Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

After leaving Honolulu, and until the 17th of September, we had
fairly good weather, and up to this date (a month away from San
Francisco) all the animals were in perfect condition. The duties of
horse veterinary and nurses were then sinecures. On the morning of
the 17th a heavy swell from E.N.E. and N.N.E. struck the ship and
made her roll considerably. This swell continued. The next day,
Monday, the 18th, the wind rose from S.S.E., and continued to
increase in force until it became a gale, blowing from S. and
S.S.E., with a big swell from S.S.W. and S.E. This rough sea was
extremely trying on the animals; as many as fifty would be thrown
from their feet at the same time, and for forty-eight hours I was
not able to spare a moment for sleep, and the greatest rest that any
man of my detachment had was six hours. I, at this time, sent a
written order to the captain of the ship to change the course of the
vessel to any direction that would give her the least roll.
According to this order, he changed the course to S.E. We were
driven several hundred miles out of our course. Wednesday morning
the wind abated; we were able to resume our course, and passed the
Ladrones, north of Saipan. Wednesday morning the storm began to
abate; Wednesday evening and night we were busy caring for the
injured and taking stock of our animals. I found two hundred and
thirty-three animals injured more or less severely; of these, six
(6) died. The greatest care was given to the injured, and they all
pulled through remarkably well.

Everything ran smoothly, fair winds and fair seas, until Saturday
night, September 30th. We arrived at the head of the island of Luzon
(Cape Engano). It was after dark--there was no light--the weather
looked threatening. The captain and I discussed the matter and
finally decided that it was not safe to try and go through this
passage on a stormy night without being able to locate any
landmarks. The captain was directed to cruise outside until
daylight. About twelve o’clock that night the wind started blowing
from N.N.W., gradually increasing into a gale; the vessel was headed
into the wind and sea and rode very smoothly until Sunday morning,
October 1st, when the wind began to shift, increasing in force, and
for the next two days continued changing direction. Until the storm
abated Tuesday morning, the wind was blowing from the S.E. The sea
raised by this circular wind was tremendous. From Saturday night at
twelve o’clock, for fifty-six hours, every man on board the vessel
worked like a Trojan. Animals were continually being thrown from
their feet, and the men worked getting them to their proper places.
As the storm increased, so increased the labour--the men, almost
exhausted, continuing their task. I cannot give them too much praise
for their utter disregard of danger, and the heroism they displayed
in trying to save their charges.

Monday morning, October 2nd, at five o’clock, the captain of the
ship gave orders to close the hatches to save the ship, and just
then a tremendous sea swept over the vessel, throwing from their
feet every animal on the port side of the ship and most of the
animals on the starboard side; the vessel continued to do sharp
rolling, so that these animals would shoot from one side of the deck
to the other. It was absolutely impossible to do anything for them;
some men had been injured, and I gave up the fight. I ordered every
man to a place of safety in the forecastle, cabins, and chart-room,
and we were forced to let the animals stay where they were.

Three hundred and sixty odd animals shifted from side to side of the
vessel, and it became too great a risk to make men face it when
nothing could be accomplished. When I knew the captain had ordered
the hatches closed (which I felt meant suffocation for those animals
still alive in the holds), I knew he would not take this step if
ingenuity or human skill could possibly avoid the danger. For a few
hours I had no confidence in or hope of saving even the vessel. The
wind was so strong that she was perfectly helpless; she would not
mind her helm though going at forced speed, but had to drift
helplessly in the direction the wind drove her.

As soon as it was possible to go upon deck, every effort was made to
rescue those animals still living. A few that were fortunately
thrown on top of the heap of mangled horses and mules were brought
out. Many died from their injuries. Six were saved, but I doubt if
they will be of any service for a long time to come.

It is my opinion, and also the opinion of everyone on board this
vessel, that had the weather continued as fair as it was up to
September 17th, the ship would have arrived in the port of Manila
without the loss of a single animal. As it was, every animal that
died on this trip did so from the effect of the storms encountered.

A detailed report and copy of the orders on which this vessel was
run, and such suggestions as I have been able to make from the
experience I had in these two storms, accompany this report.

I have the honour to remain,

Yours respectfully,

(Signed) J. P. O’NEIL.
Capt. 25th Infty., A.Q.M., U.S.A.

(Dated) Manila Bay, P.I., October 6th, 1899.

Major J. P. O’Neill, 30th Infantry, who was army quartermaster on the transport Siam in the latter part of 1899, is a passenger aboard the transport Sherman. Major O’Neill ran across Chief of Detectives Tailor yesterday, both having been aboard the Siam on her memorable trip to Manila in October, 1899, when 370 out of the 373 horses and mules aboard were killed during a four days’ typhoon off the coast of Luzon. That trip of the Siam was the most disastrous in the transport service history and the vessel barely weathered the storm. On that trip Captain O’Neill was called upon to put down two mutinies among the Austrian fire crew, and at one time he threatened to string up the ringleader by the thumbs. The English Chief Engineer became unbalanced during the storm and had to be placed in irons by O’Neill. The Siam arrived at Manila a perfect charnelship. During the Japan-Russo war the Siam was captured by the Japanese while carrying coal to Vladivostok and was sold back to the Austrian company through the prize court.]

