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Seven Years in South Africa.

I had made up my mind to spend the night in the open air; and as we were all very thirsty, we followed out the glimmer of some water until we reached a half-dry pool, at the edge of which was a level spot that we selected as our camping-place for the night.

Supper was soon ready. A few red-legged plovers and some small bustards (of the kind that the Boers call “patluperks”), which we had shot in the course of the day, afforded us a meal that we thoroughly enjoyed; nor had we a less hearty relish for a cup of tea, although it was made from the water of the pond which, when we came to see it by daylight, we were compelled to confess that nothing but the most agonizing pangs of thirst could have induced us to taste. Even in the fire-light it flickered with all the colours of the rainbow, but by the light of day it revealed putresence itself, and even the cattle refused to drink it.

While we were sitting round our fire, talking over the incidents of the afternoon, we were favoured by a visit from three Korannas. They had seen our light from the farmhouse, about a hundred yards away, and had supposed that we were a body of Basutos, from the west of the Free State, travelling in search of work, and were not a little surprised to come upon a party of white men enjoying themselves in an encampment. They did not stay long with us; and as soon as they were gone, and the barking of the dogs at the farm had ceased, a dead silence ensued, broken only by the chirping of a little grass-