place. Just asthey were approaching the water, the disselboom broke in half, andrendered the waggon quite unmanageable. Until this disaster wasremedied, it became impossible for the oxen to draw; and, as they hadnot the means of mending the breakage on the spot, the waggon mustnecessarily remain there all night, until the damage could be repairedby workmen from Colenso. Mrs Baylen and her daughter had the option ofeither remaining on the bank of the river all night, or being conveyedacross the river on horseback. They chose the latter; and the two youngEnglishmen, riding up, volunteered their services. They placed theladies in their saddles and swam by their sides, drawing their horsesafter them. After this fashion Mrs Baylen and Clara reached the bank,though almost as completely soaked through as their cavaliers. Aconsultation was now held. It was proposed to procure a change ofclothes for the ladies; but it appeared that all their wardrobe was in asmaller waggon; and even if they could have allowed the young men asecond time to encounter the stream on their account, it would have beennext to impossible to bring the clothes across in a dry condition. Itwas presently agreed that the best course would be for the four who hadbeen soaked through to ride straight into Colenso, with Matamo as theirguide, and there procure a change of clothes, while the large waggonfollowed at a slower pace. The riders accordingly set off, and arrivedin due time at the Swedish pastor's house.
Mr Bilderjik and his wife, who were old friends of the Baylens, andwere in expectation of their arrival, were in readiness to receive them.The ladies and the young men were soon supplied with dry clothes.Carpenters were despatched to the banks of the Mooi to repair the damagedone to the waggon, and a message sent up to the hotel in the mainstreet of Colenso to provide beds for Hardy, George, and Redgy, for whomthe house of the Swedish pastor could not supply sufficientaccommodation.
A few hours afterwards Farmer Baylen arrived with the larger waggon, andhe and his sons, as well as Hardy, who was also an old acquaintance,were hospitably welcomed. In an hour or two after their arrival, thewhole party sat down to a comfortable repast, at which, as Matamo hadbefore assured George would be the case, the hippopotamus steaks formedthe chief delicacy.
There was nevertheless, independently of these, a very appetising mealprovided. Sago soup was served up, fish from the Little Tugela river,which ran close to the town; fowls, and pancakes, as well as abundanceof ripe fruits,--loquots, oranges, peaches, bananas, and nectarines--allof them from the missionary's garden,--which could only be tasted intheir perfection in the climates of which they are the natives.
All the party appeared to be contented with their quarters, except theindefatigable Matamo, who insisted on returning to the Mooi, where hesaid his presence would be needed to look after the workpeople who hadbeen sent to execute the repairs, and who, as he affirmed, were never tobe trusted. As soon as he had finished his dinner, he mounted his horseand rode off.
"You have a valuable servant in that Kaffir," remarked George. "Itwould not be easy to find his match, even in England."
"Are you speaking of Matamo?" said Mr Baylen. "Yes, he is a goodservant--good at farm labour, and better at hunting; but he is not aKaffir, nor a Hottentot either, but a Bechuana, though a verydark-skinned one. You haven't been long enough in the country to beaware of the difference, but we old residents see it easily enough."
"A Bechuana!" said George. "I think I know where their country is--onthe other side of the Transvaal, isn't it, three or four hundred milesaway from here? What brought him into these parts?"
"Well, I brought him," was the answer. "I brought him to Natal aboutfive-and-thirty years ago."
"Five-and-thirty years!" remarked Margetts. "He couldn't have been veryold then."
"No; he was an infant," said the farmer. "I was a young fellow of fouror five-and-twenty myself, and we hadn't been so very long settled inNatal ourselves. My mother, who had been brought up a Presbyterian,though she conformed to her husband's form of belief, had once heardDavid Livingstone preach, and had been so impressed by him that she hadnever forgotten it. After my father's death she fell into low spirits,and there was no one near about us who could give her any comfort.Nothing would satisfy her but that Mr Livingstone must come and seeher. We tried to pacify her by telling her that Mr Livingstone, whowas a great traveller, would some day come our way. You have heard ofhim, I suppose, gentlemen?"