A State Trial in Montenegro

BY MRS. HERBERT VIVIAN.

The recent State trial for high treason at Cetinje was a most
sensational affair, the prisoners--many of them ex-Ministers and
politicians of high rank being accused of a conspiracy to destroy
the Montenegrin Royal Family root and branch. Mrs. Vivian was the
only woman present, and her photographs were the only ones taken.
Her description of the trial, with its picturesque environment and
mediæval atmosphere, will be found extremely interesting.

I feel quite spoilt for home-made pageants or foreign processions after assisting at the sensational State trial for high treason in Montenegro--a sight which transports one at once into mediæval times again. The ordinary person may imagine that it is quite an everyday affair, and that conspirators grow like blackberries on the hedges of Montenegro, but then the ordinary person knows little about foreign lands apart from Norway, Switzerland, or Italy, and less than nothing about the Near East. When I was in Montenegro my family was besieged with inquiries after my safety and hopes that I might escape unhurt from the brigands and bandits who must infest the Black Mountains; whereas in Montenegro the remark that greeted me was that it was very brave of me to pass through so many lands on the way to the principality, but that now I was there all was well.

I think it is time, therefore, to explain that the trial, far from being an everyday affair, was something unheard-of in a land where everyone, though, of course, warring against the fiery Albanian and enjoying a certain amount of friendly sparring with neighbours, adores his beloved Prince and looks on him as chieftain, father, and general Providence all rolled into one.

_From a Photograph._]

Indeed, Prince Nicholas must be counted among the lucky ones of this earth. He has not only been blessed with talents and tact above those bestowed on the ordinary man, but he has also been watched over by the gods and allotted more luck than falls to the lot of most mortals. Like King Edward, he is popular wherever he goes, and he has a genius for statecraft. When he came to the throne forty years ago Montenegro was absolutely unknown; probably barely one in a hundred of educated people knew that such a place was to be found in the atlas. During those forty years the Prince has fought successful wars against the Turk, more than doubled his territory, married his daughters to some of the greatest _partis_ in Europe, and made the name Montenegro a household word for valiant men and deeds of daring.

But Prince Nicholas, unluckily for himself, married his eldest daughter to a certain Prince Peter Karageorgevitch. This lady died many years ago, and in the course of time Prince Peter was called from his haunts in Switzerland to take the Crown of Servia from the hands of the regicides. Whether he knew anything of their evil plans beforehand need not be discussed here; but, at any rate, ever since the day he entered Belgrade he has been their tool, and as wax in the hands of the ringleaders. Nevertheless, people were astonished when it was discovered last October that bombs were being smuggled over the Turkish frontier, coming from Servia. A plot was discovered to blow up the whole of the Montenegrin Royal House--not only the Prince and his two sons, but the Princess and her two daughters, her daughters-in-law, and even the poor little grandchildren, so that the entire family might be exterminated root and branch!

_From a Photograph._]

The affair was engineered in Belgrade, and the bombs were manufactured by a Servian officer at the State Arsenal of Kragujevats. It was also rumoured by those who might be expected to know that the dreams of the blood-stained authorities in Belgrade are to unite Montenegro, a Slav nation speaking the Servian language, with Servia, and the idea was that if there were no member of the House of Petrovitch left alive the throne might possibly fall to the share of a Prince Karageorgevitch, one of the sons of Prince Nicholas’s eldest daughter.

The Crown Prince George of Servia is not exactly one’s ideal of a model ruler. This young gentleman, whose hobby is said to be to bury cats in the ground up to their necks and then stamp them to death, is more one’s idea of a youthful Nero or Caligula, and Heaven help the nation delivered over to his tender mercies. Before the trial, however, rumours were all that one heard; so everyone was on tiptoe with expectation, wondering what sensational revelations would come to light.

By great good luck we happened to arrive in Montenegro just a week before the trial began. We steamed in one of the excellent boats of the Austrian Lloyd past the grey mountains of Istria and through the wonderful fjords of the Bocche di Cattaro till we cast anchor under the peak of Lovcen. In a victoria drawn by two tough little Dalmatian horses we climbed the mountain side in zigzags, persevering up the vast rocky wall till we found ourselves some four thousand feet above the sea below. I have neither time nor words to describe the view, a task which needs the pen of a poet like Prince Nicholas himself, but must dash on, like our game little horses, to Cetinje, down the steep sides of silver mountains, which gleam in the tropical sun without a vestige of green to relieve their Quaker-like hues.

_From a Photograph._]

As a town Cetinje is not thrilling, but it lies in a lovely neighbourhood and is peopled with perhaps the most picturesque race in the world. For the Montenegrins are not only the most magnificent specimens of humanity in point of size, clad in gorgeous raiment which, I feel sure, Solomon in all his glory could not have beaten, but they have behind them a past which can scarcely be beaten by any fighting race on earth.

