaching yearly celebration and dance were being made, this festival being a “thanksgiving to the ground for once again giving its return.” Every one seemed happy and gay, and all I met were wound up to a high pitch of good-natured excitement, singing as they danced along, evidently looking forward to the morrow, to the all-important day when the fête would commence.

My “boys” had in the meantime made me some coffee, prepared my evening meal and laid out my karosses on the grass in readiness for the night’s slumbers. Sleep needed no wooing. When I awoke in the morning the sun was shining brightly overhead. “Umhlatuse,” my induna (head man), had got my coffee ready, troops of Swazi girls, lithe and handsome, could be seen racing back from the river where they had been to bathe, the whole kraal was astir, even the canteen was open, and some devout worshippers of Bacchus were already paying homage at his shrine. Presently, afar in the distance, could faintly be traced the dark outline of a moving mass of sable warriors, coming to make obeisance to their king and add to the day’s festivities. As the hours passed by, the large cattle kraal I have mentioned became the rendezvous of thousands of men of superb physique, dressed in gorgeous array, their shoulders resplendent with black and snow-white ostrich feathers, their waists girded with leopard skins, their necks encircled with cow tails, sakabula feathers (a species of finch) in circular bands around their heads, while handsome shields and assegais completed their festive attire. The married women, too, and girls vied with each other in the richness of their costumes, which according to their custom did not require to be so exact as to hide entirely the profusion of charms with which nature had endowed them. About mid-day, when the king, an intelligent but sensual middle-sized, and to appearance, middle-aged man, his light-copper-colored body, however, enveloped in rolls of fat, appeared with his retinue (having first bathed himself in sea water specially brought up for the occasion from the mouth of the “Usutii”), the commemoration began in earnest, for then with measured step and dignified air the thousands of men and women commenced dancing, advancing and retreating in perfect rythm, keeping time to a rich, deep, warlike song they were chanting in beautiful cadence. There were three regiments present that morning numbering at least 9,000 men, and with 3,000 women, as I have described, the scene was both sensual and sensuous.

On one side of the kraal, and built of green branches cut from neighboring trees, was a long enclosure, the interior of which was kept hidden from vulgar gaze, no one being allowed to enter. A trader, who was well known as being a confidant of the king, passing by at the time, gained me admittance for a moment, when a sight most unique presented itself. Kneeling and squatting on the grass were at least 150 boys eagerly tearing and devouring the flesh of an ox which had been pummeled to death the previous day. This operation is an old custom, and on this occasion, I was told, it took about forty young men, unarmed (not even with clubs), but merely striking the ox with their bare fists, fully an hour to accomplish. We had only a second of time allowed us by the guard at the entrance to peep in, as he was afraid some condign punishment for his temerity, in permitting such a contravention of all precedent as allowing us to enter, would befall him if he were discovered. Much to my regret I could not find any one who could explain the meaning of this rite. Retiring at once we spent several hours in walking around and mixing with the natives, my impromptu guide drawing my attention to the strong dialectic difference in the language as spoken by the Swazis and the pure Zulu, they being a branch of the Zulu nation, who settled in this region when Zenzamgakona was king, and he also kindly pointed out to me many men of importance. Among these I may mention Umbovane, the Swazi general who commanded the native levies which joined the forces under Sir Garnet Wolseley in the attack on Sekukuni, and Zuhlane, a man of commanding presence, who had been prime minister during two reigns and whose word is law. Although an old man, gray, wrinkled, blear-eyed and with an appearance of dissipation, yet he has well sustained a reputation among the Swazis for diplomatic tact and foresight. Umbovane has not even yet forgotten the greatness he had had “thrust upon him” seven years before, when Sir Garnet Wolseley invited him to dinner, after the successful attack in which he had assisted the 94th and 80th Regiments in the Transvaal.

