Adventures in Swaziland Part 3

Oom Tuys took occasion to remind me of our bet and chaffed me, saying, "Now you will never see King Buno!" This made me wrathy. It was unspeakable that he should doubt that father's horse could do anything but win!

While at the track I remembered a little talk I had planned to have with Klaas. Owing to an uncanny knack with horses, the little beggar had been trained as our jockey and was to ride "Black Hand Tom" in the great race. Sibijaan and I returned to the house and looked him up. We found him chumming with the horse, and called him out of the stable.

Now Klaas was smaller and lighter than either Sibijaan or myself and stood no chance with us in combat of any sort. We took firm hold of him--Sibijaan by his arms and I by his ears--and then I delivered my ultimatum:

"You see all these white men, Klaas," I said. "They are thieves. They have come here to steal all the Ou Baas's (Old Boss's) money. You've got to ride your best to-day. 'Black Hand Tom' is the best horse.

He'll win if you ride him right. If you lose, Sibijaan and I will kill you! Won't we, Sibijaan?"

My fellow conspirator most emphatically agreed. He made motions that ill.u.s.trated a neat and expeditious way of cutting Klaas's throat and of visiting other unpleasant deaths upon him. Klaas was properly impressed.

"If I don't win the race I am willing to die!" he said, and with this understanding we returned to the track. I found my father surrounded by the Johannesburg gamblers, and squeezed my way into the group to find much betting going on. With Boer shrewdness, father was demanding and getting good odds. He took the stand that "Black Hand Tom" had never been raced and had never won a race, while the horses of the others were tried campaigners of great reputation. The gamblers grumbled, but finally gave odds, until father stood to win or lose thousands of pounds.

Finally race time came. I suppose there never was such a crowd as swarmed about that track. It was about three quarters of a mile around, and the entire circ.u.mference was lined with people. The whites were all grouped about the start and finish line, while all the remaining s.p.a.ce was one deep belt of black men. There were literally tens of thousands, among them many women.

The distance of the race was four times around the track. Excitement was intense when the horses came out on the track. It was a perfect day, the sky cloudless and the air like diamonds in its sparkling clearness. "Black Hand Tom" was the last horse out, but the minute he appeared, with Klaas perched on his back and all decked out in the O'Neil colors, there was a roar from the crowd.

I was at the starting-line, Sibijaan at my side, and we were fairly dancing with excitement. A moment later the horses--nine of them--were strung out along the line and the starting began. Three attempts were made, our horse always being the last over the line. This was criminal in my eyes, and both Sibijaan and I shouted threats of sudden death to Klaas.

On the fourth try they were off and the race was on. If I live to be as old as Queen Labotisibeni, I shall never forget the agony of that race! Round and round the horses went, first one and then another in front. At the end of the first lap "Black Hand Tom" was last. We shouted ourselves hoa.r.s.e, hurling imprecations at Klaas. At the end of the second lap our horse was next to last, and then Sibijaan and I knew exactly how we would despatch Klaas as soon as we could get hold of him.

Then came the sensation of the day, of the age! At the first turn of the third lap "Black Hand Tom" swung wide and began to pa.s.s the other horses. One by one he caught them and went by. Each time he pa.s.sed one the crowd fairly roared its head off. As they swept by on the beginning of the last lap there were only two horses ahead of ours, and they seemed tiring. At the first turn "Black Hand Tom" pa.s.sed one and then, on the back stretch, went by the other! The crowd fairly split the heavens. A moment later "Black Hand Tom," the greatest horse in the world, tore over the winning line a good three lengths in the lead! Absolute pandemonium broke loose. I remember catching hold of Sibijaan and dancing up and down like a lunatic. Every one seemed to be doing the same thing.

We tore through the mob to where our horse stood entirely surrounded by crazy Boers and as many natives as could get close. There was father, quiet and self-contained, with his silk hat on his head at the usual angle. He was as undisturbed as though nothing had happened and seemed more anxious to get out of the crowd than anything else. From all sides his friends crowded in on him, shaking his hand and patting the great horse. Klaas, still in the saddle, wore the air of a conquering hero, and some enthusiastic Boer had presented him with a lot of money which he held closely clutched to his thin stomach.

Father spied me and smiled the ghost of a smile. He reached out his hand, and when I took it said, "Well, you have won your trip to Buno's kraal!" This was the first inkling I had that he knew about the bet, and later I learned that he had agreed to my going because he felt my faith in him and "Black Hand Tom" deserved the trip.