Some five hundred years ago the Turks defeated all South-Eastern Europe in the Battle of Kossovo, and Servia and Bulgaria entirely, and Roumania to a certain extent, fell under the sway of the Ottomans. Then, the story goes, the bravest and the noblest of those lands, disdaining to live beneath the banner of the Crescent, withdrew to the eyries of the Black Mountains, where, thanks partly to their valour and partly to the favourable position of the land (which is a natural fortress), they defied the Turks. They never intermarried with the inferior races, and so have preserved the magnificent physique and extraordinary distinction of bearing which strikes every stranger who visits Tsernagora. Indeed, if it comes to a question as to who should be the dominant race in Servia and Montenegro, it seems more fit that Servia should be taken under the wing of a race which has done deeds all these centuries instead of merely talking.

We found at the hotel that half the newspapers of the Near East and Vienna were sending correspondents, and we therefore felt ourselves lucky in getting a room in the front looking down the main street, where everything in Cetinje happens, and where, towards sundown, when the siesta is over and the air becomes cool and pleasant, you may find anyone you want to see. Half-way down we saw a crowd of people in national costume (for in Cetinje, thanks to the Prince’s influence, it is universally worn) standing outside a house. “They are waiting to try and get a seat in court to-morrow,” I was told, “but only a score or so will succeed, for there are thirty-two prisoners, each one guarded by a soldier, besides all these journalists to be made room for.”

Through the good offices of the Prince’s secretary, to whom His Highness had confided us, we were provided with tickets, which was lucky for us, for when we arrived within sight of the court-house we found a cordon of soldiers guarding it. We were stopped and our passes examined before we were allowed to proceed. When we reached our destination, a long, low, grey stone building with the Montenegrin two-headed eagle over the door, an officer took us in hand and led us with ceremony to our places. I looked round me with great satisfaction from my red velvet arm-chair in the ranks of the Diplomatic Corps. Not only was I the only English person there save one, but I was the only woman in the whole place.

It was the most thrilling trial I have ever witnessed. At the top of the room, behind a long table beneath the picture of Prince Nicholas, sat the nine judges, all save one in the most gorgeous national costume: long coats of pale green cloth, heavily braided, with waistcoats of vivid carnation red, crossing over to one side and covered with beautiful gold embroidery. Baggy breeches of ultramarine blue and smart top-boots continued the gay effect, which was completed by a bulky sash of striped and gold silk wound round the waist, and containing an assortment of daggers and revolvers; for a good Montenegrin would as soon think of coming out without them as an Englishman without his collar.

In the middle sat the President, a person of extreme distinction and great dignity, who conducted the proceedings in an irreproachable manner. A small table stood before him, on which a pair of high tapers were placed, and between them was a copy of the Gospels, bound in red velvet and gold metal-work, and a crucifix. On his left hand sat a Mohammedan judge, with red Turkish fez and simpler costume than that of the Montenegrins; and on his right the bombs were all set out on a little table as evidence, guarded by an immense soldier about six-foot-six in height and of a forbidding aspect. It gave one a certain creepy sensation to see, only a few feet away, enough of these infernal machines to send the whole of the court-house into the clouds, and to know that close by were thirty-two desperate men who would stick at no kind of devilry. The bombs were little square flasks of grey metal with screw tops, almost like the fittings of a common dressing-bag or luncheon hamper, and certainly did not betray by their appearance what terrible things they really were. For these particular bombs were manufactured in a very ingenious fashion, and were enough to make an Anarchist tear his hair with envy. At the foot of the table was the black bag in which the infernal machines had been smuggled over the frontier.

A story is told of the conspirator’s journey which brings a touch of comedy into the affair. When he passed through Austria he had the bag registered as luggage, for it was so heavy that he feared it might attract attention if placed in the rack. A mistake was made by the clerk and he was overcharged. The honest official discovered his mistake directly the train started, and telegraphed off to the junction to describe the man, giving orders that the money should be refunded. At the junction the conspirator was found, and the station-master came up to him to inquire if he had not registered a black bag. Overcome with terror and dismay, and thinking he was discovered, the man seized the bag and bolted, leaving the official greatly perturbed and convinced that he had to do with a madman.

The court-house itself was long, low, and white, with a blue ceiling and a boarded floor. A long table ran half-way down either side of the hall to accommodate the journalists, and half-a-dozen arm-chairs were arranged in a good position for the diplomatists. These were almost empty on the first day, and my next-door neighbour, a polite young Turkish attaché, considerately moved out of the way whenever he saw that I was trying to take a photograph. And, indeed, it was not the easiest task in the world to get pictures of the proceedings. The prisoners were a restless set of people, who fidgeted, sprang constantly to their feet, and interrupted the speakers in a very tantalizing way. As there was not very much light a fairly long exposure had to be given, and there were difficulties in propping the camera up satisfactorily and also in disguising my intentions as much as possible. However, I had the satisfaction of knowing that mine were the only photographs taken, for the local photographer who had been commissioned by the authorities to take some pictures declined to try, owing to the obstacles.

