At length Tyrer was shaken off and flung in a heap on the ground. In an
instant the buffalo picked him up on one of its horns, flung him into
the air and rushed away. The result to poor Tyrer was a terrible injury
one which I do not care to describe. Some weeks later the injured man
was carried past our camp on a litter. He was afterwards conveyed to
Natal, and thence to Europe, where a skilful operation set him right.

In 1889 I went to Johannesburg. While there I met an old friend,
Charles Currey, then head of the Department of Lands and Mines, in the
Cape Civil Service. We arranged to take a trip together to a place
called Struben's Mill, which lay behind some hills on the right-hand
side of the Main Reef to westward of the Golden City. Currey was bent
on sketching; I on collecting ferns. The afternoon grew hot, and we
longed for a cup of tea. Seeing a house high up on the hillside, with
smoke issuing from its chimney, we decided to call there and try our
luck.

We were hospitably received by the man in charge; he at once provided
the desired refreshment. He and I found that we knew a great deal of
the same country, so we began exchanging reminiscences. I told the
story about Tyrer, and added that I had often wondered as to what had
become of him. Our host, who had listened to my long relation with an
impassive face, then remarked

"Yes; you have got the yarn pretty right. My name is Tyrer."

I shall never forget Currey's look of astonishment.

Veld fires were occasionally things to be reckoned with in the Low
Country. Looking from the cliff-crest of the mountain range over the
immense plains, one was apt to think that these were covered with
dense, continuous forest. But a closer acquaintance corrected this
impression. There was little jungle, but there were many large trees
and these usually stood somewhat far apart. When among them it was, as
a rule, possible to get a clear view over a radius of about two hundred
yards. Now and then one reached an area in which the trees were very
high indeed, with clean boles running to a height of thirty to forty
feet. But the ground was covered with long, coarse grass, which was
tinted a soft green in summer, but in winter was yellow and dry. At all
seasons the haulms were so hard that the toes of one's boots wore out
with distressing quickness. It was in winter that the grass fire became
a real danger.

Great tracts perhaps hundreds of square miles in extent might be swept
by a conflagration. If, during the course of one of these, the wind
happened to be blowing towards you from the direction of the fire, the
danger was apt to become real and imminent. There was only one
alternative; you had either at once to find some spot comparatively
clear of grass and there wait until the flame-storm had swept past, or
else to set the grass alight where you were and then take refuge on the
burnt area.

Occasionally the trees caught alight and afforded striking spectacles
at night. I think that when this happened the tree was very old, and a
considerable portion of the trunk, from the ground upwards, was
decayed. I remember once noticing an extremely large tree which had
caught alight from a grass fire that had swept past. I returned along
the same track more than six weeks afterwards. The grass was springing
up luxuriantly, it had reached a height of several inches. But the tree
was still burning. I camped near it; the tall, massive trunk, glowing
on the windward side like a column of ignited charcoal and sending out
a great tress of flame to leeward, was a sight never to be forgotten.

The unfortunate balala "the people who are dead" those miserable
fugitives from savage justice, or, more often, remnants of clans
scattered in war, often perished in veld conflagrations. They wandered,
naked and weaponless, in the neutral areas lying between the
territories of the different tribes, preferring the mercy of the lion
and the hyena to that of man. The appliances of these people for
kindling a fire, and thus sending the conflagration on for the purpose
of creating a zone of safety, were often quite inadequate for dealing
with a sudden emergency.

I only know of one instance of a white man falling a victim to a veld
fire. I forget this individual's name, although I knew him well. He,
seeing the flames approaching, reached what he thought was a place of
safety, for the grass was very sparse, and he reckoned on being able to
beat out the fire as it approached him. But he had not taken into
account the contingency of the wind freshening and flinging forward
sheets of flame from the places where the grass was longer. This
actually happened. He got badly, but not fatally, scorched. A
search-party found him and he was assisted back to camp. Next day he
was placed in a rough litter and carried by four natives in the rear
of the little caravan. The day was sultry, and he suffered great pain,
so he persuaded the natives to set down the litter in a shady place,
meaning to get them to carry him on when the afternoon cooled.

The rest of the party proceeded on its course, unaware that the injured
man had been left behind. A grass fire was seen to sweep over the
country just crossed, but no particular notice was taken of it. In this
fire the unhappy loiterer had been burnt to death. His bearers, when
they saw the flames approaching, lost their heads, and, instead of
burning a patch to be used as a refuge, fled. There are, surely, few
cases on record of such bad luck as this.

The most enchanting scenery in the Low Country was to be found in the
vicinity of the rivers. These, considering that they are African, do
not lie very far apart. Yet sometimes there were long stretches of
waterless country to be traversed, and severe suffering from thirst was
a possibility occasionally realized. Besides, as we were practically
explorers in a country without human inhabitants or recognizable
landmarks, we might unwittingly pass the bend of a winding river and
thus recede from badly needed water. The general landscape was, as a
rule, so flat, and the trees were so high, that one could draw no
inference as to the whereabouts of a river from the configuration of
the country.

But what joy it was, after a long, hot, fatiguing tramp, during which
water had to be doled out in sips, to reach a mighty stream, perhaps
several hundred yards wide, where one might drink one's fill, wash the
grime from one's clothes and person, and loll in the shade of lordly
trees.

In writing of those old days I find it hard to realize that the
localities described are still in existence. I suppose the rivers are
yet running in the old channels, but as the rainfall has been steadily
decreasing they are not likely to be today the full, impetuous torrents
of liquid crystal that I remember. Moreover, the game, that rapidly
moving, kaleidoscopic pageant of varied animal life which made their
forested banks a wonder and a joy, has disappeared.

Of all the lovely scenes through which I have wandered, the landscapes
along the Olifant and the Letaba dwell in my memory as the loveliest.
In those one-time almost inviolate retreats were to be found everything
best calculated to delight the heart of the hunter or the lover of
nature. I am, of course, assuming winter as the season, for in summer
the worm "that pierces the liver and blackens the blood" made these
regions almost uninhabitable for Europeans. But from June to October,
inclusive, the country was healthy, the sky rarely held a cloud, the
sun shone mildly, and the night was seldom, if ever, cold.

Although the banks of the Low Country rivers were usually heavily
wooded, one found here and there wide grassy glades opening to the
waterside. The country being flat, the river-courses were usually wide,
with many large rocks standing high out of the water. Between these
the streams eddy and wind. Sometimes one would camp near a rapid, and
below this a deep pool was invariably to be found; in such pools the
sea-cows, snorting and champing, might sometimes be heard throughout
the night.

The process of crossing rivers was believed to be dangerous on account
of crocodiles, which were often to be seen in large numbers. These
reptiles, however, seldom did any damage except in the vicinity of a
native kraal, where they used occasionally to seize women and children
who came down to fill their pots and calabashes with water. I once saw
a dog taken by one; at least, I assumed that such was the case. The dog
was swimming across a deep channel between two shallows when it gave a
yelp and disappeared. There were many crocodiles in the river where
this happened.

The rivers were full of fish, but I never carried any tackle, so could
not catch any. But the natives of the lower reaches of the Olifant, the
Letaba, and the Limpopo often spear them. Snakes I seldom saw in the
Low Country. This may be accounted for by the circumstance that most of
my wanderings there took place in winter. During the course of my
various trips I did not see more than seven or eight snakes altogether.

Curiously enough, I saw three of these within the space of a few
minutes. Near the Lower Letaba I reached a circular depression the end
of a long, winding, dry water-course late one afternoon. The spot was
so beautiful that I decided to camp there, instead of going on several
miles farther, as I had intended. In the depression was a clear pool
surrounded by great rocks and tall trees. The ground in the vicinity
was carpeted with bright green grass.

After selecting a spot for my camp, I sent one of the bearers to
collect fuel, and the other to fetch water for the purpose of making
soup. The pool was less than fifty yards away. I heard the second
bearer give a yell; then he came running back, shouting that he had
seen a big snake. Picking up my rifle, I ran to the spot he indicated,
and saw about six feet of thick python disappearing among the creepers
which lay tangled over the rocks. I fired at the creature but missed
it.

In returning to the camping-place I nearly trod on a large puff-adder;
this I killed with a stone. Almost immediately afterwards the boy who
had been sent for firewood came up with a vicious-looking black and
yellow serpent squirming, broken-backed, on his stick. This was more
than my nerves could stand, so after filling the billy and the canteens
with water, we retired to a spot a few hundred yards away, up the
hillside. Here the vegetation was less rank, so we felt safer.

Next morning, just before daybreak, we heard a lion killing close to
the water. After day had fully broken, I went down and found some
hyenas breakfasting on the remains of a waterbuck.

Sleep's worst enemy in the Low Country was the hyena. The voice of this
beast is horrible; it begins with a guttural growl and ends with a
high-pitched screech. Although cowardly to a degree, hyenas would often
come to within less than a hundred yards of the fire. Occasionally they
might be heard on several sides at once, uttering their unspeakable
yells. We always noticed that the smell of roast meat attracted them;
when meat was boiled, they were not nearly so troublesome. A shot would
always send them scampering to a distance, but cartridges were not
things to be wasted by the traveler in the Low Country.

On arriving at Lourenco Marques in 1874 I met a man named Good, whom I
had known slightly up country. I have been told but I do not guarantee
the statement that he was the original of Rider Haggard's "Allan
Quatermain." From Good I heard sad news; poor Pat Foote, one of my best
friends, had died in the fortress during the previous night. I went up
at once to see his remains; they lay on a wretched truckle-bed in a
dingy cell.

The funeral took place that afternoon. The grave was dug among some
cocoanut palms out beyond the fetid swamp which lay in those days a
crescent of foulness on three sides of the town. A wall separated the
swamp from the houses, and over this wall the sewage used to be cast.
Poles, bearing human heads, stuck out here and there. The swamp was
crossed by a causeway.