"All the world has heard of him," remarked Rivers. "I should thinkthere is hardly an Englishman but knows his history."
"I am not surprised to hear it. But he was a young man at the time Ispeak of, and was but little known. My mother, however, was bent onseeing him. She had heard that he was living at Barolong, and she wassure that he would come to visit her, and she would die if he didn't.At last I saw there was no help for it; I must travel across thecountry, and find Mr Livingstone out."
"And you went?" inquired George, as he paused.
"Yes, I went; and a terrible journey I had; and after all I couldn'tfind the gentleman. He had gone up the country, and it was impossibleto say, they told me, when he would come back. But that has nothing todo with Matamo; and my story was to be about him. Well, I took a goodstout horse, and rode through what is now called the Orange Free State.It was almost wild in those days. Native tribes were living here andthere, with whom I sometimes got a lodging; though, to be sure, theirkraals were not the pleasantest places in the world, even to me. Onceor twice I came across the house of a Dutchman, who had emigratedthither from the Cape."
"I don't expect you got much of a welcome from them," remarked Hardy.
"As an Englishman, I did not expect that I should," said the farmer."But you see my grandfather, old Fieter Van Schuylen, had been a leadingman among the Dutch, and so was my brother-in-law, Cornelius. I hadonly to mention their names, and they were ready to do anything for me.I got on well enough until I was within a day or two's ride of thevillage where Mr Livingstone was believed to be living; but there amisfortune befell me. My horse, which had carried me well up to thattime,--indeed, was as quiet a beast as ever I remember to have ridden,--suddenly reared and plunged violently, and very nearly threw me. I gotoff and tried to quiet him; but he continued to struggle, and would notlet me remount."
"He had been bitten, I expect," remarked Hardy.
"That is my opinion too; indeed, there was a swelling on his fore-leg,which looked very like the bite of a snake. But I was not sure even ofthat, and had no remedy at hand, even if I had known how to apply it. Isoon saw that, whatever had been the cause of his illness, there waslittle or no hope of his recovery. His restlessness soon gave way to akind of dull stupor. He presently lay down, stretched out his limbs,stark and rigid, and was dead in less than two hours from the time whenhe had been bitten.
"I was quite at a loss what to do. There were no trees near at handinto which I might have climbed and slept in safety. I did not knowwhat wild animals there might be about. Remember this wasfive-and-thirty years ago, before the settlers had driven the lions andrhinoceroses away. The country consisted of long undulating downs,covered with tall grass, which might shelter any number of poisonoussnakes; and a bite from any one of them could hardly help being fatal,seeing how far I was from any place where a remedy could be applied. SoI resolved to keep on. The darkness was rapidly gathering, and the moonwouldn't rise, I knew, for several hours. But there was just enough ofa glimmer in the sky to enable me to distinguish the track. So I wenton, holding my double-barrelled rifle ready cocked."
"Dangerous work," remarked Margetts.
"No doubt; but it was the least danger of the two. Well, I went on,walking slowly and cautiously, and by and by I got clear of the jungle,and came into some high rocky land, in the midst of which there was aBechuana village. If it had been daylight, I should have gone in atonce and claimed their hospitality as an Englishman, whom I knew theywould receive kindly. But by that light I was afraid of being mistakenfor a Boer, and then my reception would have been very different. Itwas as likely as not that I should have been spea
red, before I couldexplain the mistake they had made. I resolved to find a sheltersomewhere for the night, and make my appearance among the Bechuanas inthe morning.
"After looking carefully about, I took up my quarters in a cavern in theside of a long ridge of rock which overhung the village. It wasDecember, and the night was warm, so I did not hesitate to lie down as Iwas on a heap of dead leaves, with which the cave was half filled.
"I was tired out, and soon fell asleep, and, I suppose, must have lainfor two or three hours, when I was awakened by the noise of guns firingand men shouting immediately over my head. I started up and looked out.The dawn had just broken, and diffused a light which made it almost aseasy to distinguish anything as if it had been broad day. I