The thirty-two prisoners, guarded by soldiers on either side, occupied benches all down the centre of the hall. Some of them were in European dress, thus differing from the majority of Montenegrins. Amongst them were all sorts and conditions of men, from peasants to ex-Ministers of the Crown. It is not often one finds a former Prime Minister, four ex-Ministers, three high State officials, and several Deputies all in one trial for high treason. As a rule, the accused were puny, furtive-looking striplings, a contrast to their stalwart compatriots; but their imprisonment of several months may have had something to do with this. Many were students who had gone to Belgrade to complete their studies and had there imbibed Anarchistic and revolutionary principles. The judge showed great tact and firmness in dealing with them.

_From a Photograph._]

As the long indictment which contained all the particulars of the plot was being read out by the counsel for the Crown--a handsome man in full Montenegrin costume--first one prisoner and then another started from his seat, rudely interrupting and violently contradicting. A clamour then arose from the whole thirty-two. The judge expostulated, begged them to be reasonable, and finally touched a silver hand-bell. The soldiers pulled them down to their seats again, but seemed as gentle in their methods as policemen with Suffragettes. As names were mentioned now and again in the indictment, exclamations of derision and protest were heard from the prisoners. They next complained bitterly that they had no note-books or pencils with which to take down the points and prepare their defence, whereupon the President ordered that paper and pencils should be brought to them at once. The indictment was long, and it finally asked for the death penalty as punishment. At this loud clamours arose, and the excitement grew so intense that a nervous feeling communicated itself to the public. The President by this time despaired of keeping order, and directed that the prisoners should be taken back to their prisons. One alone remained, Raikovitch, the man who brought the bombs into Montenegro, and the principal prisoner.

Raikovitch was a rather good-looking young man, dark and sallow. He had a large, round nose, a round chin, and even his forehead seemed to bulge. But his black, beady eyes struck me as shifty, and he appeared somewhat ill at ease. In spite of his confident manner he would glance round at the pressmen’s table every few seconds to note what effect his defence was having on them. But he had an amazing fluency, and his story flowed on like a river. There was no bullying by Public Prosecutor or judges.

Every now and then the President, tapping his fingers with a pencil, would interrupt the prisoner with a short, sharp question, evidently very much to the point, and he pulled up the prisoner’s counsel very sharply on one occasion for attempting to prompt his client. Presently there was a small stir, for Raikovitch was heard to denounce Vukotic, the nephew of Princess Milena, Prince Nicholas’s wife, as having been in communication with and paid by the conspirators. No one seemed to know who would be accused next, and the Servian Minister, who was present, must have experienced feelings of uneasiness. Raikovitch was next led to the table to examine the black bag, to identify it as his luggage, and acknowledged that those were the bombs he had brought into the country. His defence lasted for the rest of the day.

_From a Photograph._]

Next morning, when the prisoners were brought back, the sitting was even more agitated. The ex-Deputy Chulavitch was accused. He leapt to his feet, and in a voice of thunder shouted that he had been betrayed--he had been sold! Later on, however, he acknowledged that he had received thirteen napoleons for his help in the plot. Various other prisoners were accused, but all had answers and excuses at first. Some said they acted on behalf of others. Others said they had taken no active part, but had only known of the conspiracy. They would confess one day, and the next flatly deny everything they had said before. Later on in the trial, however, they found means of communicating with each other, and arranged on a line of common action.

_From a Photograph._]

Few documents could be produced in evidence against the accused, but a great sensation was caused by the reading of a letter from a Montenegrin, now an officer in the Servian army, to his brother. In it he promised both moral and material support for the plot and enclosed a thousand francs from King Peter. At this there was profound silence in the court, and a deep impression was left on the minds of the public.

A student named Voivoditch then gave the details of the plot. He had brought bombs from Belgrade with the express intention of killing Prince Nicholas and Prince Mirko. It was arranged that various Government offices were to be set on fire and in the confusion bombs were to be thrown against the palace, a small building which would be easily destroyed. Then, acting on the lines of the Servian regicides, the Ministers and principal people in Cetinje were to be assassinated and their houses wrecked.

The trial lasted several weeks, for with fifty persons accused and thirty-two prisoners to examine and hear, things cannot be done in a moment. But the principal witness against the prisoners was a certain Nastitch, a Servian journalist from Serajevo. He brought the gravest charges against the Servian Government. As he had been present at the manufacture of the bombs he said that he was entitled to speak with some authority. Last year he was sent to Kragujevats State Arsenal by a Captain Nenadovitch, cousin of King Peter, who gave him a letter to the Commander from the Servian Crown Prince. In this letter the Prince begged the Commander to allow Nastitch to stay ten days in the arsenal whilst the bombs were being made. They were then given to him to be consigned to Captain Nenadovitch in Belgrade, who told him that they were to be employed in a patriotic enterprise. A little later he was informed that the police had sequestrated the bombs, as Pasitch, the Prime Minister, had been informed of his stay in Kragujevats.