The proceedings were marked by a melancholy lack of dignity. Several of
those forming the cortege were drunk. Among them was a Portuguese
officer. The military guard at the causeway gate failed to present
arms, so the officer rushed at the men and belabored them with a stick.
However, poor Foote was too sound asleep to be disturbed by such
trifles. I wonder whether, besides myself, any who took part in those
squalid obsequies are alive. I believe the palms which shaded that
lonely grave have been long since cut down and that the town has
extended over the site.

In the early part of 1875, after I left "The Reef," I worked for a
short time near the head of the creek. One day a friend named McCallum
came and showed me a piece of gold he had picked up on a headland which
jutted over the Blyde River near Peach tree Creek. Next day was Sunday,
so we went together to the spot and took a prospect. The result was
most encouraging; not alone was there a good yield for the amount of
wash we had panned, but the quality of the gold suggested that it
belonged to a genuine lead. Next morning we struck our tents and moved
down to the scene of the discovery. As the area was not far enough from
the nearest proclaimed diggings to entitle us to an extended miner's
right, we just marked out a claim apiece and made no report of the
matter. We pitched our tents in a little grove of peach-trees below the
bluff, close to the river bank.

The thing was a "surface" proposition; that is to say, the wash was
only a few inches deep; it lay on a soft slate bottom. We fixed our
sluice box in a rapid of the river which was some two hundred yards
from the claim, and was reached by a footpath we scarped down the face
of the bluff. We hired a couple of boys to carry down the wash. I did
the pick and shovel work, which included the filling of the gunny-bags.
McCallum washed out each installment as it arrived. This was the
easiest contract I ever took on; it meant about one minute's work
alternating with nearly ten minutes' rest, all day long. The first
couple of days' work gave splendid results; from the gravel cleared off
a space about eight feet square we got, so far as I can remember, about
a pound weight of gold.

Naturally, we considered that at length our fortunes were made. Our
claims measured together forty five thousand square feet, the area we
had cleared was but sixty four. The latter number, when worked into the
former, went nearly seven hundred times. And the surface appeared to be
exactly the same over the whole area.

Assuming that any reliance could be placed on arithmetic, we were
potential capitalists. We began to speculate as to what we would do
with our money. 14,000 apiece was a large sum. I think McCallum decided
to go to Scotland, there to recommence some lawsuit he had been obliged
to drop for want of funds. My own firm intention was to organize an
expedition to the Zambezi not to go "foot-slogging," as I had been
doing in the Low Country, but with properly equipped wagons, the most
modern armament, salted horses and all the rest of it. Well, for one
night, at all events, we enjoyed ourselves. I do not think we slept at
all.

But we never found so much as another half-ounce of gold in those
claims; we had struck the one little "patch" they contained. We hired
more boys, we ran prospecting trenches in every direction, we worked
late and early often carrying the bags of wash down the scarped
footpath ourselves, long after the boys had knocked off. But all was in
vain. Our pound of gold melted like an icicle in the sun. We were, in
local parlance, "bust."

CHAPTER X

Prospectors start for Swaziland--Rumors as to their fate--MacLean and I
decide to follow them--Precautions against lions--The Crocodile River--The
Boer and the pessimist--Game and honey--Crocodiles--Difficulties in
crossing the river--MacLean nearly drowned in the rapids--I go on alone
First sight of De Kaap--A labyrinth of dongas--I reach Swaziland--Baboons
On the trail of the prospectors--The mystery solved--'Ntshindeen's Kraal
Swazi hospitality--How I became celebrated--A popular show--Repairing guns
Character of the Swazis--Contempt for money and love of salt--Prospecting
My welcome outstayed--A dangerous crisis--Return to the Crocodile River
The rhinoceros--Our bearers decamp--We abandon our goods--Attacked by
fever--Terror of partridges--Arrival at Mac Mac.

In the early part of 1875 a large party of Australian prospectors
started from Pilgrim's Rest to seek for gold on the north-eastern
borders of Swaziland. They took with them a light wagon which could
easily be taken to pieces and a span of oxen. They were accompanied by
guides. At that time little was known of the country beyond the
boundaries of the Transvaal on its eastern side. Swaziland was, in
fact, an unknown region. But rumor was rife as to fabulously rich
deposits of gold in the tracts lying to the east and south-east of
Lydenburg. There were, needless to say, no maps of the country in
question. But under such circumstances the less known of any given
region, the greater its fascination.

Some six weeks having passed without news of the party, the camp
seethed with wild report as to its fortune. Some maintained that the
Swazis, who were believed to be averse to the opening up of their
country, had wiped out the intruders. More or less circumstantial
details of the supposed massacre were current, but critical examination
proved such to be quite without foundation. Then came wafts of rumor to
the effect that the prospectors had "struck it rich," but were
determined to keep the strike to themselves. My youthful imagination
inclined to the latter view. I had a friend who knew the Swazis well,
and he held it to be unlikely in the last degree that a party of
peaceful prospectors would be molested. Accordingly, I made up my mind
to get on the trail of the adventurers and stick to it until I found
them.

My "mate" at the time was a man whom I will call MacLean. That was not
his name, but it will do as well as if it were. MacLean belonged to an
old Scottish family, and had brought a suit before the House of Lords
in which he claimed a certain peerage to which great estates and many
titles were attached. He failed through being unable to prove the
marriage of one of his ancestors. We had made a small strike of gold on
one of the terraces of the Blyde River, but this was soon worked out,
and we spent most of our gains in pursuing a vanished "lead." After
some hesitation MacLean agreed to accompany me.

Our united means amounted to less than five pounds sterling. This we
invested in flour, tea, strong boots, and other indispensables. We
possessed an old gun a double-barreled fowling-piece that had once been
a flint-lock. The spring driving one hammer was too weak to discharge a
percussion cap, that of the other was just strong enough to cause
detonation on an average twice out of three attempts. We could get no
bullet mould the gun being of an unusual caliber so we used to chop off
chunks of lead and roll them between flat stones until the requisite
degrees of size and rotundity had been attained. By using stones with
the surface slightly roughened we could always reduce the size of the
bullet, but the work of doing so was laborious in the extreme.

We hired two Bapedi boys to carry some of our goods. One was named
Indogozan; I forget the name of the other. They turned out to be lazy
scoundrels, and gave endless trouble by loitering. On weighing our
"swags" at Mac Mac the day we started, Maclean's and mine tipped the
scale at fifty-six pounds each. Those of the boys weighed,
respectively, about fifteen pounds less.

We descended the mountain range at Spitzkop. The trail was easily
found. After entering the Low Country we halted each night at a camping
place of the party we were pursuing, and built our fire on the cold
ashes of their one-time hearth. Occasionally we reached some obstacle
over which no wagon could possibly have been drawn, and where there
were evidences that these practical explorers had taken the vehicle to
pieces and carried it over. Game was not very plentiful; even had it
been so our gun was not of the kind to do much execution. As we
approached the Crocodile River Valley lions began to make themselves
heard at night. MacLean was nervous; I fear it was my habit to trade on
this. It was he who used to collect an immense pile of fuel every
night, and I felt I could turn in and sleep soundly fortified with the
knowledge that the watch-fire would not be left untended.

At the Crocodile River we met with a serious check. There was no drift,
and the stream was still swollen from the summer rains. Drawn up on the
opposite bank was a raft, by means of this the prospectors had crossed.
We camped and considered the situation.

We found two men with a wagon at the river. The owner of the wagon was
an old Boer named Niekerk; he owned a farm in the Lydenburg District,
but spent most of his life wandering about in search of game. Niekerk's
companion was an ex-man-of-war's man named Rawlings, one of the most
ill-tempered and pessimistic beings I have ever met. He was small,
hatchet faced, and foxy in appearance. His face was much disfigured by
a bullet-wound through both jaws received, so he said, in a skirmish
with slavers near Zanzibar. Rawlings's disposition suggested a possible
descent from Mr. Squeers and Mrs. Gummidge.

Niekerk and Rawlings were a strangely assorted couple. They could not
quarrel, for the reason that Niekerk had no English and Rawlings no
Dutch. Niekerk held stoutly to the theory that all Englishmen were mad,
more or less, and excused his companion's peculiarities accordingly. He
had met Rawlings tramping in the Transvaal and given him a lift.
Rawlings was not particular as to locality, having inverted the theory
of Dr. Pangloss, and settled to his own satisfaction that this was the
worst of all possible worlds, he held all places to be more or less
equally vile. So he had followed Niekerk grumblingly down the mountain
pass leading to the Low Country, and had been wasting his pessimism on
the desert air of the Crocodile River Valley for several weeks before
our arrival.

Game was here more plentiful. I borrowed Niekerk's rifle and shot a
waterbuck and several klipspringers. Our camp was surrounded by immense
domes of granite, and each morning the summit of almost every dome was
occupied by several klipspringers. The bearers were much delighted,
they had hated our diet of unvarying askoek. We also found quantities
of honey. Honey-birds were numerous, and ever ready to oblige by
pointing out a bees' nest. The scenery, was very beautiful. To the
north-west towered some of the loftiest peaks of the Drakensberg. The
bare, granite domes around us were almost hemispherical in shape. They
arose out of swamp rooted forest. The vegetation was very rich.

The problem as to how we were to cross the river now became very
pressing indeed. We could not afford to waste any time, as our food
supply was extremely limited. The weather was hot and moist, so we
could not manage to dry any meat; the flies got at it at once. One of
two things had to be done: we had to cross the river within a very few
days or else turn back. And turning back was a thing I had always hated
doing.

