At about dawn next morning Sibijaan came hammering on the door of my room. I jumped up and let him in. "Mzaan Bakoor, there is a messenger outside from Zombode," he announced. "He came in the night and would not wait any longer. He says he must see you now." I had the man in. He was one of the old "king's messengers," but without his distinguishing sign. His lean, hard body and muscular legs would have singled him out, though. "Nkoos, Lomwazi sends me to bring you a message," he said, with his hands outstretched in salute. "He says that Sebuza will be made king at the next new moon." Looking back, it seems to me that we must have made a peculiar tableau there in the bedroom dimly lighted by the coming sunrise. The savage, with his great shield, knob-kerrie, and assegai, and the white man in his pajamas! I will admit that the white man had his finger on the trigger of a little 44-caliber bulldog revolver during the first part of this interview. One does not take foolish chances in South Africa. I asked the messenger for further details about the coronation, but all I could learn was that Sebuza had been in the mountains undergoing sanctification for the last six weeks and would return to Lebombo before the new moon. Sibijaan took care of the Swazi and saw that he was fed and given a little drink. After which he took to the trail again, and I saw him fade into the distance at a dog-trot just about the time we were finishing breakfast. His news decided the argument of the night before. The oxen were inspanned, the mules also, and about noon we started off on our trek for Zombode. The expedition had been the talk of Ermelo for some time, and practically every white man and most of the kaffirs were on hand to cheer and give us a rousing send-off. Many of our friends walked with us until we crossed the little bridge and were lost in the willow-groves along the river trail. This first day the roads were excellent and we made the best speed of any day of the trip. Before night we had gone a full twenty miles, stopping at the fine farm of an old-fashioned Boer. Instead of camping in the open, as we had to do for practically all the rest of the expedition, we stopped with the farmer. I did this because I wanted my American associates to see how real Boers live. We had a regular Boer supper, consisting of grilled meats, such as chops, hearts, liver, kidneys, and Boer bacon; crushed mealies, rye bread, and coffee. There was an abundance of all this and it was cooked to the queen's taste. The twenty-mile trek, during which we walked every foot of the way, had given us wonderful appetites and we were able to do more than justice to the quantities of food set out.