Nastitch then began to perceive that some mischief was being hatched, and that Nenadovitch was trying to throw dust into his eyes. He put two and two together and got a shrewd suspicion of what was really up. So he crossed over to Semlin, in Hungary, from Belgrade, as no letters are safe from being opened by the Servian secret police, and communicated with Tomanovitch, Prime Minister of Montenegro. He asserted that he did not fear denials, since he had documents to prove the truth of what he said. He next produced specifications of the bombs, and then asked the judges to have those in their possession examined to see whether they were not identical. At the conclusion of his evidence Nastitch was applauded loudly by the public, and was cheered as he left the court.

There were several rather interesting little touches in the evidence of other prisoners. One was found to be sending secret messages to a friend written in microscopic handwriting under the postage-stamps of the letter. Under one was written: “Is it true that Stevo has confessed everything?” Stevo being Raikovitch.

Raikovitch was brought up a second time and confronted with various prisoners, who accused him of inventing the whole plot. He met every accusation with complete calm and cynicism. Indeed, it seemed impossible to disturb his sang-froid. He proclaimed aloud that he would laugh even when climbing the steps of the gallows. He was the type of the complete _poseur_, considering himself the centre of attraction, choosing his language with the utmost care, and throwing himself into appropriate attitudes. When asked if he was not a Socialist, he replied, “Of course I am a Socialist. I must confess, however, that I am not _absolutely_ sure what Socialism is!”

_From a Photograph._]

The ex-Prime Minister, Radovitch, was the most interesting of the villains, and was quite a story-book scoundrel. He had enjoyed the favour of the Prince, and had been Court Chamberlain for some years. It was expected that he would make a favourable impression on the public, for when he had come back from Paris to deliver himself up, arriving dramatically the very morning of the opening of the trial, he had been cheered all along the streets of Cetinje, and flowers had been thrown at his feet; but in court he cut a sorry figure indeed. For six weary hours he spoke unceasingly, and all the time about himself only! According to his own version he is the cleverest, the most capable of Montenegrins--in a word, he is the only patriot in the land. He alluded contemptuously to the judges, and cried theatrically to the President: “I am proud and happy to stand before you as defendant, for I would not change places with you, my Lord President!” He boasted of the Prince’s affection for him and openly betrayed that he expected to be let off easily.

The trial lasted over a month. This is no joke in a sweltering Montenegrin summer, and both judges and prisoners must have heaved sighs of relief when every witness was heard and the suspense was nearly over. Six were condemned to death, but only two of these, Chulavitch and Voivoditch, were in custody; the others had escaped abroad. Raikovitch and the Minister Radovitch were sentenced to fifteen years’ imprisonment. Thirteen others received sentences varying from two to ten years, and several were discharged either because they were innocent or from lack of proof.

_From a Photograph._]

I was interested in visiting the prisons of Cetinje and Podgoritza. Both are very small, which speaks well for the state of the country. Few murders are committed, and these are rarely for gain, but usually acts of revenge. The men concerned in the plot were confined at Cetinje, in a small and somewhat primitive building, but when they had been sentenced they were removed to Podgoritza. Both prisons are built round a courtyard in which exercise can be taken, for the doors of the light and roomy cells were open all day long. Nearly every cell contained an oven, and the prisoners were allowed to cook their food themselves. The daily rations consisted of two pounds of bread and the sum of fourpence, with which they could buy what they liked.

I was taken over the place by the Governor, a very kindly-looking giant, who seemed as if he could not hurt a fly. If I am ever unlucky enough to be put under lock and key, I should like to have a jailer just like him. He and a Montenegrin officer, who spoke most excellent French, were very kind in helping me to take photographs. Some of the prisoners wore irons which I rather wanted to photograph, but they thought it might hurt the men’s feelings, so they offered to lend me a jailer to be manacled and snap-shotted. He thought it the greatest joke in the world, and quite entered into the spirit of it all. Just as I was about to press the button he gesticulated wildly. He had remembered that there was a little collection of a dozen or so weapons of warfare in his capacious belt, and these were not at all in keeping with the irons. So he pulled out daggers and pistols galore, and looked quite thin by the time he had finished.

We also visited the prison at Podgoritza, a large town some forty miles from Cetinje. Here we found a strange collection of men and women. There was a saintly-looking pope, who had appropriated the funds of his church. He was dressed in priest’s robes and did the honours of the place. We saw several convicts who were being kept in solitary confinement, and pushed cigarettes to them between the bars. They seemed to feel the boredom most; otherwise they have an easy time. They do little work in summer and still less in winter, and a great part, of the day is spent in sleep. The cells looked far more comfortable than barrack-rooms, and prisoners in Montenegro evidently have little to complain of.

There were ten or twelve women there. These were nearly all guilty of infanticide. When I came into their quarters they rushed at me, seized my hands and kissed them, and tried to make me sit down and talk to them. But, as I could not understand a word they said, and one of them looked very mad, I made my escape as soon as possible.

It will be long before I forget that strange trial, which for spectacular effect might have taken place in Venice in the magnificent Middle Ages. The splendid figures of the judges rivalled the signori in all their glory, and the gigantic soldiery in gay and glowing colour made one almost forget the prisoners, until their primitive, almost savage, behaviour reminded one of their existence and of the fact that even nowadays in Europe things happen that eclipse the achievements of mediæval criminals.

