THE EASTWARD TREK 53 



The man was dead. His tongue was blackened 

 and shrunk; his lips and eyelids cracked and 

 caked with clotted blood. This is only one of 

 the many dismal instances of people perishing 

 of thirst within short distances of their camps. 

 The day died gloriously. Far away to east- 

 ward a thunderstorm trailed down from the 

 north, its bastions and buttresses snow-white 

 or ebon-black — according as to whether the 

 sunlight touched them or not. When the last 

 level beams smote through the banked masses 

 of vapour, a glory of rose, purple and gold 

 transfigured the soaring turrets. That night 

 the firmament was clearer than ever; the satel- 

 lites of Jupiter could actually be seen with the 

 naked eye. The eastern horizon was lit by 

 Aurora-like lightning, — soft, lambent and in- 

 cessant. Eastern Bushmanland must have been 

 drenched. Even as I watched, the spring- 

 buck, scattered over the western desert, had no 

 doubt read the signal aright and begun their 

 hundred-mile flitting towards the regions blest 

 with rain. Already the Trek Boers at Namies 

 and Naramoep would be busy pulling down 

 their mat-houses and packing their wagons for 

 the trek eastward. The barometer shewed a 

 heavy fall ; this indicated unsettled weather, — 

 probably a strong wind from the north. 