The most engrossing subject of conversation even at this time, although two months had elapsed, was the visit of Dr. Clark, the Consul General in London for the Transvaal, and the interview he had had with the king on November 7th, 1886. This gentleman, as a member of the House of Commons and an Englishman, seems to have acted in the most extraordinary way—if Mr. Kannemeyer, an influential miner whom I knew well, and who was present at this interview, can have understood correctly. Dr. Clark, according to this gentleman’s description, seems all through to have acted as a paid agent of the Boers would have acted, and his disparaging remarks to the king about the English in the Transvaal war grated upon my informant’s ears. His evident object was to impress the king with the idea that the Dutch was the dominant power, and to imply that the king’s request for an English resident was not the wish of the nation, but was like the petition originally sent to the English government praying for the annexation of the Transvaal. This, he said, a few only had sent, a war resulted, and the Dutch got back their country; and then he further went on to say that he had been sent out to inquire from the king, personally, whether he was willing or not to hand over his country to the English government. The king then postponed the interview until next day, revolving in his mind whether Dr. Clark was or was not an ambassador from England, or as General Smith of Majuba history, in introducing Dr. Clark to the king, said, an induna (councillor) sent specially by the Queen. Next morning the king, in presence of his principal indunas, told him (Dr. Clark) that he had no wish to ask either the English or the Boers to take him over, but as he could neither read or write, he was treating for an honest white man to look after his interests. The conversation, as repeated to me, was a lengthy one, but to make a long story short, Dr. Clark expressed his pleasure at hearing this, and among other things cautioned the king against granting concessions of gold-bearing districts to white men, telling him he was giving away the independence of his country. “But,” said the king, “what am I to do? I am only keeping my promises.” Dr. Clark said: “You can easily get out of that difficulty; the Transvaal joins; you ask them to exchange an equal extent of grazing land for a similar extent of gold-bearing land already conceded.” The king and his councillors on hearing this burst out into a most sarcastic laugh, the king observing, “Why should I give stones with gold in them for grass? Have you anything more to say?” and then rising bid the deputation “good-bye.” After Dr. Clark, General Smith and their interpreter had gone, the king, turning to the other white men at his kraal remarked, “He says he comes from the Queen; but he pleads for the Transvaal, that is clear!”

Listening to these interesting statements of eye-witnesses, time flew rapidly by. On inquiry I learned that this dance would be kept up for two or three days, and as I had yet more than 100 miles to walk before reaching Delagoa Bay, and was anxious to catch the mail steamer to England, I collected my servants, and taking a last look at the crowd, who were all engaged as eagerly as ever, started off again late in the afternoon.

After walking about three miles I passed a fine brick-built store, owned by an enterprising trader named Colenbrander. A little further brought me to the favorite kraal of the king, where he chiefly resides, when, darkness overtaking me, I selected a spot under a large shady tree where we spent the night, sleeping round a blazing fire. The air of this elevated region is stimulating in the extreme; the dryness of the transparent atmosphere acting like a charm on the nervous system—every breath a draught of sparkling Burgundy or Champagne! Though ready for sleep as each nightfall came around, I never felt the exhaustion such as a low country produces. We started early next morning and walked on without resting until the middle of the day, when we came to a kraal where we were kindly received. Here we rested a couple of hours during the intense heat, refreshing ourselves with cool delicious “amasi” (sour milk), which we were fortunate enough to procure from the natives. Leaving this place just before sundown we struck the wagon-road running between the Tembi and New Scotland in Natal, which was as smooth and level as any colonial road I have seen. Between the kraal where I saw the king and my joining the main road, the country was mountainous, but the cross foot-path or “short cut” by which my guides brought me ran chiefly along the mountain ridges, thus giving views diversified and grand. I was much struck by the absence of all animal life—no birds, game, no animals either wild or tame, added to the beauty of the landscape, or relieved the monotony of our journey through these parts.

