Next came the problem of paying for the rights to take the pictures.
Money I had with me, and I was soon able to buy enough cows to make up
the required number. The gin, however, was not so easy. It is against
the law to bring gin into Swaziland, although the authorities did not
object to a few bottles being brought to the old queen. On Tuys's
advice, I arranged that the five hundred gallons be brought in through
Komatipoort, from Portuguese territory. This confession, I suppose,
will make me liable to arrest when I return to the Transvaal. To avoid
detection, the gallon jugs were each packed in bags of straw
surrounded by chaff, being carried over the border by native women.
They looked as though they were carrying corn, and the government
officials let them pass without suspicion.
After making the payment we set out for Ermelo. We had been about a
fortnight on our trip, and both Snyman and Biddy were anxious to get
back. We took the short-cut by way of Mbabane and made good time, the
roads being fairly hard.
We had one shock, however. When we reached the Masuto River we found
that the "flu" had visited there during our absence. First the Scotch
engineer had died and been buried by the Boer farmer who had given us
food; then the farmer had died and been put away by the young
storekeeper with the hunted eyes; and finally he had died and been
hidden in a shallow grave near his store by some passing strangers.
All three were gone, and this cast a gloom over our party, so that we
were glad to leave the spot.
The river had gone down and we were able to ford it without much
trouble, although Snyman had hard luck and fell out of the wagonette
into the only deep spot.
I remembered that there were several women at the house of the dead
farmer, so we went there to pay our respects and offer them any
assistance we could. The house was closed and they were all gone,
evidently to some of their relatives near Ermelo. We were about to
return to the wagonette when I thought I saw something stirring near
an orange-tree back of the house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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