The river was indeed a formidable obstacle. It showed no signs of
subsiding, for thunderstorms still broke on and behind the mountain
range. In the vicinity where the raft lay the channel was about a
hundred yards wide and was very deep. The current here was sluggish,
but just above was a long and dangerous rapid with many rocks
projecting from the water. On these rocks crocodiles of various sizes
used to bask with half opened jaws. Around the head of each saurian
several little birds would flutter and hop, occasionally entering the
toothed death-trap without the least apparent fear. These birds were
useful in picking parasites from between the monsters' teeth.

One day in exploring the river bank above the rapids in search of a
drift, I walked along the edge of the water immediately at the foot of
a steep sand-dune about fifteen feet in height. The top of this, but I
was unaware of the fact, was occupied by a large number of crocodiles
of all sizes, they ranged from one to about fifteen feet in length.
These took alarm and flung themselves into the water, both in front and
behind me. One cut me across the shin with its tail in passing. I carry
the mark of the cut to this day.

To return to the problem of crossing the river. We had brought with us
some strong, light, hempen rope for the purpose of lowering our swags
down steep and difficult places. This, with infinite labor we unwound,
separating the strands and joining them again lengthwise. The result
was still too short for our purpose, so we sought in the forest for
monkey-ropes. These we crushed, and, after separating and partly drying
the fibers, we twisted the latter into a strong, light cable.

When we judged that our cable, plus the line a was long enough to reach
the other side, we attempted to carry one end of the latter across the
river for the purpose of towing back the raft. Over and over again one
of the bearers and I made the attempt, but when we got about three
parts of the way across, the slow, steady pressure of the current would
fill the bend of the line and sweep us down stream. We had spent most
of the previous day in shooting at crocodiles on the rocks in the
rapid, for the purpose of driving them from the neighborhood. We had
wounded several. On the day of our attempt not a saurian was to be
seen. Nevertheless, I felt extremely nervous. The carcass of one
monster we had wounded afterwards washed up; it measured upwards of
sixteen feet.

After our repeated failures to carry the line across, nothing remained
to be done but to attempt a crossing at the rapids. This we succeeded
in doing, but the attempt nearly cost MacLean his life. He was an
indifferent swimmer. The day was blazing hot. I stripped, but MacLean,
disregarding every one's advice, insisted on swimming in his shirt. We
had to creep slowly from rock to rock, through tumbling water, with an
occasional short swim through a deeper channel. The river was here much
wider than at the scene of our former attempt.

When we were about half-way across MacLean stumbled. As he attempted to
recover his foothold, facing the time down-stream, the current filled
his shirt from behind and carried it over his head. Then he rolled
helplessly down the rapid towards the deep reach. I floundered after,
and succeeded in overtaking him. He was quite exhausted; it was only
with great difficulty that I succeeded in getting him to the bank,
fortunately to that side on which the raft lay.

After a short rest we launched the raft, or, as it turned out to be, a
sort of square, flat bottomed boat, with sides only a few inches deep,
and built of planks. But it was shrunken and gaping from the heat, and
at once filled with water. It was sufficiently buoyant to float when
empty, but would not sustain any weight. We drew it out again; caulking
was out of the question, so we collected dry reeds and tied them into
bundles with grass ropes made on the spot. We fastened these bundles to
the bottom and sides, and launched our galley once more. This time we
propelled her triumphantly, but very slowly, to the other side, where
landing was comparatively easy. We had found in her two rough wooden
paddles.

I had, by this time, been exposed stark naked to the sun for over five
hours. I felt and no doubt looked like a raw beefsteak. Maclean's foot
had got severely hurt in the course of his adventure, and he was much
bruised and battered.

Accordingly it was decided that I should go on with Indogozan and his
companion, leaving MacLean behind.

So next afternoon the Pessimist and MacLean ferried the two bearers and
me across. The Pessimist bade me a doleful farewell, and suggested that
I should leave any mementos for my friends behind, with instructions as
to their disposal. To comfort him I wrote the names and addresses of my
nearest relations on a leaf torn out of my pocket-book, and gave him
the latter. He was absolutely certain that the prospectors had met
their doom under the Swazi spears, and that a like fate would be mine.

My course lay along a winding pathway until it topped the first ridge,
then it turned abruptly to the left to avoid a swampy hollow. However,
a rhinoceros, startled by my approach, plunged through this hollow,
clearing a pathway through the dense brushwood, so I followed his
tracks and ascended the hill on the other side. Here, as I expected, I
again found the old trail. That rhinoceros saved me a detour of several
miles.

Night was now falling; the full moon arose as I stepped forward
briskly; the trail lay clear across the long grass. It led mainly
uphill for about fifteen miles, with occasional undulations. Once I
heard lions roaring in the distance. The bearers begged of me to halt
and allow them to light a fire, but I was so delighted at being safely
across the river that I determined not to stop. However, we eventually
reached the edge of an almost precipitous slope, which fell into a
hollow brimming with dense, snow white mist. A solitary tree stood at
the very edge of the steep; here I decided to camp.

When I awoke next morning I was wet through and chilled to the bone.
The mist was so dense that objects six feet away were almost invisible.
After some difficulty we managed to gather twigs from the tree
sufficient to make a "billy" of tea. The light waxed; a strange and
undefinable sensation thrilled me. I seemed to be near some surprise.
For a considerable time the air was perfectly still. Then, suddenly, a
movement became noticeable; a sudden breeze sang out of the west, and
the mist-shroud rolled away, leaving a perfectly clear atmosphere.

To my dying day I shall never forget the sight that met my gaze. I was
just on the northern verge of the Great Kaap Basin. It is in extent
probably thirty miles long by twenty wide, and is shaped somewhat like
a pear the larger end being scooped out of the mighty mass of the
Drakensberg. At the narrow end the hills dwindled somewhat, but
straight across the widest part of the valley the dark-blue mountains
of Swaziland were piled in abrupt immensity, shimmering through an
opaline medium which I cannot describe as haze, for the atmosphere was
as clear and limpid as a dew-drop. This medium seemed to make the more
distant salient contours miraculously palpable, and to fill every
hollow with richest mystery.

Tier upon mighty tier the Delectable Mountains arose, the higher peaks
shining in the new sunlight. I must have felt like Linnaeus when for
the first time he saw a field of gorse in bloom.

With a glad and hopeful heart I followed the trail in its zigzag course
down the steep mountain-side, which was vocal with the chanting call of
myriads of partridges. Covey after covey flushed around me; the whole
country, far and near, seemed to be alive with them. Before the end of
that trip I got to hate and dread partridges more than any living
thing, but that morning I loved them.

Now arose another difficulty: the bottom of the Kaap Valley, towards
the centre, was a labyrinth of dongas, and the trail, hitherto so
definite, split up into innumerable strands. These crossed and
re-crossed each other bewilderingly, like the fibers of an unraveled
rope. The dongas were both wide and deep; in many instances they were
quite impassable. Occasionally I would find myself on the tip of a
promontory, the sides of which were precipices perhaps several yards
high. These were footed in jungle, which sometimes was quite
impenetrable. However, like Theseus, I eventually managed; to win
through, although no kind Ariadne came to my assistance. But I had
hopelessly lost the trail.

It was dusk when I reached the foothills of the Swaziland mountains.
Far off, as I approached, I could see the twinkling lights at the
kraals on the high ledges. I camped at the foot of a very high, naked
peak of granite, which was almost sheer on the side facing me. This
peak turned out to be densely populated by, baboons. At intervals, all
night long, pandemonium reigned among these brutes. Occasionally a
general fight seemed to take place; then stones would come crashing
down the face of the precipice, sometimes falling in dangerous
proximity to the camp. Once or twice the wrath of the community was
apparently directed against one individual, who would be hunted round
and round the upper zone of the peak. When caught this (presumable)
delinquent's yells of anguish would peal shrilly above the hoarse
chorus of his pursuers' angry voices.

Next morning I struck eastward along the base of the foothills,
searching for the trail. The country was intersected by many pathways,
but none of these showed signs of a wagon having passed. It seemed,
moreover, inconceivable that a vehicle could have ascended such a
lofty, steep mountain range as the one which towered on my right. I
noticed some cattle grazing on a high ledge, so I wended thither. Here
I found three herd-boys, and they gave me the information I was
seeking. The prospectors had ascended the mountains through a valley
still farther to the eastward and had gone on. They had been heard of
very far ahead still going. With somewhat damped enthusiasm I followed.

Well, I kept like a hound on the trail of the prospectors right through
Swaziland. When the trail turned suddenly westward, I threw up the
sponge, for I immediately and correctly inferred what had happened: the
party had given up its quest and returned, taking a course through that
part of the Transvaal known as New Scotland. Their prospecting could
not have amounted to much. I often, long subsequently, wondered as to
what their feelings were when they heard of the discovery of the Sheba
Reef, for they must have walked over almost the very spot.

Sadly, and with chastened feelings, I began to retrace my steps. My two
Bapedi were in constant dread of their lives, for an old and deadly
feud existed between their tribe and the Swazis. They followed me like
my shadow, sometimes in a most embarrassing manner. Having been on my
forward journey hospitably entertained at the kraal of a prominent
induna named 'Ntshindeen, I decided to return there and rest. I felt
half-dead from fatigue and semi-starvation. My clothing was in rags.
The only, supplies I had left were a little meal and some salt.

At 'Ntshindeen's kraal I spent a few halcyon days. For one reason or
another, possibly on account of my extremely youthful appearance, I was
treated with great consideration. A very large hut, the whole inside of
which was lined with the finest basket-work, was given me to occupy. It
was the beginning of the season of green maize; every morning an armful
of luscious cobs was deposited at my door. An immense earthen pot of
honey and a skin milk sack were placed at my disposal. All day long I
would drowse under a tree which stood within a few yards of the hut
door, with Indogozan or his companion waving a bough to keep off the
flies. I only woke up to eat or to smoke. The prospectors were
forgotten; so were MacLean and the Pessimist. I tasted, to the fullest
extent, the sweetness of long-needed rest.