We were now able to walk much more quickly and more easily, so pushing along far into the night we again slept in the “veldt.” Resting uneasily, I persuaded my “boys” to start early, which we did by the light of the moon at three in the morning. The Lebombo range, some twenty miles distant, over which we had yet to climb, was ever before us and present to our view, walling in as it were the vast flat, thickly covered with mimosa trees, across which our road led us, while at our back lay the Umzimbi range of mountains we had journeyed over the day before, the towering summit of Mananga closing up the scene. About noon we arrived at the foot of the Lebombo range, where we stopped an hour for rest and refreshment; after that, a stiff climb and the summit of the Lebombo was reached. We walked on a few miles, then another night in the open and another day’s weary walk over a most precipitous country! I shall not forget in a hurry the descent of a tremendously steep and stony ravine, at the bottom of which ran the Umnyama, a rapid mountain stream, nor the wading through, nor the ascent beyond! The night rapidly came on, and everything was wrapped in a thick mist, when fortunately for us we fell into a foot-path, which led us to a house where we were most hospitably received and cared for until the morning.

Sunrise saw us all ready to start. A short walk through the veldt brought us to the main road along which the descent of the Lebombo range is made by the easiest gradients. On reaching the bottom and entering the valley below, the narrow road bordered by groves of trees, with the grass growing exuberantly rank, winded and turned like an English lane, the glaring sun and stillness of the air meanwhile making the stifling heat almost unbearable. Tramping on until the sun was nearly overhead we rested during the mid-day on the banks of a stream of crystal water which, murmuring its sweet music unseen through the forest glen, suddenly appeared flowing along its bed across our path. But as I had determined to reach the Tembi that night, where I was promised that a tug, which plied between this and Delagoa Bay. would be placed at my disposal, and many a long mile having yet to be covered, my readers can well suppose that not much time was lost. Everything in this world has an end, and so had this long day. I cannot describe the almost unutterable relief the faint shimmer of the river I had so long expected to see gave me, as in the clouded starlight I caught the first view of its waters. I eagerly looked for the steam-tug, which to my intense delight I found moored to the banks, but never did I more fully appreciate the truth of the saying in Holy Writ, that “Man is born to trouble” as when my hopes were suddenly shattered by learning from the only white man there, who, by the way, I found tossing in semi-delirium from malarial fever, that the master of the boat was away. I saw at once that there was no other alternative left me but to cross the Tembi and continue my walk next day. The poor fever-stricken fellow was very kind and invited me into his tent, where he gave me refreshment and a shake-down, and nothing gave me more pleasure than that this attention I was able in some measure to repay by persuading him to accept some medicine which I had brought with me to take in the case of a similar emergency.

The Tembi, a tidal estuary about one hundred yards broad, is here sixty miles from the sea, and has an ebb and flow of some eight feet. I got four of my boys to carry me across early next morning when it was fordable, and began what I thought would be my last day’s journey. Our path, a narrow Kafir one, lay for miles over what seemed an endless plain, where silence the most profound reigned supreme, and the thick tambooti grass waving far over our heads, the dew falling off like rain, and soaking us through and through. After four hours’ incessant walking, the monotony of the path being here and there broken by glimpses of the dark flowing Tembi, the landscape changed and we came to a part which I can compare only to an English park, interspersed ever and anon with cool and shady groves. Here we began to come across indications of an increased population; passing through tracts of cultivated land on which the mealies were growing most luxuriantly. Suddenly we arrived at a large Kafir kraal. The style of the huts was different from that of the Swazis or the Zulus, and showed at once we were among a different race from that we had left a few miles back beyond the Lebombo mountains. Entering one of the huts I was taken by surprise at seeing a Banyan (Arab trader) sitting on the floor and articles of European merchandise exposed for sale. This man could not speak a word of English, but my boys soon found means to communicate with him, or he perhaps guessed their requirements, as in less than a minute the main curse of civilization in the shape of brandy was introduced. This spirit, I afterwards learned, was imported in large quantities at a cheap rate from Chicago, and I could see was fast working its full share of evil among these Amatonga tribes.