That night there was a glorious celebration in Belfast. Great fires were lighted in the streets and much gin and whiskey was consumed. The kaffirs danced until the small hours and their chants filled the air.

We boys were part of it all, and Klaas was the hero of the hour. In fact, so great a hero was he that Sibijaan and I were glad to bask in his reflected glory. The little beggar fully enjoyed his hour of triumph and it was well he did, for we soon took him down a few pegs when we got him back to Rietvlei.

CHAPTER IV

I leave for my first visit to Swaziland--Mother warns me about Oom Tuys--Why the Boers paid tribute to King Buno--Queen Labotsibeni, the brains of Swaziland--Buno's visit to Oom Paul Kruger--Our reception in Swaziland--Ezulweni, the "Valley of Heaven"--Buno's rifle--Sibijaan and I explore by night.

About a fortnight later Oom Tuys and I left for Swaziland. I shall always remember getting ready for the trip. For days and days I added to my little outfit, until by the time Oom Tuys was ready to start I had acc.u.mulated enough dunnage to fill a wagon. When the bluff old man looked it over he turned to my mother and said, "Well, you are going to lose your son. Owen is going to spend the rest of his life in Swaziland; he is taking enough things to last him for the next hundred years!"

Then he calmly sorted out my kit, leaving me about one tenth of what I had intended taking along.

"We travel light, my boy," he said. "We travel fast and take but one wagon, and that a little one."

A day later we were off. Our caravan consisted of Tuys and me on horses, a light cart drawn by six mules, and half a dozen kaffir servants. Of course Sibijaan went with us, and was elected to the job of driving the mules. The other boys were foot-pa.s.sengers, their job being to keep the mules moving and do the camp work.

My mother knew Oom Tuys of old and gave me a serious talking to the night before we left.

"My son," she said, putting her arms about me, "you must not follow Oom Tuys too closely. He is wild and sometimes as bad as King Buno himself. You will see many things that we Boers would not permit here, and you must not take these things too much to heart. Remember that you are an O'Neil, and take good care of yourself!" Then she kissed me good-by with a fervor that was quite unusual. We Boers are an unemotional people--that is, on the surface.

Oom Tuys's periodical visits to King Buno had always been a mystery to me. I had heard that they concerned some sort of a tribute to the savage king, but my father never encouraged my requests for details.

"That is Oom Tuys's business," he would say. "Ask him why he is the servant of Buno!"

I did, just as soon as we were well on our way. However, I did not use father's words. Even big men hesitated to take liberties with Tuys, and I was only a boy. It was a wonderful day, and as we rode across the veldt into Swaziland Tuys told me the whole story of how he became known as "The White King of Swaziland."

"Mzaan Bakoor, for I shall call you that while we are in Swaziland, just as you shall call me 'Nkoos'," he said, "I go each moon to pay King Buno the tribute. Oom Paul sends me, and I always take two thousand gold sovereigns and quant.i.ties of gin and champagne."

This explained the mysterious cases in the wagon, the contents of which I had not yet dared to ask about.

"Buno is a very great man," Tuys went on. "He is a great king and has as many warriors as the blades of veldt gra.s.s. His impis are countless, and just recently he has married Tzaneen, a princess of the Zulus.

"Here is how it happened that we Boers must pay him tribute. His father, Umbandine, built up the Swazi power until he had enough warriors to be dangerous to us and to all the surrounding tribes. Even the Zulus feared him. Now Buno, guided and advised by his mother, Queen Labotisibeni, has kept the Swazi impis up to the greatest possible fighting strength, and he is the one savage chief we Boers have to reckon with. He is my friend, and Oom Paul depends upon me to keep him satisfied and prevent him from making war on our people.

According to the agreement between Oom Paul and Buno, we pay Buno the gold and gin each month, and I am the one who brings it to him.

Lately, however, he has objected to so much gold and wants more gin.

Buno says he can only look at the gold, but he can drink the gin. This time I am taking an extra supply of gin."

Tuys explained to me the politics of Swaziland and seemed to think that Queen Labotisibeni was the brains behind King Buno's administration. The wanton cruelties of which Buno was guilty were contrary to the wishes of his mother, but she only mildly protested against them, since they helped to maintain the king's authority.

