An Itinerating Trip Through Basutoland by E. C. Silsbee

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jul 15, 1915

An Itinerating Trip Through Basutoland

By E. C. Silsbee

(Concluded)

E. C. SILSBEE

AGAIN our course lies to the eastward and over still more mountains; and after days of climbing up and scrambling down, through sweltering heat and soaking rain, we come to Qacha’s Nek, the southeastern commercial outlet of Basutoland. Here we are again treated to the pleasure of traveling along a wagon road for a few hours, although it is a rough mountain road.

We then take up the trail to the northward, still following the general course of the Orange River, which traverses the entire length of Basutoland from north-east to southwest. From Qacha’s Nek nearly a week in the saddle brings us to the eastern part of the country, where there is no wagon road, magistrate’s camp, or other sign of civilization, except the comparatively new tent-store of a trader. It is interesting to note how these traders overcome almost insurmountable difficulties in order to establish a store in these uncivilized, mountainous districts for the prospect of a little worldly gain. They stay often for months without seeing a white person’s face. The boards and corrugated iron for their houses must be carried in from the “white man’s country,” on the heads of women; their goods must be packed in, and native produce packed out, on the backs of oxen, donkeys, and horses; and here in the mountains the snow in winter is from six to ten feet deep, with cold weather in proportion. Brother Campbell and I have both been at death’s door because of the perils and difficulties attending the gospel worker. in these lands; but as we are laboring for the eternal riches which fade not away, our sacrifice must be infinitely greater than that of those who labor only for the perishable things of this world; and so we take a lesson from these worldly men, and go on to renewed activities in the work of our Redeemer.

Chief Rafalatsana, the big chief of these parts, lets us have a large hut to ourselves, and is glad to see us, especially when he knows the object of our visit. He wants us to promise to have a mission in or near his village. This we cannot promise, so his representative asks us to stay and teach them the way of everlasting life. But we can tell them only a little, and promise to come or to send some one to teach them as soon as we can find help.

Now our way lies back across the mountains again, to Emmanuel Mission and Kolo; so we leave the thinly populated parts for the mountains, where there is only a village here and there. Although we are nearly two hundred miles nearer the source of the Orange River than a few days ago, it is with no little difficulty that we ford it on our horses, with a native guide to show us the best ford. High up the mountains we climb again till we are among the clouds, then down to the bottom, where we find a river which our horses must swim. We are fortunate, however, in finding an old leaky boat and a native to row us across, while I work “bailing out” the boat. Nearing the other shore, we strike a submerged rock, which comes near sinking our frail craft, but we succeed in landing safely, and are soon on our way.

Again the mountains rise before us, but we see no villages. Here we find the grazing place of many thousands of cattle belonging to the people who live where it is too thickly settled to have much grazing land. The only sort of

habitations we find are the very small herdboys’ huts, which are also few and far between. As night comes on, it is raining again, as often it has done before since we started, only this time there are no villages near to offer us shelter. Both our horses are very tired from climbing the slippery path, and we are well-nigh soaked. We climb up to a hut, and find two other huts near by. We ask for shelter, and the herdboys crowd together in two of the huts, and give us the other. Entering, we find we cannot stand upright; and when we spread our blankets down, all four corners touch the walls. The door is the only opening in the low wall. Nevertheless we are glad for even this shelter; and after offering our thanks to our Father, who always protects his children, we are soon enjoying a well-earned rest.

In the morning we find that the herdboys have dried our clothes by a fire which they had in one of the huts, and we are soon on our way again, though it is raining as we start out. Up and up we climb, until we are more than 10,000 feet in the air. There are no villages here, nor even herdboys’ huts; and antelopes, having full possession, bound leisurely across the path, or graze on the mountain side, quite oblivious of our presence. There is most delightful and sublime scenery among these heights. Truly has Basutoland been called the “Switzerland of South Africa.”

As we come down from the heights, we enter what proves to be a beautiful cañon, at the bottom of which is a mountain torrent. The different streams which feed this torrent form a great variety of waterfalls as they come tumbling down the mountain sides at different places. We find it a bit dangerous to cross this small river, the recent rains having greatly increased its volume; but there is no choice for us if we would proceed, so we cross and re-cross it again and again, safely though with difficulty. Our native guide, however, is less fortunate, for he loses his horse and his hat, and also my blankets which he was carrying for me. (Later he recovered his horse, but the blankets and hat are still missing.)

As we follow down this cañon, we come out into the open country, where there are many villages scattered over the broad valley as far as we can see; and soon we are made glad as we look away to the right and see the familiar lower peaks near Emmanuel Mission in the distance. We jog along joyfully across country, only to be confronted before long with another river to cross. This river is also greatly swollen by the recent rains, but there is no way but to cross it. Brother Campbell succeeds with great difficulty in crossing on his large horse, which he had hired fresh that morning; but when I make the attempt, my smaller, tired pony is quickly carried down by the swift current; and as he goes under, I scramble from his back and swim for the shore. With the timely assistance of Brother Campbell, both I and my horse land safely, and we are soon on our way again. One more river to cross and our troubles will be over for this tour. We come to it and ride in. The water comes well up on my horse’s back, but he manages with my weight to keep his footing. Soon we are safely across, and thankful to God, who has kept us all along our journey.

We arrived at Emmanuel Mission late in the evening, wet and chilly. A good hot bath, and a hot lunch provided by Brother and Sister Olmstead, help to restore our physical equilibrium, and we are soon rehearsing our experiences to our interested host and hostess.