K ING 8ECEELE. 27
towards him his paper, pen and ink, to malign his white
brother in South Africa, whom he stigmatises as being of
evil repute and an oppressor of the holy Boer!
On the morning of the 21st of March we left Moghose’s,
travelling through a flat, bushy country, abounding with
thorny acacias and very long grass. The sun was intensely
hot, and its burning rays told heavily upon the struggling
oxen.
When we arrived at Molepololi river—at King Sechele’s—
we at once visited the monarch, whom we found seated
under the grateful shade of a large tree directly in front of
his house. He was fanning off the flies with a giraffe’s tail,
and at his left side, leaning against the back of his chair,
was his brass walking-stick or sceptre. On a log of 'wood
before the king sat his interpreter, and towards the left, at
a little distance, were a number of humble admirers, most of
whom were very ancient-looking fellows.
The old king greeted us with much courtesy, and went
as far as to show a little emotion when he saluted Kirton,
which he did in a most civilized manner, by pressing his
hand and kissing him on the left cheek. Kirton was an old
friend of the king’s, having given him many presents,
hence this outburst 'of affection.
Sechele seemed to be a man of at least sixty-five years of
age, and was rather a fine-looking specimen. The hand
of time, however, had not left him untouched. His hair
was falling, and his sight becoming impaired. Civilisation
had exerted a sadly demoralising effect upon him, for he
wore spectacles, and it even appeared that he had been
using some hair-dye. Kirton had known him when his hair
was grey; now it was of jet-like blackness.
Powder, caps, and whisky procured us the passport
through his country. We visited his house, and spent some