But the evenings were somewhat trying to one of my bashful temperament.
My fame had spread abroad; from distant kraals people flocked to see me
every night. For the one and only, time in my life I knew what it was
to be celebrated.

One very old woman, a "doctor," took me under her patronage. I would
lie near a small fire towards the back of the hut, the two Bapedi
crouching behind me. The old woman, with a sheaf of dry reeds in her
withered hand, would squat on the floor near my head. Then the hut
would fill up with men and women, who would arrange themselves in a
crescent shaped mass, with the front rank lying down, the next
crouching, those farthest from me standing.

The old woman would select a few suitable reeds from the bundle, light
them as a torch, which she held so that I would be illuminated, and
deliver a lecture. All my points would be gone over in detail the
unusual color of my eyes, the whiteness of my skin, and the length of
my hair were the occasion of much comment. By request I would take off
my shirt or pull up a leg of my much tattered trousers. Farther than
this modesty prevented my going. Sometimes a similar ordeal would have
to be gone through several times in the course of an evening.

The only work I did was in the matter of repairing guns, of which, by
the way, the Swazis possessed but very few. I had a knife, the handle
of which contained a screwdriver and various other tools; the condition
of my own gun necessitated the carrying of a nipple wrench. The latter
was a very old instrument; it had sockets graded to fit nipples of
various sizes. The trouble with the Swazi guns was almost invariably
dirt or rust. Some I put right without much difficulty; others were
quite beyond the possibility of repair.

After a somewhat wide experience I can truthfully say that the Swazis,
at the time I knew them, were the finest savages I ever came in contact
with. They were gentlemen in all essentials, they were manly, brave,
and independent. The white race had not yet degraded them by contact
with its corroding fringe.

The following incident will serve to illustrate their courage: Six of
'Ntshindeen's men, armed with nothing but spears and sticks, came upon
a full-grown lion among the foothills through which I had journeyed.
The brute was a well known depredator among the herds. He had, in fact,
given up killing game in favor of the easier pursuit of killing cattle.
He had also killed two herd boys. The six attacked without hesitation.
They slew the lion, but in the struggle three men lost their lives. Two
were killed on the spot; the third had his arm chewed to a pulp. He was
brought back to his kraal, but gangrene at once set in, and he died on
the third day. The other three were badly mauled, but they recovered.

The Swazis knew nothing of money, except that it was supposed to be
worth something in parts remote from their then-isolated land. The
value of cash was gauged according to size; you could get more for a
penny than for a sovereign but not much for either. Gunpowder, lead,
and caps they were, of course, anxious to obtain for even if an
individual did not own a gun, it was always possible to borrow such a
weapon.

But the thing they valued above all else was salt. Their country
contained no saltpans, and they were cut off from the sea by a strip of
pestiferous jungle, which, moreover, belonged to the Portuguese or was
supposed so to belong. Fortunately I had brought with me a small bag of
salt; it contained about a pound in weight. Men used to come from long
distances to beg for a pinch. As I did not want the bag to be seen, it
was my practice, when salt was asked for, to enter the hut and bring
out a small pinch in my hand. On such occasions the old show-woman
would watch for me, and after I had transferred the salt to the one who
came for it, she used to seize my hand and lick out the palm.

After a week's rest I began prospecting in the neighborhood. I must
have "panned" in the present Sheba Valley and all over the vicinity, in
which Barberton now stands. It was only alluvial gold for which I
sought; there was a theory current among diggers of those days that
South African quartz contained no metal. It was thought that quartz
reefs had been subjected to such heat that all metals had been
expelled. "Color" I found almost everywhere I tried, but no coarse
gold.

Soon after I commenced prospecting I noticed a change in the demeanor
of the natives; they no longer treated me with the same friendliness.
In this matter they were, it must be confessed, actuated by sound
instinctive considerations; it was the subsequent discovery of gold
that caused their sad deterioration. 'Ntshindeen, who was always my
good friend but who often had to be away from home on the king's
business, gave me a confidential warning to beware of the boys, as they
did not like me. This dislike was shown mainly in a petty persecution
of my two Bapedi, to whom insulting remarks were often made. I felt I
had outstayed my welcome, so prepared to depart.

Accordingly, one morning I packed the swags, distributed the remainder
of the salt among the elders of the kraal giving the old woman who used
to lick my palm an extra allowance bade farewell to my kind hosts, and
started. About five and twenty big boys several of them almost men in
stature surrounded my little party. All these boys had sticks; several
carried assegais. Just below the kraal, on the steep hillside, was a
fence with an open gap; through this I had to pass. The boys ran
forward and collected just beyond the gap. A number of men stood
together, about a hundred yards away. It was abundantly clear that
trouble was coming.

Several boys collected behind me as I approached the gap. I sent the
two Bapedi through first. They went in fear and trembling; I followed
immediately after. As the second of my bearers passed through the gap a
big boy sprang forward and seized his swag. I at once struck the
assailant a smashing blow on the chest with the butt-end of my gun. He
fell headlong among his companions. I then, with deliberation, cocked
both barrels, walked slowly forward, and told the Bapedi to follow. The
boys opened a passage through their ranks and we passed through. Then
the men began to shout and jeer, and the boys, stung by this, ran down
the hillside after us, brandishing their sticks. One poised his
assegai, as though he were about to throw it, but I leveled my gun at
him and he swerved. I then turned, and we went on without further
molestation. But the war-cry pealed forth, and for a long time we could
see people running hither and thither among the kraals.

I believe that on this occasion my Bapedi had a narrow escape, although
I do not think any harm was intended to me, personally. A few months
afterwards a prospector named Coffin was in the same vicinity. His two
boys, also Bapedi, were killed in his presence.

I had for some days been suffering from intestinal disturbance and a
slight headache, so strongly suspected that I had contracted fever. It
took me sixty long and fatiguing hours to get back to the Crocodile
River. I arrived there after dusk, and shouted for the raft. MacLean
and the Pessimist soon paddled across. The latter was, I am quite
convinced, much disappointed at my having turned up. During supper,
while I was relating my experiences, the Pessimist interjected the
remark that I was a liar. After a more or less drawn battle, MacLean
and Niekerk restored peace, so that both supper and narrative were
finished without further interruption. But Niekerk, who had been unable
to understand the words which gave rise to the disturbance, was
confirmed in his ideas as to the essential insanity of the English.

Our little patrol tent stood about ten yards from the tail of Niekerk's
wagon. One morning at daybreak a big black rhinoceros stood grunting
and sniffing in the space between. The barrel of Niekerk's rifle
protruded slowly from the wagon-tilt. When the animal felt the sting of
the bullet it swung round and went off at a gallop along the river
bank. Rhino could not have been much hurt, for his spoor was to be seen
a few days afterwards fifteen miles away, and it was still the spoor of
a running animal. Game was now scarce, so Niekerk decided to shift his
quarters.

As we had done no prospecting to speak of, it was decided to explore
the Crocodile Valley, in the direction of the mountains, before going
home. We accordingly once more crossed the river, and proceeded against
the stream along its southern bank, panning as we went. "Color" was to
be found everywhere, but no sign of "pay." On the second morning we had
an unpleasant surprise; the Bapedi had bolted during the night. They
had taken nothing of our belongings. I was very wrathful; but time
brings perspective; today I am inclined to think that these boys were
justified in clearing out. They had been terribly frightened in
Swaziland, and when we again crossed the river they may have thought,
naturally enough, that we were going back.

In sadness we sorted our belongings, selecting the indispensable and
the more valuable; we cached the remainder in a krantz cleft. I wonder
if it is still where we hid it? Then, the flood having somewhat
subsided, we went westward along the river bank until we found a
fordable spot. Here we crossed and, feeling much chastened, tramped off
in the direction of Pilgrim's Rest. As we struggled on we tried to
comfort ourselves with a foretaste of the vengeance which we would
wreak on Indogozan and his companion when we caught them. However,
catch them we never did.

It now became quite clear that I had contracted fever. Headache,
dizziness, internal pains, and deadly weakness had me in their grip.
Partridges got on my nerves, and became the terror of my life. The
country was full of these birds, which were very tame. The whirring
scream of a covey, when it flushed around me, almost caused
distraction. On such occasions I have often dropped flat in my tracks.

In its early stages, fever is generally more or less intermittent; the
subject generally feels either worse or better than he really is.
Eventually, however, by hook or by crook, I got back to Mac Mac.
MacLean went on to Pilgrim's Rest. I collapsed, and lay in my patrol
tent, alone and untended, for several days. Then Mr. (afterwards Sir
Drummond) Dunbar and his kind wife look me in, and tended me like truly
Good Samaritans. I was as tough as nails. The attack proved to be a
comparatively light one, so I managed to pull through.

CHAPTER XI

Weakness after fever--I engage in commerce--Bats--The commandeered cat--My
commercial ineptitude--Tom Simpson surprises--Wolff--Close of my
commercial career--Saulez--His thrashing of the bullies--Gardiner holds up
the bank--Nicknames--Conferring a patent of nobility--"Old Nelly"--"A poor
man's lead"--"Charlie Brown's Gully"--Swindled by my partner--My discovery
on the mountain--A lonely time--Waiting for rain--Disappointment and
despair--Abandonment of my work--Departure--Once more a tramp.

After rallying from my bout of fever I felt terribly weak. I was kindly
looked after for a few weeks by some friends, but it was imperatively
necessary that I should, at the earliest possible date, once more begin
to earn a livelihood. I was now absolutely penniless. Manual labor was,
for the time, quite out of the question. The least physical exertion,
more especially if it involved bending down, caused a sickening sense
of dizziness and loss of vision. For some little time I resembled one
of those dolls whose eyes disappear when placed in any but an upright
position.