CROSSING THE RIVER.

BY J. T. NEWNHAM-WILLIAMS, OF SALISBURY, MASHONALAND.

A trader’s story of the appalling catastrophe which, almost in the
twinkling of an eye, wiped out the fruits of a lengthy and arduous
expedition and cost him the lives of two faithful “boys.”

It was about the end of October, 1902, when I was returning from a trading and hunting expedition which had taken me into the wild bush-country lying to the north-west of the Limpopo valley, that the following incident occurred--an incident which neither myself nor any of the “boys” who accompanied me are ever likely to forget. I had started out from Pietersburg, in the Transvaal, about five months before, taking with me a good “salted” horse, a wagon and sixteen oxen, and half-a-dozen boys. I had loaded up with a good deal of the usual trading gear, and had made a very successful trip.

It was always my rule, on returning from these expeditions, to shoot the whole of my way back, and I arranged my departure from civilization so that I could get through with my trading in good time and have the game season well in hand on the home trek.

The rains had commenced rather earlier than usual, and, although we had only had a few showers as yet, I felt that there was not much time to lose if I wished to get back to Pietersburg before they had fairly set in. I had started out in the morning from a little native village called M’Sablai, and meant to push on through the day in order to get to a native “staad” called Wegdraai, which lay on the opposite side of the Limpopo River, better known as the Crocodile. Everything went well during the day, and towards five o’clock in the afternoon I sighted the group of kopjes by which Wegdraai was surrounded. Telling the boys to make all possible haste and follow me, I spurred my horse and rode forward to find a suitable ford.

The river at this point is about a quarter of a mile in width, and in the dry season is very shallow, the water usually lying about in pools. It presents a very pretty appearance at this time of the year, being dotted with innumerable verdure-clad islands. I did not anticipate much trouble in crossing, and, on reaching the bank, soon selected a suitable spot. There was rather more water than usual, but this was only to be expected, as it had been raining a little the day before.

Having picked out the ford, I watered my horse and rode slowly back to meet the wagon. When it came in sight, creaking and rumbling, I dismounted and, throwing the reins over the horse’s head, sat down and lit my pipe whilst waiting for it to come up. I had been smoking for a few minutes, thinking of nothing in particular, when my attention was attracted by a curious murmuring sound, very faint and far away; it sounded like the roar of a train travelling at a high speed.

I glanced uneasily towards the river, but as far as the eye could reach it looked peaceful enough. I knew the sound only too well, however--it was the noise of flood-water coming down stream. When the wagon arrived, my head boy, Jim, called my attention to the murmur, at the same time advising me not to attempt to get across. I had half a mind to follow his advice and outspan then and there, but it occurred to me that the river might remain “up” for several days, and then, if more rain came, I should not be able to get across for weeks. It seemed to me to be a case of getting across at once or waiting for an indefinite period.

We were moving steadily forward all the time, and when we came to the river-bank I noticed that by this time the water was looking slightly disturbed, little swirling eddies being plainly visible about half-way across. I looked doubtfully up the river, which here ran nearly straight for about a mile, but, seeing nothing of the wall of water which usually comes down when a river is rising in flood, I threw prudence to the winds and determined to get across. Tying my horse to the rear of the wagon, and shouting to the boys to look after the brake, I seized the long whip which the driver was carrying, and, making it whistle around the ears of the oxen, urged them down the bank. I could see that the boys were scared--they knew the treacherous nature of the river only too well--but I thought that we could gain the opposite bank long before the water reached us.

Urged on by wild yells and shrieks, such as only a Kaffir wagon-boy can utter, the team moved slowly on through the river-bed, and in a very short time were half-way across. It was then that I observed for the first time that the water was slowly rising, and, looking backward, I saw that what had been a dry place a few seconds before was now entirely covered. Glancing down, I saw that the water beneath us, motionless a moment ago, was now slowly running. Alarmed, we redoubled our efforts, but without avail. The oxen moved slower and slower as the water increased in volume and depth, until, the wagon listing slightly in a small hole, they stopped altogether.

I could see there was nothing for it now but to cut loose the oxen and abandon the wagon, so, shouting to the boys to assist me, I loosened the trek chain and tried to whip the oxen across. By this time, however, the poor beasts had scented their danger, and lowing piteously they huddled together and became hopelessly entangled in the long chain. Jim, whipping out his hunting-knife, shouted, “Sicca, baas, sicca lo n’tambo” (“Cut the reins”), and immediately began slashing at the reins which bound the yokes to the oxen. I saw that it was the only thing to do, and promptly followed suit. We were just then quite close to one of the larger of the islands which stood well out of the water, and as the leading oxen were freed they made for this.

We had cut most of them loose and the water had risen above our waists, when I suddenly heard a wild snort, followed by an agonized scream from the rear of the wagon, and the next moment my horse was down, and three of the boys, with yells of terror, were making for the island. “Hurry up, baas,” remarked Jim, coolly; “lo ingwania” (crocodiles). As he spoke there was a huge splash alongside me, and down went one of the oxen, the water round us turning a sickening red.