The blazing sun, and the puffs of heated air every now and again blowing across our path, tempted us, later in the afternoon, to halt at another kraal. The head man at once came out and offered to sell us many delicacies which we had not tasted for days. Fresh milk, honey, eggs, etc., were brought us, but when a haunch of venison was produced, my boys fell into such raptures that I could not resist buying it and staying to let them cook it, making up my mind to divide the journey and arrive at Delagoa Bay the next day. By sundown our luxurious repast was finished, and we all lay down to sleep under the branches of a large tree that stood in the centre of the kraal. The misery and discomfort of that sultry night will ever remain a vivid memory. After a few hours’ rest I was roused up by the patter of heavy rain-drops on the leaves of the tree above, and the almost pitchy darkness, now and again illuminated by flashes of lightning, told me a storm was brewing. To what agony and well-nigh maddening torture was I not awakened! All around, advancing and retreating. buzzing and singing like a swarm of angry bees, were millions on millions of mosquitoes, which, as if suffering from unappeasable hunger and insatiable thirst, were stinging, biting, and sucking my blood, pitiless creatures that they were! Now I began to understand why some would rather hear the lion’s roar than the hum of the mosquito, as from the one prudence or courage could be a defence, while nothing but some “mean” contrivance, as grease, sand, smoky smudge or nets could be a protection from the other. So insignificant an assailant, yet so venomous and intolerable a little demon, is he! My clothes, I soon found, were useless, as these “swamp angels” revelling in the prospect of the “Carnival of Blood” in store, pierced their powerful, insinuating barbs through everything I had on, although, seeing the small proportion of them that could ever have tasted human blood, I thought that so many need not have made merry at my expense.

To lie down again and sleep was an utter impossibility, to rouse my natives from the state of perfect oblivion into which their supper had assisted them seemed cruel, and to remain at the mercy of my tormentors was too great an act of self-denial to exercise. The struggle in my mind was not long. I roused them quickly up, when piteous were their complaints, until the jingle of gold silenced their reluctance to moving on. The rain had ceased, but yet the night was densely overcast. Not a foot-path could be seen. Not a breath stirred the thick and stifling air, a dead stillness prevailed, the flame of my candle even burning without a flicker, and so carrying it, unprotected in my hand, I pantingly led the way for hours. Again the sullen drops of rain fell here and there, and my poor candle did not long escape—one big drop, and darkness covered all. I had now to trust to the bare feet and tact of the South African native to keep me in the narrow path, and my confidence was not misplaced, the light of the candle after all being no real loss. The rain now began to pour down in driving torrents, as it can do in the tropics only, the heavy leaden clouds shutting out the faintest streak of light, while to add to the novelty of the situation our path led us into dense bush through which we groped in line, holding on, as we walked, to one another, until daybreak. The incessant rain still continuing, and my boys seeing a kraal in the distance, made up their minds they would take shelter and with until the worst had passed. For a long time I could not dissuade them from stopping, but shivering and shaking as I was in all my limbs from the cold and rain, and in the centre of one of the most malarious districts in South Africa, I knew that delay meant fever, so on I determined to go. Money again proved successful in providing the “sinews of war.” Soon we came to some low marshy ground which the Tembi overflows according to the tide. Through these I had to wade, when on crossing one part which did not present anything particular to my attention. I suddenly sank up to my waist in the alluvial deposit. Umhlatusi quickly pulled me out, but not before the stinking malaria I had stirred up thoroughly sickened me. A little further on we ascended a bank bordering this morass, and then crossing a narrow, flat and climbing a sandy ridge struck the shores of the Tembi near its mouth, Lourenço Marques lying exactly opposite, two miles away.

Taking a ferry-boat we sailed across, and a few minutes more saw me snugly ensconced in Mr. Otto Berg’s hotel, nine days from Barberton.