According to Tuys, death was the punishment for all offences, and Buno often butchered his people for no reason at all.

A short time before our visit to Swaziland, King Buno had gone to Pretoria to see Oom Paul. For some time Buno had been sending complaints and objections about various matters to the President, and Tuys would carry these to Pretoria. Finally Oom Paul became exasperated and commanded Tuys to bring Buno to him.

"Bring Buno here," said Oom Paul, "and I will talk to him like a Dutch uncle. We pay too much now, and if he does not soon behave himself, I shall send a commando or two into his country and make a new king in Swaziland!"

Buno's visit to Pretoria is a cla.s.sic in the Transvaal and shows the kind of man our old President was. Tuys told Buno that Oom Paul was too ill to come to visit him and that he begged that the king of Swaziland honor him by coming to Pretoria. It took much persuasion on the part of Tuys, for Buno thought he was too important a person to visit Oom Paul. Finally Tuys soothed his royal dignity and they started out for Pretoria.

It was a remarkable party. Buno took with him ten thousand of the picked fighting men of the household troops, and these wore all their savage finery. Being of the royal impis, they wore the great white headdresses and carried shields with the king's mark emblazoned thereon. Their costumes were the last word in savage gorgeousness.

Each man was armed with the k.n.o.b-kerrie, a.s.segai, knife, and shield.

At this time the railway from Pretoria to Delagoa Bay was under construction and had already reached Middleburg. The party found a special train waiting for them at this place and Buno had his own private car. None of the Swazis had ever seen a train before and their astonishment at the great "iron horse," as they immediately called the engine, was almost pathetic. When they first saw the engine, seemingly breathing smoke and fire, they were terrified, and Tuys had to rea.s.sure them to prevent a panic. Then a number wanted to prostrate themselves before the engine and worship it, so that it was a most difficult thing to prevent their being run over. According to the various accounts of these incidents Tuys had his hands full. Buno, however, refused to be much impressed with the engine or train and complained bitterly because he was not given enough gin.

It was a wonderful sight when the train pulled out of Middleburg.

Buno, with Tuys and the royal party, was in the private coach behind the engine, and the ten thousand warriors were packed in a score of open trucks behind. Naturally they all stood, and it was extraordinary to see the thousands of savages in full dress, with wonderment and fear written on their faces, as the train swept by. The trip lasted all night, and when morning came the train pulled into Pretoria. At the station a coach and pair of fine horses waited for King Buno and Tuys. They got in, and then Tuys's natural deviltry a.s.serted itself.

He slyly poked the driver in the ribs with his revolver and commanded him to drive as fast as he could. A second later they were off at a gallop.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE RESULT OF THE NATIONAL SPORT

Two bulls have been killed by a warrior armed only with a short stabbing spear. The bulls are surrounded by a regiment of Swazis with spears pointing inward. The bulls become infuriated, and when made as angry as possible, the chosen warrior dashes into the arena and fights them. He has but one choice--either to kill the bulls or be killed by the spears of his comrades-in-arms. Sometimes more than two bulls are used, thus making the sport more exciting and the measure of the warrior's prowess greater--if he wins. Following the contest, the bulls are eaten at a great feast]

[Ill.u.s.tration: INTERIOR OF MILITARY BARRACKS

A warrior making war decorations. Through a peculiar process, hides are treated and worked into shape as braid, which they wear cross-wise around the waist]

Now the doors of the trucks were not yet opened and the warriors were gazing in awe at the station, the largest building they had ever seen.

Suddenly the cry was raised that their king was being stolen! They began throwing themselves out of the trucks, shouting battle-cries and brandishing their k.n.o.b-kerries and a.s.segais. There was a wild rush to catch up with the galloping carriage and more than a score of white railway employees and officials were killed in the melee.

Mad with fear that they were losing their king, the whole ten thousand of them raced down the streets, and Pretoria thought it was being captured by the savages. Soon, however, they caught up with the carriage, and shortly after fell into orderly array and marched on to Oom Paul's house.

The old President had risen early, as he always did, and was sitting on the stoop of his simple, flat-roofed home, drinking coffee and smoking his pipe. The carriage drove up and the warriors fell into regimental formation as Buno and Tuys got out. As they started for the little gate the ten thousand men gave the royal salute, their feet coming down on the roadway with the sound of thunder, their shrill whistle echoing from the low eaves of the house.