I must confess that at that moment I lost heart completely, and shouting to the other two boys, who had climbed on to the wagon, to make for the island, I grabbed Jim by the arm and literally had to drag him away, the brave fellow wanting to remain and loosen the remainder of the oxen. We reached the land in safety, and, turning to look for the other two boys, saw that they were still on the wagon, being afraid to venture into the momentarily-deepening water. I shouted to them to come away, but without avail. Just then Jim touched me on the shoulder and pointed up the river. Looking in the direction indicated, I beheld a line of foam stretching from bank to bank, and coming towards us like an express train. The two boys on the wagon also saw it, and one of them plunged off into the water, which was now running swiftly, and in a few seconds was carried down to us, Jim catching hold of him and hauling him up on to the higher ground. There was not a moment to spare, for we could plainly see that the onrushing water would overwhelm us where we now stood.

Yelling to the boys to follow my example, I made a rush for a good-sized tree which stood on the summit of the island--now looking little more than a large mound. Getting a lift from Jim, I was soon in its topmost branches. Three of the boys were already perched in trees, but the fourth, the boy who had swum from the wagon, not having recovered his wind, was clinging helplessly round a tree-trunk, too exhausted to pull himself up. Noticing his predicament, Jim rushed across and, giving him a shove, sent him up on to the lower branches. The water was now almost upon us, and I shouted to Jim to follow the boy up the tree, but my voice was drowned by the roar of the flood. He ran towards me, then hesitated, glanced round, and saw the roaring wall of water within about fifty yards of him. The sight seemed to paralyze him for a moment; then, with a spring, he reached a small tree which was within a few yards of him, and, clambering like a monkey, reached the top just as the water struck the wagon. The heavy vehicle was picked up in the swirling tide as though it had been a straw, the boy Zuzi clinging to the top until it was nearly abreast with us. Then it rolled over and over, and he disappeared from view, never to be seen again.

I had scarcely had time to realize that the boy was gone when I noticed that the remainder of the oxen which had been standing beneath us were adrift. The poor beasts swam desperately, but it was no use--they were carried away like flies on the raging torrent.

Darkness was now falling fast, and the water had completely covered the island, while the trees were swaying in a manner which brought my heart into my mouth; I expected every moment to see them torn out by the roots. What made matters worse was that pieces of timber, uprooted trees, etc., coming down-stream at racing pace, would strike the trunks of the trees we were sheltered in with terrific force, and the smaller trees were one by one uprooted and carried away in this manner.

I clung desperately to my perch for about two hours, expecting every moment that my frail support would give way. By that time it was pitch-dark, and, feeling cold and stiff in my wet clothes, I shifted my position a little; I could see nothing of the boys in the darkness, and shouting brought me no answer. I moved about as carefully as possible, seeking a better position, and at length found a more comfortable place in a fork a little lower down. Here--cold, wet, and miserable--I could do nothing but wait for daylight. I had now lost everything I possessed, my wagon and oxen representing nearly the whole of my capital. I felt deeply for the loss of the poor boy Zuzi and my faithful old horse, and would willingly have sacrificed the wagon and oxen could I have saved these two. I blamed myself bitterly for having made the foolhardy attempt to cross, and with these and other equally bitter reflections the long hours of darkness dragged slowly through. When, after what had seemed ages, the first faint streaks of dawn appeared, I uttered a prayer of thankfulness; and as the daylight became clearer and surrounding objects visible, I looked anxiously round to see how my boys were faring.

I first caught sight of the three boys who had escaped when the crocodiles pulled my horse down, and a little farther on I saw Pete, who had been helped up by Jim, but of Jim himself I could see no trace. Trembling with horror, I began to realize that he had gone. The flood had by now practically spent itself, and the top of the island was again visible. I called out to the three boys who were nearest the spot where Jim’s tree had been, and, in a voice which I could scarcely recognise as my own, asked them where Jim was. Their answer only confirmed my worst fears.

“Jim hambili, baas, blakla futi” (“Jim gone, master, tree and all”).

This was the worst blow of all, for Jim, though only a raw native when I had first got him, had been with me for over five years and was deeply attached to me. Bitterly I cursed my folly in not taking his advice, trying to console myself with the reflection that he might somehow have managed to reach the opposite bank, though in my inmost soul I knew this to be almost an impossibility, as the river was full of crocodiles, who lurked on the lower side of all the small islands, awaiting their opportunity to rush out and seize anybody or anything that might be carried past them by the water. The water was now going down slowly but surely; and, as it sank, our little island grew larger and larger. It must have been about nine o’clock when I climbed down out of the tree and stretched my stiffened limbs once again. I called the boys down, and they came gladly, but all the time casting anxious glances around them, fearful of a visit from the crocodiles again. I did not apprehend much danger from these brutes now, however, as those in the immediate vicinity would probably have gone farther down the river after the cattle.

