this place, about eight weeks ago, for I write to you at the beginning
of June, if we have kept correct account of the time, of which I am not
certain.

"It is a beautiful place to look at, a flat country of rich veld, with
big trees growing on it, and about two miles from the great river that
is called the Crocodile. Here, finding good water, my father and Hernan
Pereira, who now rules him in all things, determined to settle, although
some of the others wished to push on nearer to Delagoa Bay. There was a
great quarrel about it, but in the end my father, or rather Hernan, had
his will, as the oxen were worn out and many had already died from the
bites of a poisonous fly which is called the tsetse. So we lotted out
the land, of which there is enough for hundreds, and began to build rude
houses.

"Then trouble came upon us. The Kaffirs stole most of our horses,
although they have not dared to attack us, and except two belonging to
Hernan, the rest died of the sickness, the last of them but yesterday.
The oxen, too, have all died of the tsetse bites or other illnesses.
But the worst is that although this country looks so healthy, it is
poisoned with fever, which comes up, I think, in the mists from the
river. Already out of the thirty-five of us, ten are dead, two men,
three women, and five children, while more are sick. As yet my father
and I and my cousin Pereira have, by God's mercy, kept quite well; but
although we are all very strong, how long this will continue I cannot
tell. Fortunately we have plenty of ammunition and the place is thick
with game, so that those of the men who remain strong can kill all the
food we want, even shooting on foot, and we women have made a great
quantity of biltong by salting flesh and drying it in the sun. So we
shall not actually starve for a long while, even if the game goes away.