A Natal firm, R. T. N. James & Co., had a store on top of the steep
hill, just where the up-creek road left the Lower Camp. Mr. Shepperd,
the manager, was a friend of mine. One day he saw me at Mac Mac, and,
taking pity on my condition, offered me work in the shop. I jumped at
the chance.

So next Sunday I started for Pilgrim's Rest. The path, which could only
be traversed on foot, led over the big divide, and involved a heavy
climb, followed by a steep descent. I took all day for the journey of
nine miles. It necessitated a terrible effort. Fortunately, however,
the day was cool. Several times I was on the point of fainting, and was
obliged to lie down. Strangely enough, it was the descent that I found
more distressing than the climb. The tendons just above my knees had
become slackened through weakness, and refused to act as a brake. I
shall never forget that walk.

The business was a general one in the most comprehensive sense of the
term. We sold groceries, drapery, hardware, butcher's meat, bread, and
strong drink. The building was a large one of galvanized iron. It stood
on one side of the road, Mr. Shepperd's dwelling-house was on the
other. The store was overrun with rats. I had to sleep on the counter,
and the beastly vermin ran squeaking over the premises all night long.
Often they awoke me by running across my face. I dreaded those rats
more than ever I did the lions hi the Low Country.

A friend, hearing of my plight, commandeered a cat at Mac Mac, and
brought it to me in a bag late one Saturday night. That Eastern
potentate we all have read of in our childhood was not more grateful to
Dick Whittington than I was to this benefactor. The shop was closed at
11 p.m., so, after shutting every place of exit, I let the cat out of
the bag. Although very wild and fierce, after the long imprisonment and
the rough journey, it soon settled down to work.

That night was one of great enjoyment both to the cat and to myself. I
lay awake for hours listening to this good angel preying on the Hosts
of Midian which had so grievously tormented me. Next morning rats lay
dead all over the shop, each with its head bitten off. The cat showed
signs of scandalous repletion, but it, nevertheless, fought the good
fight all through Sunday. It came up at my call to be stroked as though
I had known it from kittenhood. It never made the least attempt to
escape. Soon there was not a rat or a mouse on the premises.

Commerce never attracted me. At the store of Mr. James I thoroughly
hated my work. Mr. Shepperd, the butcher, the baker, and I formed the
staff. The butcher and baker, respectively, killed and baked by night,
and sold the products of their skill by day. I was principally
responsible for the grocery and hardware branches. But I could never
wrap up a pound of sugar neatly, however hard I might try; and the
entries I made in the books of the firm would, I am sure, have puzzled
the best actuary. Although a good deal of merchandise passed through my
hands, I fear I must have done the business a lot of harm, for there
were many complaints on the part of customers as to the manner in which
their orders were executed.

I well remember the case of a man who came very late one Saturday night
to purchase a pair of boots. The foot-gear then affected by the digger
was enormously heavy and had heel-plates almost as thick as horseshoes.
The boots were joined in pairs by pieces of string, and hung by these
on nails stuck in the rafters, the latter being about twelve feet above
the floor. When a pair had to be lifted down, a long bamboo, with a
spike at right angles to the end, was placed under the string.

This particular customer was difficult to fit; pair after pair was
hooked down, but none were just what he wanted. As bad luck would have
it, he happened to look up as I was Endeavoring to get hold of a
particularly large pair which were hanging just over his head. The
connecting string broke, and one of the boots, iron heel-plate
downwards, caught him across the bridge of the nose and cut him to the
bone. For this purely accidental occurrence I was severely blamed, yet
I never could see that I was at fault.

Tom Simpson, the butcher, was a character in his way. He was a
middle-sized, wiry, foxy-colored man, with a squeaky voice. His habits
were retiring, and his manner was shy. He was, in fact, about the last
man one would have thought capable of "putting up" a fight. However,
a somewhat wide experience has taught me that appearances in this
connection are apt to be deceitful; the quiet, unassuming man is very
often a dangerous customer.

One Sunday afternoon Simpson and I were taking a stroll together. We
met Wolff, who had been my mate at "The Reef." Wolff was a man with the
appearance of enormous strength, but he was slow in movement and
muscle-bound. He very seldom touched alcohol, and the slightest
indulgence made him quarrelsome.

Wolff stopped me, and we had a conversation, about nothing in
particular. Simpson was in a hurry to get back to the scene of his
work, so he asked me if I were going on with him. Wolff, who evidently
had been drinking although he was by no means intoxicated resented
this, and made use of some very insulting language. Simpson made no
reply, so Wolff gave him a hard slap across the face. Simpson retreated
a few steps, rolled up his sleeves, and stood in an attitude of
defense. Wolff rushed at him like a furious bull, and I began to wonder
as to where I would be able to borrow a wheelbarrow for the purpose of
taking home the Simpson remains.

Then followed a most astounding spectacle. For a few minutes Simpson
acted strictly on the defensive, retreating before his antagonist and
guarding himself from the sledge-hammer blows. I noticed that he was
very smart on his feet always a good sign in a boxing-match and that he
was cunningly drawing Wolff uphill after him. Wolff began to breathe
hard and to perspire; I felt that the barrow might not be wanted after
all.

Suddenly Simpson's tactics changed; he got in over Wolff's guard and,
in as many seconds, planted six terrible blows on the latter's face.
With both eyes closed, his nose streaming blood, and his lips badly
tattered, Wolff collapsed a melancholy object-lesson of the truth of
the preacher's text: "The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to
the strong."

About four weeks brought my commercial career to a close. The manager
and I parted good friends, but he made no secret of his satisfaction at
getting rid of me. I was as unskillful in the matter of tying up
parcels at the end of my term of service as I was at the beginning. But
I had been of some use in the matter of clearing the store of rats. The
cat and I had become very good friends; it was quite a wrench parting
with that devoted animal. If the progeny, which were expected to arrive
soon after I left, only inherited the keenness and skill of their
mother, there ought not to have been a rat left, a year afterwards, in
the Northern Transvaal.

279

Reminiscences of a

Tom Simpson and his David-like victory over Goliath-Wolff reminds me of
another man who was very skilful in the use of his hands. He went by
the name of Saulez. I know his real name, but will not mention it,
although I am absolutely convinced that its concealment was not due to
any unworthy cause. Saulez was young, very slightly built, fair-haired,
and almost effeminate in appearance. But he was the wickedest and most
wonderful fighter I have ever seen floor a bully. Although he
thoroughly enjoyed using his fists, he never sought a quarrel. There
were four men in the creek who were always spoiling for a fight. They
were rather dreaded, for on Saturday afternoons they used to go from
bar to bar, looking for an excuse to thrash somebody. In the natural
course of events Saulez met them, and a fight or rather a series of
fights was the result. He thrashed them soundly in detail without
getting so much as a scratch.

A couple of weeks afterwards, three of the four laid in wait for Saulez
and tackled him collectively. He again thrashed them, and with the
greatest ease.

On another occasion Saulez struck a man by mistake. He immediately
apologized, but the man refused to be placated. Saulez then offered to
allow the aggrieved party to strike him, promising not to return the
blow. But there was a condition attached: if the man took advantage of
the offer Saulez would afterwards "go for" him. The man, who was
powerfully built, thought he had the game in his hands, so he hauled
off and struck Saulez a terrible blow between the eyes. But he soon had
cause to regret his action, for he got a most severe thrashing.

I once saw a very smart thing done by an old Australian digger named
Gardiner. He was the one after whom "Gardiner's Point," just below the
Middle Camp, was named. One afternoon he appeared at the Lower Camp
with a barrow, a pick, a shovel, a pan, and four pegs. The latter he
gravely hammered into the ground, enclosing a square with sides of a
hundred and fifty feet. In the middle of this stood the local branch of
the Natal Bank. Gardiner then entered the bank and gave notice to the
manager to remove the building, as the site was required for mining
purposes. This proceeding was strictly in accordance with the Mining
Law. The person giving notice in such a case would, of course, be
obliged to pay the expenses of removal.

Before the manager had time to recover from his surprise, Gardiner went
to a spot on the right-hand side of the steps leading to the bank
entrance, loosened a couple of square yards of the surface ground,
shoveled it into his barrow, and trundled the latter down to the
nearest part of the creek. After a short time he returned and informed
the manager that, as he had changed his mind, the bank need not be
shifted. Then he pulled out his pegs. Here is the explanation: Most of
the creek gold was crusted with flakes of ironstone, so that when
nuggets were brought to the bank for sale, they used to be placed in a
large iron mortar and pounded. The pounding was done by a native always
at the spot from which Gardiner removed the surface ground. This
practice had been followed for a very long time, and Gardiner inferred
that small particles of gold must have escaped from time to time under
the loose cover of the mortar and through the central hole in which the
pestle worked. The amount of the "wash up" was three and a half ounces.

Quite a large number of the diggers were known by nicknames; in most
instances these quite superseded the original patronymics. Most men who
knew the Transvaal thirty years ago will remember "Count" Nelmapius.
The title was subsequently dropped, but for years it was used, and
apparently enjoyed, by the holder. It may be of interest if I describe
how the patent of nobility came to be conferred in this case. The thing
happened at Mac Mac, in a hostel known as "The Spotted Dog," which was
run by old Tommy Austin. Half a dozen diggers were lounging in the bar.
Quoth one "I hear a new chum's turned up today."

"So. What's his name?"

"Oh, I did hear it, but I've forgotten. It sounded like Nellapius, or
Nelampus, or something of that sort."

"I expect he's some foreigner," said old Austin; "let's call him the
Count."

Accordingly, Count he became, and Count he remained for many years. Up
to the middle eighties the papers invariably referred to this
individual as Count Nelmapius.

