THE MISSIONARY'S WAIL.

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The heat throughout the day had been terrific. Before the sun had well disappeared behind the mountains between which we traveled, Mr. Schöneberg was completely knocked up, and we were obliged to encamp for the night. Each of us carried a small tin water-can; but, instead of having it filled, as I did, with the pure liquid, Mrs. Rath had kindly, but unwisely, provided her friend with a mixture of water, sugar, and cinnamon. This, as may be supposed, only served

to increase his thirst.

We had hardly finished removing the packs and saddles from our tired steeds before the poor missionary threw himself despondingly on the ground, exclaiming, "Ah! Mr. Andersson, if we were to tell people in Europe what we suffer here, none would believe us." I could not help smiling at this burst of despair; for, though from the heat the day had been distressing enough, we had by no means suffered either from want of water or food. Poor Mr. Schöneberg! he was totally unfit for the hardships he must necessarily encounter in the African deserts. Indeed, not many weeks afterward he all but perished from his inability to endure thirst for a short period.

The next morning at daybreak we were again in the saddle. Our course was northerly, and a little by east; and the greater part of the road lay some distance from the Swakop, which at one point forced its way through a narrow, picturesque, and bold gorge.

In one place we passed at the foot of "Scheppman's Mountain," so called from a melancholy event which occurred here a few years ago. A missionary named Scheppman had made the ascent to obtain a view of the surrounding country, but in descending the cock of his gun was caught by a bough, and the contents were lodged in one of his legs. After having suffered agonies for a few days, he expired, and the hill has ever since gone by his name.

The vegetation was more rank than in the parts we had

104

THE KAMEEL-DOORN.

previously traversed. In the course of the day we crossed the dry beds of several large, sandy, and periodical streams, which were all tributaries to the Swakop. The country near these streams was thickly studded with splendid forests of the gigantic and park-like acacia, known to the Dutch as the "kameel-doorn," or giraffe thorn (acacia giraffa). This tree derives its name from its constituting the favorite and principal food of the beautiful camelopard. On account of its immense size and peculiar growth, having the foliage dis-posed from the top downward in umbrella-shaped masses, it is a great ornament to the country; but, strange to say, it is invariably found only in arid districts.

The "kameel-doorn" is evidently of very slow growth, and requires, probably, many hundred years to arrive at maturity. The grain is therefore very close; and the wood is so heavy that, after being dried for years, it will sink when thrown into the water. Our northern oak can in no wise be compared with it as regards hardness and solidity. The grain is, however, rather short, and the wood consequently brittle. Notwithstanding this defect, it is very strong, and is extensively used for building purposes and implements of husbandry. It is, moreover, almost the only wood strong enough for the axle-trees of wagons. Tools of the best materials, however, are indispensable in working it. I have seen many a well-tempered axe and adze blunted and spoiled when brought in contact with it. The outer part of the tree is of a whitish color, but the heart is reddish-brown, not unlike mahogany, and capable of a high polish.

It is in the branches of this acacia, mentioned by several South African travelers, that the social grossbeak (loxia socia) chiefly constructs its interesting and singular nest.

Through the stupidity and mismanagement of our guide, who apparently knew but little of the road, we missed a watering-place where we were to have halted, and, in consequence, suffered extremely from thirst. Mr. Schöneberg,

BUXTON FOUNTAIN-SCORPIONS.

105

moreover, had been very unwell during the day, and when we arrived at the end of the stage, which was not until seven o'clock at night, he was even more fatigued and exhausted than on the preceding evening.

We bivouacked by the side of "Buxton Fountain," so called in honor of the late Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, from whom and his family, if I am rightly informed, Mrs. Hahn had experienced much kindness. It is a hot spring, and the water, which flows out of a granite rock, is nearly of a boiling temperature, and has a brackish and disagreeable taste.

The soil, moreover, all round this fountain is impregnated with saline substances. A considerable number of wild animals congregate here nightly in order to quench their thirst. Lions, also, are at times numerous, but on this occasion they did not molest us.