The morning passed slowly away and I began to feel hungry, but there was nothing to eat. About eleven o’clock some natives came down to the river-bank from the “staad” on the opposite side, and shouted to us to remain where we were until the afternoon; the river, they thought, would have gone down sufficiently by that time to enable us to make an attempt to reach the mainland. The sun had dried the greater part of the island by this time, and, telling one of the boys to keep a look-out, I lay down under a tree and was soon fast asleep. I slept on until about four o’clock, when a boy awakened me, and, glancing round, I saw that the water had gone down enough to warrant our making an attempt to get across. The natives who had been on the bank in the morning had meanwhile returned, and were gesticulating and shouting to us to come away. The boys, whilst I had been asleep, had made a long strip of “n’tambo” (rope) from the bark of the trees, and, fastening this around my waist, I secured the others to it, each boy being as far from the next as the length of the rope would permit. Then, with myself leading, we started off. The current was still very strong, and, had we not been roped together, would undoubtedly have carried us off our feet. We could stand all right in the shallower places, but when I came to a strip of deep water the boys let out the rope until I had got over, then I in turn would pull them over. In this manner we finally reached the bank and were helped out by the natives from the “staad.” After resting a little I accompanied them to their kraal, where my boys were fed and rested.

Learning from the headman that he had already sent a number of men down the river-bank in search of anything that might have been washed up, I partook of a little mealie meal, which was the best he could offer, and, having washed it down with copious draughts of new milk, lay down on a bundle of skins and once more fell asleep, being utterly exhausted by the previous night’s hardship and the struggle we had made to get out of the river.

I must have been asleep several hours when I was awakened by a light touch, and, sitting up, saw the headman, who explained that his boys had returned, having found several cases of provisions, etc., and asked me if I would not like some food. I made a good meal and once more retired to rest, sleeping soundly until sunrise the following morning. Rising early, I sent a number of men to search the river-banks whilst I was having my breakfast, telling them that I would follow later. They had been gone about an hour, and I was preparing to follow them, when one of my own boys came running towards me from the direction of the river, breathlessly informing me that they had found Jim, and that he was alive, but had been badly mauled about by a crocodile. I immediately started off at a run, the boy leading the way through the bush to a spot where the river turned off to the left, about a mile farther down. There, under a tree, surrounded by half-a-dozen natives, lay Jim. He was in a fearful plight, one arm being almost eaten away and the whole side of his body mangled in an awful manner; he was still conscious, however, and recognised me immediately. I at once set to work to construct a kind of litter with branches and boughs, and, laying him carefully on it, ordered the boys to carry him back to the kraal. As they were moving off I asked one of the natives where they had found him. Pointing to what at first sight looked like a large hole in the ground, the boy answered, “Lapa, baas, hya ka lo ingwania” (“Here, mas’er, in the crocodile’s house”). I approached the place and, looking down the hole, was astonished to see a large chamber beneath and a small tunnel which seemed to lead down to the water. The ground forming the roof of the chamber had been worn away a good deal, and the crocodile, in turning round in the hole with his victim, had evidently broken the crust above, thus exposing his hiding-place.

I followed the boys back to the kraal, and pulling poor Jim in a hut carefully washed his wounds, doing all I could for him. He remained conscious the whole morning and told me that during the night, whilst he was on the island, his tree, which was not a very strong one, had been struck several times by floating driftwood. Towards midnight, as near as he could remember, a heavier log than usual had crashed into it, carrying it away completely. He had clung desperately to the branches in the hope of reaching the bank when he got to the curve in the river, and had managed to keep himself above water until he found himself floating in a place where the water was smoother and running less rapidly. Divining that he must be near one of the banks, he tried to reach it by swimming, but had only made a few strokes when he suddenly felt himself seized by one arm, and was immediately dragged under the water. He had just had time to realize that it was a crocodile which had got him when he lost consciousness. When he recovered his senses again he found himself in a hole, lying on dry ground, with the sunlight streaming in through a small opening above. There was no sign of the crocodile, and suffering agonies from his wounds he managed to drag himself up to the orifice, where he at last gut out his hunting-knife, which still hung on to his belt, and, digging at the edges of the cavity, tried to enlarge it so that he could crawl through. Weakness overcame him, however, and he fainted again. At last, hearing voices above him, he once more tried to get out, and, managing to put his uninjured arm up through the hole, had attracted the attention of the boys, who were searching near.

I could plainly see that the poor fellow was past all hope, but I did all I could to ease his last moments for him. In the afternoon he became unconscious again, and at about five o’clock passed quietly away. I buried him under a large tree, near the entrance to the circle of small kopjes by which the “staad” was surrounded, and, cutting a small wooden cross, nailed it to the tree, with the simple inscription, “JIM. 21-10-’02.”

Next day, sad at heart, I started off to Pietersburg, having to walk the whole way. Here I reported the matter to the police, who sent out a patrol to investigate the affair, and there the matter ended so far as I was concerned. I never recovered any of the oxen, and the wagon, or the remains of it, so far as I am aware, still lies in the river-bed. I have never done any trading in that district since.

A Belgian Smoking Competition.

BY A. PITCAIRN-KNOWLES.