VIII

WITH PRESIDENT STEYN IN THE BOSCHVELD--LOST


On September 12 we left the Krokodil River early in the morning, after
first watering our cattle and filling our water-bags. Our guide did not
expect to come across any water before the Sabie--a river several days'
journey further on. There were several springs on the way, but as that
part of the country was so little known, because of its unhealthiness,
no one could tell when the last rains had fallen.

The shrubs and bushes had grown high above the ruts made by the waggon
two years ago, and were a great hindrance to us. The road we followed
twisted and wound rather more than was agreeable, but it was certainly
easy to follow for the lagers that came after us. The horsemen rode next
to the lagers to shoot bucks. We had no 'slaughter-cattle' with us, so
had to live on the game that we shot.

In the neighbourhood of the river we still came across birds and
insects, but the further we went the more monotonous and _dead_ Nature
became. I could never have pictured such a lifeless wood to myself. No
sound of insects was to be heard, no chirp or song of bird; and not even
the trail of a serpent was to be seen.

There was a melancholy stillness. Traces of game were in abundance. It
seemed as if only those animals lived there which, accustomed to the
monotonous silence, withdrew noiselessly from the gaze of the