Having partaken of some supper, I was about to resign my weary limbs to repose, when suddenly there issued from a small hole, close to my head, a swarm of scorpions. Their appearance brought me to my feet in an instant; for, though not a particularly nervous man, I am free to confess to a great horror of all crawling things.

During the hot months these animals lie dormant, but on the approach of the rainy season they come forth in great numbers. On removing stones, decayed pieces of wood, &c., it is necessary to be very cautious. The instant the scorpion feels himself in contact with any part of the body of a man or beast, he lifts his tail, and with his horny sting inflicts a wound which, though rarely fatal, is still of a very painful nature.*

Like the snake, the scorpion is fond of warmth, and it is not uncommon, on awakening in the morning, to find one or

*“The black, or rock scorpion," says Lieutenant Patterson, “is nearly as venomous as any of the serpent tribe. A farmer, who resided at a place called the Paarle, near the Cape, was stung by one in the foot during my stay in the country, and died in a few hours."

two of these horrid creatures snugly ensconced in the folds of the blanket or under the pillow. On one occasion I killed a scorpion measuring nearly seven and a half inches in length, that had thus unceremoniously introduced itself into my bed.

The following morning our guide declared it to be only a few hours' further traveling to Barmen. We therefore did not hurry our departure, but took ample time to prepare, and to partake of, a substantial breakfast, consisting of some strong coffee, and steaks of zebra-flesh, simply prepared on the hot embers of our bivouac fire.

We arrived at Barmen just as the family was sitting down to dinner, and Mr. Hahn kindly invited us to join in the ample repast. I was happy to find Mr. Galton in the enjoyment of health and excellent spirits, and he seemed delighted at our safe and speedy return.

CHAPTER IX.

Barmen.-Thunder-storm in the Tropics.-A Man killed by Lightning.-Warm Spring.-Mr. Hahn: his Missionary Labor; Seed sown in exceeding stony Ground.-The Lake Omanbondè.—Mr. Galton's Mission of Peace.-The Author meets a Lion by the way; the Beast bolts.-Singular Chase of a Gnoo.-"Killing two Birds with one Stone."-A Lion Hunt.-The Author escapes Death by a Miracle. Consequences of shooting on a Sunday.

Ar a first glance, Barmen has a rather dreary aspect. Hans thought it resembled many of the most desolate parts of Iceland; but, when more closely examined, it is found to be by no means devoid either of interest or beauty. It is situated about three quarters of a mile from the Swakop, and on its right bank. Toward the west, and immediately behind the station, rise irregular masses of low, broken rocks, ending abruptly on one side in a bluff, about one thousand feet high. The whole are covered with a profusion of shrubs,

A THUNDER-STORM IN THE TROPICS.

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and several species of thorn-trees of the genus acacia, which, during the greater part of the year, assume every shade of green. To the eastward it faces the Swakop, the course of which is conspicuously marked by the handsome blackstemmed mimosa. Beyond this, the view is limited by a noble range of picturesque mountains, rising between six and seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. Thes receive additional interest from being more or less a continuation of those mighty chains which take their rise a very few miles from Cape-Town, thus extending, in a direct line, about one thousand miles.

Within a stone's-throw of the missionary house, a turbulent mountain stream winds its tortuous course. It flows, however, only during heavy rains, when its great fall and violence prove very destructive to the native gardens.

About two years from the period of which I am now writing, I happened to be on a visit to Barmen, on which occasion I witnessed one of those extraordinary phenomena only to be seen to perfection in tropical climes. One afternoon, heavy and threatening clouds suddenly gathered in the eastern horizon, the thunder rolled ominously in the distance, and the sky was rent by vivid lightnings. Knowing, from long experience, its imports, we instantly set about placing every thing under shelter that could be injured by the wet. This was hardly accomplished when large drops of rain began to descend, and in a few seconds the sluicegates of heaven appeared to have opened. The storm did not last above half an hour, but this short time was sufficient to convert the whole country into one sheet of water. The noise, moreover, caused by the river and a number of minor mountain streams, as they rolled down their dark, muddy torrents in waves rising often as high as ten feet, was perfectly deafening. Gigantic trees, recently uprooted, and others in a state of decay, were carried away with irresistible fury, and tossed about on the foaming billows like so many