Many other nicknames come to mind as I think of those old days. "Yankee
Dan," "Boozer," "Texas Dan," and "Old Nelly" are specimens. The latter
was a strange character. He was seventy years of age, but was as active
as a cat and as strong as a buffalo. He was, except Sandow, probably
the strongest man I have ever seen. Bred from a navvy stock, Old Nelly
had wandered over the world for many years, from one mining camp to
another. He invariably got drunk on Saturdays, and, whenever he could
afford it, on other days as well. For some reason, which I could never
fathom, this strange being took a fancy to me, and used to inflict on
me long homilies on the dangers to which youth was exposed. He
continually urged me never to get drunk on anything but beer. When I
suggested the application of his principles to himself, he would say
"Ah! lad, but oi'm different."

Whenever he had money in hand Old Nelly would spend it in drink. I once
asked him how long he had been doing this sort of thing. His reply was
"All me loife, lad, all me loife."

I left the James Emporium with about 2 in my pocket. I was still too
weak to be able to earn wages; ague used to recur regularly every
fortnight. So I decided to go down and "fossick" among the Blyde River
terraces. Here was "a poor man's lead," out of which one could make
about a pound a week by working hard. By working easily I thought I
might be able to earn about half that sum. This would be enough to keep
body and soul together. So I spent most of my 2 in buying a
wheelbarrow, and in this I trundled down more than half a ton of wash
every day to the rapid in which my sluice box was fixed. I managed to
earn about two shillings per day.

One afternoon I saw several diggers going over to one of the terraces,
where a man I knew named Charlie Brown was working in a shallow gully.
I saw that a "rush" was in progress, so joined in. The gully was short;
it contained but seven claims in all. As I got my pegs in at one end of
a claim, another digger was putting his in at the corresponding corner
opposite. There was nothing to do but take up the claim in partnership.

My partner was a Swede, who went under an Irish name. I hated him from
the beginning, feeling that he was a rogue. We harrowed the stuff down
to old Lochhead's race, where we hired a water right. Our wash-up for
the first week was a couple of ounces of gold. I worked in the claim
while my partner attended to the sluice-box. He became more and more
offensive. Soon a friend of his came along and offered me 15 for my
share. I accepted the offer.

It is quite certain that I was swindled, that my partner had found much
more gold than he divided with me. The lead was both narrow and
shallow, so that the claim was soon worked out. The gold found in it
sold for over 1,400. "Charlie Brown's Gully" was one of the richest of
the smaller leads that were struck.

Immediately after leaving the Lower Camp, when proceeding up-creek, if
one looked squarely to the right, a high saddle between two mountain
peaks was visible. I had several times walked over this place and been
struck by its similarity to the formation at "The Reef," which I have
already described. On the day after I sold out at "Charlie Brown's
Gully" I again visited this saddle and took a "prospect." There was a
small spring some distance down the mountainside. I bagged about fifty
pounds of wash, carried it down to the spring, and panned it out. The
result was most encouraging; I found several small nuggets of rough
gold.

Reaching the top of the saddle involved a breathless climb. There was
no water in its vicinity nearer than the little spring I have
mentioned. This was a mere trickle at the base of a big rock. However,
by "puddling" I managed to make a small dam which would at night
collect enough water to admit of a limited amount of panning or
cradling by day.

For several consecutive days I ascended the mountain. The wash, which
consisted of rough quartz pebbles mixed with earth, was about nine
inches deep; it lay on a soft slate bottom. The wind blew hard and the
wash was dry, so I lifted shovelful after shovelful of the latter as
high as I could and let it trickle slowly down. The object of this was
to winnow out as much of the sand as possible. After picking out nearly
all the pebbles, I placed about forty pounds' weight of the residue in
the gunny bag and humped it down to the spring. Load after load I
carried down. It was then too late to do any panning, so I stumbled
down the mountain side in the gathering gloom.

Next morning I recommenced my humping. Early in the afternoon I panned
out all I had carried down. I found nearly half a pennyweight of gold
in the heel of the dish. This was a splendid prospect. It was evident
that the ground was rich. On the following days I took a prospect from
a different spot on the saddle, with a similar result. I should,
perhaps, explain that the finding of "rough" gold in a new place is
always an event of considerable significance. Fine gold, or, as it is
called, "color," does not count; it is to be found everywhere.

Here, then, was payable gold; that is to say, it would have been
payable had there been water in the neighborhood. The prospect I had
taken was an extremely rich one. What was to be done? After long
consideration I decided to excavate a reservoir on the hillside in the
vicinity of the deposit, and trust to its being filled with rain. The
month was October; thunderstorms were due. So far, however, the season
had been exceptionally dry.

With the assistance of a couple of boys, hired for the purpose, I moved
my tent and other belongings up to the saddle. My commissariat
arrangements were simple mealie-meal and sugar, being all I required in
the way of food. Bush tea grew all over the mountain; I could pluck
sackfuls of it within fifty feet of my tent.

I marked out the site for my reservoir just below the gravel deposit,
at a spot where the fall of the hillside was about one in fifteen. Then
I sank an approximately level trench, the upper end to be flush with
the bottom of the reservoir, and the lower running out to the surface
of the ground. In this I placed a long wooden box which was open at the
lower end, and had a small flood-gate working in a vertical slide at
the other.

I then excavated my reservoir, working longer hours than I have at any
other time. When completed it was thirty-five feet long, ten broad, and
four deep; but of course the holding capacity was much greater than
these dimensions would imply, owing to the excavated ground being
banked on the lower side, thus forming a dam wall.

I was quite alone, but I seldom felt lonely. I worked so hard that I
slept soundly from the moment I finished supper until day broke.
Sometimes I was so weary that I would fall asleep as I sat, with a
half-consumed plate of porridge resting on my outstretched legs, and
would wake up at dawn in this position.

The rains were overdue, but at first I did not mind this, because dry
ground is easier to lift than wet, and I was anxious to have my
reservoir completed before the heavy thunderstorms set in. At length
the work was finished, so I set my sluice-box in position below the
vent. Then I spent some days in opening out shallow trenches from the
dam along the sides of the mountains to left and right, so as to catch
the storm water.

But the rain still held off; an occasional thunderstorm would trail
over the ranges, but none came to the saddle. Sometimes it was as
though an invisible hand held them back; I had more than once seen a
rain cloud heading straight for the saddle, only to swerve to right or
left, and pass sometimes within a few hundred yards of it.

I loosened quantities of wash, and harrowed it to the sides of the
trench in which my sluice box lay embedded. I computed, taking the
prospect I had as my basis, that there was upwards of two hundred
pounds' worth of gold in those two heaps.

Having now come literally to the end of my resources, I again started
carrying down stuff to the little spring and there panning it out. But
the spring was failing on account of the drought, and the little
puddled dam hardly collected enough water during the night to admit of
panning. The result of a fortnight's unspeakably hard work was about
four shillings' worth of gold. The trickle of water diminished daily,
until the spring yielded barely enough for my drinking. Then my boots
began to wear out under the strain of clambering up and down the steep,
rocky path. So I plied my barrow barefoot, only using my boots when I
went down to the spring for my daily supply of drinking-water.

Few (excluding, of course, those suffering from actual thirst) have
ever longed for rain as I did. But the sky remained pitiless, and from
my mountain eyry I could see the valley bottoms growing sere and
yellow. Then I suddenly turned against my work; for a few days despair
and I tented together. I lost heart, for that Fate seemed to have
declared against me. During previous seasons I had seen torrents
foaming down the gorge from the saddle; the mountain tops between which
it lay had been the favorite haunts of thunderstorms. It was now late
in December, and not a drop of rain had fallen. When I look back at
myself then, from where I now am, I seem a very pathetic figure.

On Christmas Eve I struck my tent, packed my swag, and descended the
mountain. The spot at which I expended so much useless labor has since
become well-known as the Theta Mine, one of the best gold producers
belonging to the Transvaal Gold Mining Estates Company.

Within a few days I unexpectedly became possessed of about 10. But I
was at the end of my tether in the matter of mining. I made up my mind
to leave the goldfields; to return to the old Cape Colony, via Natal,
as a tramp.

So in the afternoon of the 3rd of January, 1876, I climbed up the long
and steep mountain out of the valley of the Blyde River, along the very
pathway by which "Artful Joe" and I had descended with our hearts full
of hope. My dreams of affluence had eventuated in nothing; my hard work
had been thrown away. Three times had fortune tantalized me by placing
rich gifts almost within my reach and then snatching them from my
outstretched hand.

When I reached the rocky summit I threw my heavy swag to the ground and
gazed back with dimming eyes. A lump rose in my throat. It had, after
all, been a man's life that I had led. I had made many friends and but
few enemies.

As I gazed, the sun was low behind me, and the immense valley at my
feet was filled with gloom. Deepening purple shadows were stealing up
Pilgrim's Creek in a slow brimming flood. Through this the scattered
tents gleamed white, here and there a tiny sparklet showed where some
digger was preparing his evening meal. . . . I knew the occupants of
these tents; with some I had shared danger, with others toil.

I was loath to leave them all. One last look and the scene was
obliterated by a sudden gush of tears.

Then I once more humped my swag and started on my long journey through
the cool night, under the inscrutable stars.

CHAPTER XII

On the road--Heavy rain--Mosquitoes--Natal--Thunderstorms--A terrible night
Maritzburg--My cash runs out--A halcyon day--Hospitality--D'Urban--Failure
to get work--The Fighting Blacksmith and the eccentric old gentleman
Narrow escape of the latter--East London--Experiences in a surfboat--A
Perilous venture--I enter the Civil Service--Further reminiscences
deferred--Au revoir.

My swag was heavy, but my frame was tough. It was early in the forenoon
of the following day when I reached Lydenburg. Having had to purchase
boots, socks, flannel shirts, and a waterproof, more than half of my 10
had melted away; it would be necessary, therefore, to exercise the
strictest economy.

