as I trekked along down by the Oliphant River, I used to creep from the
waggon at dawn and look out. But there was no river to be seen--only a
long line of billows of what looked like the finest cotton wool tossed
up lightly with a pitchfork. It was the fever mist. Out from among the
scrub, too, came little spirals of vapour, as though there were hundreds
of tiny fires alight in it--reek rising from thousands of tons of
rotting vegetation. It was a beautiful place, but the beauty was the
beauty of death; and all those lines and blots of vapour wrote one great
word across the surface of the country, and that word was 'fever.'

"It was a dreadful year of illness that. I came, I remember, to one
little kraal of Knobnoses, and went up to it to see if I could get some
'maas', or curdled butter-milk, and a few mealies. As I drew near I was
struck with the silence of the place. No children began to chatter, and
no dogs barked. Nor could I see any native sheep or cattle. The place,
though it had evidently been inhabited of late, was as still as the bush
round it, and some guinea-fowl got up out of the prickly pear bushes
right at the kraal gate. I remember that I hesitated a little before
going in, there was such an air of desolation about the spot. Nature
never looks desolate when man has not yet laid his hand upon her breast;
she is only lonely. But when man has been, and has passed away, then
she looks desolate.

"Well, I passed into the kraal, and went up to the principal hut. In
front of the hut was something with an old sheep-skin kaross thrown over
it. I stooped down and drew off the rug, and then shrank back amazed,
for under it was the body of a young woman recently dead. For a moment
I thought of turning back, but my curiosity overcame me; so going past
the dead woman, I went down on my hands and knees and crept into the
hut. It was so dark that I could not see anything, though I could smell