CHAPTER V.

Off to the Border-Grey Town-Blue gums '-Bush scenery-The Tugela-An aquatic dilemma-Sunrise оп the Biggarsberg

Heights-A model road-Rorke's Drift, past and present.

Ar first it seems rather slow work rolling tediously along on a hot afternoon at the rate of three or four miles an hour, but I soon fall into it and sit on the waggon box, pipe in mouth, with all the stoicism of an old trekker.' A short outspan towards sundown, on again, and suddenly-for there is little or no twilight in Southern Africadrops the curtain of night; the stars shine out one by one, the hills loom black against the liquid sky, yonder a twinkling light points to the whereabouts of some homestead standing in its group of blue gums, while here and there a distant grass fire glows red upon the far horizon. All is still, save for the whistle of a flight of plover, which startled from the ground by the tramp of my horse's feet, circle overhead sounding their shrill pipes; while now and then the rumble of the waggon as it crawls slowly over the hills behind, or the harsh shout of

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the driver to his span, comes faintly on the silence of the night. Presently the sky brightens, the outlines of the hills assume more definite shape, the heavens are suffused with a gathering flush, and a golden moon rises, gently flooding the open sweeping landscape far and near. And now I hear the murmur and plashing of a river; the walls of a few houses shimmer white in the moonlight; I have reached the Umgeni bridge, twelve miles from Maritzburg, so dismounting I await the arrival of the waggon and outspan for the night. But it is a short rest. Long before sunrise we are on the road again; and avoiding the midday heat and travelling by night and in the early morning, we reach Grey Town the following day.

If asked what struck me as the most prominent feature of Grey Town I should inevitably reply 'Blue gums,' for the blue gum is everywhere-in the gardens, along the streets, sheltering the homesteads, dropped about the hillsides-lines upon lines of this useful and ornamental tree, giving quite a snug appearance to the village, which otherwise would stand bare and commonplace upon an open plain. The native name for Grey Town is Mkunkundhlovwane, Little Maritzburg,' being the diminutive of their name for the capital, of which the place looks like a minimised version. Put more idiomatically it might be rendered Maritzburg on a small scale.'

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But I must find my third hand.' Here again, however, all the old difficulties crop up. Plenty of boys' are ready to engage, but are deficient in the very first qualification; others, again, who would be just what I wanted, are out of the way for the time being, nor does anyone know how or where to get at them. At last, thanks to the kind and valuable assistance of Mr. Mansel, the officer in command of the Natal Mounted Police at Grey Town, I succeed in securing the services of a likelylooking boy' with a sufficient knowledge of English, and in other respects a quiet, goodtempered, willing fellow. At early dawn we are on the move, toiling slowly up the long hill away from Grey Town, and by the time it begins to wax unpleasantly warm we halt on a beautiful spot at the entrance to the thorns.' Andries, the Grey Town boy,' has fraternised with the driver and leader-natives 'chum' very readily—and has had an opportunity of making himself useful, so that when we inspan late in the afternoon, as the sun's rays begin to abate their fierceness, everything is square and promising for the trip.

And now the country, which hitherto has been open and wholly destitute of bush, suddenly assumes a very different aspect. Thick vegetation covers the valley into which we are descending, and far as the eye can reach the wooded slopes.

stretch away, purple and dim in the afternoon haze. The road winds round the spurs in its gradual descent, becoming wilder and more rugged. On the one hand a mighty precipice rears its red wall, pierced with holes and caves like so many black spots upon its surface; there a mass of gigantic crags piled against the sky-line like the turrets of a stately castle; further on, a huge rock stands out in solitary ruggedness amid the surroundings of the dark green bush. Birds of brilliant plumage are winging in and out among the aloes and mimosa trees; the clear whistle of the spreuw 1 peals with many an echo from yon frowning cliff; while far away down the valley is heard the soft 'cooing' of hundreds of turtledoves. Nor is insect life wanting; the cicala's constant chirp and the whirr of a large winged locust, the gnat's shrill horn and the loud booming hum of a big beetle-all blend harmoniously in the swell of Nature's evening chorus. Now we dip down almost out of sight to cross the deep bed of a trickling watercourse-up again, but everywhere mountain and valley, towering cliff, bush-clad slope and black ravine; a panorama of Nature in her wildest and most fantastic aspect. But hark! the distant barking of a dog and the low of cattle. Not even these familiar sounds tell of approaching civilisa

1 A bird of the starling tribe.

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tion, for picturesquely situated on yonder spur native kraal, its beehive-shaped huts standing in a circle round the cattle enclosure-meet abode of savage man, in keeping with his wild surroundings.

Nearer and nearer dips the sun to the overhanging mountain tops, the outlines of the hills start forth sharp and defined from the haze which has hitherto toned them down, and the effects of light and shade are perfect. Yonder a distant cliff gleams like a wall of burnished bronze rising from an emerald-covered slope, as the slanting beams strike full upon its smooth surface; another, which hitherto has been all in the light, now falls back into gloom, throwing its long black shadow beneath, as though sullenly resenting the fickle desertion of the glorious sun. And the night falls. Star after star, with many a flashing constellation, quivers in the vault above, and the Southern Cross shines upon the lonely traveller like a candelabrum of golden lamps. A nightjar rises and skims overhead uttering its whirring note; the bark of a prowling jackal far away in the thorns is borne upon the stillness; every now and then a big beetle, whizzing with loud hum through the warm air, blunders into my face as I ride along; fireflies glint among the bushes in many a floating spark, but not a sound or sight which tells of the presence of man--the night side of Nature in her own soli