From Lydenburg and through the Eastern Transvaal I was fortunate in
finding wagons going Natalwards on which I could load my swag. Once or
twice I got a lift myself but this I was not particularly anxious for.
I had my small Low Country tent with me. For its capacity this was the
lightest thing of the kind I have ever seen. It weighed with poles,
pegs, and whipcord guys about six pounds. Its height was two feet six
inches; its poles were of bamboo which had been split in two and
rejoined, the split pieces being relatively reversed. Its pegs were
made of a very hard but comparatively light wood which I had found in
one of the forests of the Blyde River Valley.

When about half-way to the Natal border I encountered heavy rain.
One-tenth of the thunderstorms that broke over my luckless head would,
had they but visited the mountain saddle a couple of weeks previously,
have made an independent man of me. This was quite typical of my luck.

Mosquitoes were a terrible plague in the Transvaal. I shall never
forget my experiences one night close to the source of the Vaal River.
The sun was hardly down before the tormentors came out in myriads. They
seemed to thrive on smoke; at all events they were less incommoded by
it than I was. I closed my tent up tightly and placed some live embers
inside. On these I laid some tobacco and damp grass, at the same time
pulling at my pipe as furiously as I could. 'But all was in vain; the
wretched insects crowded in as though they enjoyed the dense reek.

Although dead tired after an exceptionally fatiguing day, I struck the
tent, repacked my swag, and tramped on until morning. Then I left the
road and made for a kopje about a mile away, on which were some very
large rocks. I flung myself down under a ledge, and was fast asleep
almost before I reached a recumbent position. It was late in the
afternoon when I was awakened by the heat of the sun. Then, after a
hearty meal of askoek and tea, I tramped on again until another morning
broke.

I passed Laing's Nek and Majuba Hill, the slopes of which were destined
within a few years to flow with the blood of brave men, and to be the
scene of feats of arms which startled the world, and, in a certain
respect, revolutionized warfare. But it was water that was there
flowing on the day I passed, for the whole range was lashed by a
succession of furious thunder storms.

From Newcastle onward I adopted a different system one which enabled me
to travel much more quickly. At Newcastle I went to the Resident
Magistrate's office, and through the police secured the services of a
strong native to act as carrier of my swag as far as Ladysmith. I left
ten shillings the amount of remuneration agreed upon with the Chief
Constable, to be drawn when the native returned with a note from me
certifying that he had done his duty. It was a wonderful relief to be
free from the straps which had galled my shoulders for so long. The
distance to Ladysmith is, I think, about a hundred miles. We covered it
easily in three nights.

At Ladysmith I disposed of my tent for ten shillings, which was less
than a quarter of its value. But my money, was rapidly running out; the
heavy rains had on several occasions driven me to ask for shelter, and
this always meant spending money. At Ladysmith I engaged another native
to accompany me to Maritzburg. This was necessary; had I attempted to
travel alone I should certainly have lost my way.

The heat for it was now midsummer was extremely trying. I accordingly
made it my rule to travel by night, trusting to being able to get a
sheltered place wherein to sleep by day. This kind of accommodation
which I was usually fortunate in being able to secure did not cost
anything. When I bought food at a farmhouse I would usually ask to be
allowed to lie down in one of the sheds.

The thunderstorms were a serious embarrassment. In the comparatively
flat Transvaal they did not matter so much, but among the convoluted
hills which are such a salient feature of the Natal landscape, some
kloof which ordinarily held a mere rivulet was apt to be suddenly
filled by, a roaring torrent. Occasionally I was hung up for hours at a
time by such obstacles.

At a small village, the name of which I forget, but which must have
been about forty miles from Maritzburg on the Ladysmith side, I was
detained for two days by a cold, drenching rain. I was forced to take
refuge in the hotel. Here the cost of accommodation for myself and my
bearer depleted my capital almost to vanishing-point.

The weather cleared, and I made another start, but the condition of the
roads was such that I was unable to travel at more than half my usual
rate. Next day, just after I crossed the Umgeni River, the rain came
down again. I intended to get to Maritzburg that night, but was only
able to reach the heights from which that town is visible. We entered
the forest on the left-hand side of the road and camped. After enormous
difficulty we managed to kindle a fire and make some tea. There was
plenty of dead wood lying about, so we made a roaring blaze and sat as
close to it as we could. That night was a miserable one; the rain never
ceased for a moment, so sleep was quite out of the question.

It was still raining when we started next morning. We reached
Maritzburg after a tramp of a couple of hours. I went to an hotel on
the market square, kept by a man named King. He promptly refused to
take me in; this did not surprise me in the least, for I must have been
a sorry object. However, on my explaining the situation and producing
my few remaining shillings, the proprietor relented so far as to let me
have some food and allow me to sleep in a forage store. He nevertheless
insisted on taking away my pipe, tobacco, and matches. He wanted to
lock me in, but this I would not stand. I slept warm and dry, at least,
I was dry when I awoke next morning.

In the afternoon the rain ceased, so I again set out. My capital was
now reduced to one and ninepence. Just before sundown I called at a
farmhouse a few hundred yards from the road and asked for work. Here I
was kindly entertained, and given a corner of an outhouse wherein to
sleep, and some bags and straw wherewith to make a bed. But I insisted
on paying for my entertainment by working. Before darkness fell I
mended a fowl house, and I got up early in the morning and chopped a
lot of firewood.

After a hearty breakfast of delicious bread, butter, and milk I made
another start. But that day I loitered. The sky was bright, the sun
shone mildly, the wind was warm and caressing. I wandered slowly along,
enjoying the incomparable scenery, and feeling that the world, which
had hitherto shown me its rough side, was not such a bad place after
all. I began seriously to regard the universe from the standpoint of a
professional tramp to realize that there is something to be said for
the philosophy of the unmitigated vagrant.

At an especially enticing spot I turned out of the road and strolled
for a while along the bank of a stream. I stripped and plunged into a
swirling pool. Then I washed my entire wardrobe and spread it out on
the grass to dry. I lit my pipe, laid myself naked under an erythrina
tree, and praised the gods for the gift of life.

When my clothes were sufficiently dry I dressed and went on. It was now
fairly late in the afternoon. I caught sight of another farmhouse, so
I went to it. The men-folk were away, but a dear old lady of ample
proportions and kindly countenance was standing in her garden mourning
the damage wrought therein by the heavy weather of the past week. I
asked for a spade and a rake; within little more than an hour I had
vastly improved things. Vegetables and flowers, which grew side by side
in an eccentric jumble, had been flattened out by the rain into a
wallow of mud. I obtained the cover of a packing-case; this I split up,
and a judicious use of the fragments, together with some string, soon
showed that little irreparable damage had been done.

Two small children, a boy and a girl they were grandchildren of the old
lady made my task entertaining by virtue of their quaint and original
talk. However, they rather embarrassed me by bringing quantities of
biscuits and coffee, being distressed when I was unable to consume all.
At dusk the proprietor of the farm, with his wife and a baby, returned
in a cart. They warmly seconded the old lady's invitation for me to
stay over the night. So I slept in a real bed an experience I had not
enjoyed for years. I hope that kindly roof-tree still stands firm, and
that the little children have not alone prospered, but taken after
their immediate forbears.

Next morning I started very early, for I felt I had dawdled enough. I
passed down the long, lovely Intshanga Ridge, and must have walked
well, for I reached Pine Town fairly early in the afternoon. Here I met
a man whose name I have forgotten; he also was about to walk to
D'Urban. We did not, however, go together, for the reason that I had
made up my mind to go by a direct route over the Berea, whilst he had
some special reason for taking a more round-about course.

I passed a number of coolie huts, each standing in a little pineapple
patch. I spent ninepence of my capital in the purchase of a dozen
pines, getting three separate lots of four at three-pence per lot. It
was late in the afternoon when I reached D'Urban. The date was the 27th
of January, so I had spent twenty four days on the road. Considering
the weather I had encountered, I had not done so badly. Next morning I
read in a newspaper that the man with whom I had foregathered on the
previous day had died from the effects of the bite of a mamba; the
reptile had attacked him as he was walking through the bush close to
the town.

I knew two men at D'Urban. One was Mr. Jack Ellis, at present of the
firm of Dyer and Dyer, East London. The other was a man named Sims, who
had been known on the diamond-fields as "The Fighting Blacksmith." He
was of small stature, but possessed great strength, and was skilled in
the use of his fists. Mr. Ellis was in those days not by any means the
prosperous merchant he is today. Nevertheless he gave me what
assistance he could, and thus earned a claim on my gratitude which I
shall not forget.

Sims was working at his trade, but was not making more than a bare
living. I walked from one end of D'Urban to the other looking for work,
but times were bad and employment correspondingly scarce. Besides, I
knew no trade but mining, and was utterly without such education as
would have fitted me for office employment.

Three dolorous weeks I spent at D'Urban. Once I got a job with a
roustabout gang ballasting a ship, but the wages were only two
shillings a day; besides, the job did not last. The problem for me to
solve was, how to get away to East London. Once there I would be with
my family. Every morning I would go to Sims's shop to see if he had
succeeded in getting me anything to do.

At length tidings of joy Sims thought he had secured for me a suitable
billet. Could I drive four horses in a cart, he asked? Well, I had
certainly driven a pair of mules in a Scotch cart with fair success and
I could, in a way, handle a team of oxen. But when Sims explained the
situation further, my heart sank. An eccentric old gentleman, lately
from England, had purchased a cart and four and wanted some one to
drive him to King William's Town. This meant traversing the Native
Territories, where, at that period, the present fine highways were not
in existence. In fact, the only roads were, as I happened to know, a
series of criss-cross tracks leading from one trading station to
another over an extremely mountainous country. And I had never driven
two much less four horses in my life.

