FLIGHT OF LOCUSTS. 145 



far as I have penetrated into Southern Africa. By 

 watching the flight of these birds in the mornings and 

 evenings 1 have discovered the fountains in the desert, 

 when unassisted and forsaken by the natives. As they 

 fly they repeatedly utter a soft, melodious cry, resem- 

 bling the words " pretty, pretty dear." They are ex- 

 cellent eating, and a person so disposed, by mounting 

 a pair of shot-barrels, might, any morning or evening, 

 secure a large bag of them. 



In the forenoon I observed the base of an extensive 

 range of hills to the northward, concealed for miles, as 

 if by thick clouds or mist, which steadily advanced to- 

 ward us, holding a southerly course. This was a flight 

 of countless myriads of locusts, in my opinion one of 

 the most remarkable phenomena that a traveler can be- 

 hold. They resembled very much a fall of snow, when 

 it gently descends in large light flakes. The sound 

 caused by their wings reminded me of the rustling of 

 the summer breeze among the trees of the forest. In 

 the afternoon I hunted in a mountain range to the 

 westward of the salt-pan, named by the Boers and Bas- 

 tards " Saut-pan's berg;" and in the evening I visited 

 the old Bushman's hut, whom I found at home with a 

 litter of very small Bush-children: these he signified 

 to me were his grandchildren. I lay down to sleep be- 

 neath an aged mimosa in their vicinity, and about mid- 

 night the wind set in from off the Southern Ocean, and, 

 having no covering but my shirt, I felt it piercingly cold, 

 Sleep was out of the question, and I was right glad 

 when I heard the sparrow's chirp announcing the dawn 

 of day. Notwithstanding these nocturnal exposures, 

 my health since leaving my regiment had been perfect 

 — not a twitch of rheumatism, a complaint from which 

 I suffered while in India, although I had ceased to wear 



Vol. I.— a 