However, beggars cannot be choosers; moreover, Sims appeared to
consider that I was unduly conscientious. He thought I should be able
to learn how to handle my team before starting. Besides, the practice I
would get in driving over the high-roads of Natal before reaching the
more difficult country ought to make me an efficient whip. There was
something in this idea, and if Sims and the old gentleman were prepared
to take the risks, why should not I? So a bargain was struck, and I was
provisionally hired. My remuneration was to be 5 for the trip, plus all
expenses while on the road.

But on nights I used to be harassed by doubts. Which was most likely to
be the result, I would ask myself, assassination or suicide? Most
probably both, conscience would shriek. However, Providence
occasionally interferes to protect the innocent; the old gentleman trod
on the edge of a step and sprained his ankle severely. Thus do
unspeakably great blessings sometimes come painfully disguised. That
eccentric old gentleman little knew that in twisting his ankle he was
saving his neck.

There was no hope of his immediate recovery. To an elderly person a
sprained ankle necessitates lying up for weeks. The steamer for East
London, the old Basuto, was due in a few days. I could not bear the
thought of hanging on any longer in idleness, so inquired as to where
the agency of the Union Line was to be found. Then I boldly presented
myself before Mr. Escombe, the agent, explained the plight I was in,
and asked him to let me have, on credit, a deck passage to East London.

Fortunately Mr. Escombe knew something of my people. He invited me to
sit down, and seemed interested when I told him something of my
adventures. He let me have the passage ticket on credit, I promising to
remit the price out of the first money I earned. So next day I embarked
on board the Basuto, and in the afternoon of the day following reached
my destination.

After a short visit to Breidbach, near King William's Town, where my
people were at that time staying, I returned to East London and entered
the service of the boating company. The work was not congenial. For one
thing, although sea sickness has never troubled me on board ship, I was
constantly ill when in a lighter. Moreover, the boatmen with whom I had
constantly to associate were unintermittently foul-mouthed and
blasphemous. I was not easily shocked; the men with whom I had for
years foregathered were much given to realism of speech, as well as to
picturesquely lurid verbal illustration. But this was different; the
language of these men was crammed with filth for filth's sake, and
flat, pointless profanity. I have no doubt that my inability to avoid
expressing disgust made them worse than they otherwise would have been.

It was my habit to get up at 2.30 a.m., breakfast on coffee and bread,
and then report myself at the wharf, where I was due at 3 a.m. About
half an hour later we would man a lighter, pick up a thick Manila rope
from the bottom of the river, lay it between the chocks, and haul out
across the bar to the roadstead where the ships were anchored. From the
main warp others branched off in various directions, and by means of
one of these we would get as close to the ship which we were
discharging as we could. Then the lighter would be towed alongside.

All going well, we were usually back at the wharf at 2.30 p.m. with the
boat loaded. But things did not invariably go well; the wind had a
habit of springing up suddenly, and the breakers 011 the bar would
follow suit. Under such circumstances we often had to cast off from the
vessel's side and anchor in a tumbling sea, with only a small portion
of the appointed cargo on board. Perhaps, if it were not considered too
dangerous, Captain Jackson might come out with the harbor tug and tow
us in; otherwise we ran the risk of having to remain all night on the
lighter.

The work was apt to be very dangerous indeed. It was nothing so very
unusual for a boat to capsize on the bar and for half the crew to be
drowned. Once only had I to swim for my life; on that occasion all in
the boat escaped. But a few weeks afterwards a lighter capsized under
almost similar circumstances, and either four or five of those on board
lost their lives.

My most striking experience in this connection happened one day towards
the end of my term of service with the boating company. We were
alongside a French vessel, the Notre Dame de la Garde, taking in boxes
of Gossage's blue mottled soap. Before we had received more than a
quarter of our appointed cargo, the wind and the sea rose suddenly
together. We had to cast off from the vessel, and in getting clear the
lighter shipped some water. Before we got the hatches fixed, a number
of the boxes had broken up, and the fragments, mixed with bars of soap,
were awash. It was about eight o'clock in the morning when we cast
loose and dropped our anchor.

The wind increased to a gale; this brought a bitterly cold rain. We
bobbed and curtsied at the end of our cable until about four in the
afternoon, listening to Gossage's products churning and lathering down
below. It grew colder and colder; we were wet to the skin and almost
numbed. A consultation was held, and it was unanimously decided that
the risk of drowning was preferable to the certainty of slowly
perishing to death; therefore we would make a dash for the harbor.

To use the warp was, of course, out of the question, so we rigged a
sail from the big hatchway tarpaulin. We lashed the hatch-battens
together in the form of a parallelogram, fastened the sail to this, and
stayed the structure by means of various devices. We slipped our cable
and made for the bar. Wind, tide, and sea were all with us; had the
tide been unfavorable, the attempt would have spelt almost certain
death.

There was more than a mile of open sea between where we had anchored
and the breakers. The port-office signals were against us, but what did
we care? When people on shore realized what we were attempting, they
came down by hundreds, in spite of the rain, and thronged the
breakwaters on either side of the harbor entrance.

We ran gallantly, straight before the wind. I never thought a lighter
could sail as ours did. As good luck would have it, we reached the
worst part of the bar just after one bad set of breakers had passed,
and before the arrival of the next. But there was no child's play in
the matter. We had one very tense moment; the boat was flung sideways
in the turmoil, and nearly got taken aback. However, a providential
buffet on the port bow gave us a set in the right direction; once more
our tarpaulin filled, and we drew slowly and laboriously out of the
area of danger. I looked back and saw the angry combers roaring after
us, as though enraged at our escape. As we ran into the harbor, the
people Who were watching cheered themselves hoarse.

Upwards of four months were spent at this purgatorial work. Then
release came unexpectedly. One day I got a letter from the Civil
Commissioner, Mr. Orpen, asking me to call at his office. I went, and
to my amazement he read me a telegram from Captain Mills, who was then
Under-Colonial Secretary, offering me the post of clerk on probation to
the Resident Magistrate of Tarka, with a salary of 120 per annum.

Were I now to be offered the Prime Ministership of the Union my
surprise would hardly be greater than it then was. Curiously enough I
was on the same day offered a post in a mercantile firm, that of Joseph
Walker & Sons, at a salary of 7 per month. But, for family reasons, the
difference of 3 per month was just then an important consideration, so
I accepted the first offer, a step I have ever since regretted.

I had grave doubts as to my ability to do the duties required of me.
While at East London I had worked every day at a copy-book, striving to
improve my handwriting, but my fingers were more at home with the
trigger and the pick than with the pen. Moreover, my spelling was
phonetic and wonderful. Although I knew most of Shakespeare's sonnets
by heart, I did not know a single rule of English grammar. This
ignorance has remained with me to the present day, but I cannot say I
feel it much of a handicap. However, there was no examination to pass,
and my chief would have to put up with my shortcomings for the present.
I had faced lions on the Lebomba and crocodiles in the Komati; why
should I quail before a mere magistrate?

It may be advisable to explain how my appointment came to be offered.
My father and the then Lord Carnarvon, who happened to be Colonial
Secretary, had been friends in the old days. Lord Carnarvon wrote to
Government House, Cape Town, asking that something might be done for
us. My father was beyond the age-limit; I, clearly, was not.
Responsible Government had arrived; nevertheless, a certain amount of
informal patronage was still occasionally exercised.

Thus it was that I, after a strange and varied apprenticeship in some
of the roughest of life's workshops, became cogged down as a little
wheel in that clumsy, expensive, and circumlocutory mill, which,
consuming much grist but producing little meal, is still believed to be
an indispensable adjunct to our civilization.

Here I must break off. But my reminiscences are by no means complete;
some day and I trust before very long they will be brought up to date.

Whether or not the supplementary volume will reach the printer's hands,
depends on how far the public becomes interested in the work of which I
am now writing the last words of the closing chapter.

After careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that so long
as the official collar galls my neck, I cannot adequately deal with the
period during which I have been a public servant; I would have to walk
too delicately. [I have since modified this decision.] For one of the
disadvantages of being in the public service lies in the circumstance
that it is impossible to speak or write of experiences gained therein,
without embarrassing reserve.

But the days of my retirement are rapidly drawing nigh; when they
arrive, and the collar drops, I shall have much to say about many
things, for my life as a public servant during six-and-thirty years has
been an interesting one. Most of it has been spent in places as far as
possible from centers where conventionality reigns.

My still unrecorded experiences include, inter alia, war, hunting, the
administration of native tribes in remote areas, rovings under special
commission in those waterless regions to the north-west through which
the boundary common to British and German territory runs and perhaps
most interesting of all, a microscopic study of human infusoria
inhabiting isolated and therefore stagnant towns and hamlets.

I intend to retire soon with a typewriting machine and some beehives,
to a little farm I have acquired in a sleepy locality on the south
coast. There I hope to be spared for some few years to develop the
economic products of the honey-bee, to meditate on the Universal
Postulate, and to watch, from afar, my children cultivating the
difficult fields of Experience. May their task be easier than mine has
been!

Having thus taken the public into my confidence, I will say

AU REVOIR.

L'ENVOI

As a pack of wolves is the hungry Past;
It hunts Man laden with hopes and fears;
Its bay swells loud with the hasting years,
Till the red fangs sink in his flank at last.

The bay grows louder, the flame ringed een
Glow with greed as the night sinks, black;
Swerve and double still o'er your track
The pitiless, questing nostrils lean.

Mark, O brothers, before I fall,
I fling this sheaf of script to your care;
Take and read it; I fain would share
My scanty gatherings with you all.

With all with the hunted, whose eyes search mine
In vain for the hint of a 'scaping clue;
With those still tranc'd, where the skies bedew
The half-op'd blossoms that round them shine.

Take my sheaf it was gleaned with toil
From fields now dimm'd in a long-sped day;
In a clime where naught but dim shadows stray
Yet its grain may sprout from a kindly soil.

UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.