A very steep hill had to be climbed, which took us over the
shoulder of the chain of hills, and rumbling slowly down the other side,
with groaning brake and stumbling steeds, we met a typical Dutch family,
evidently trekking back from the laager in a heavy ox waggon. The
sad-looking mother, with three or four children in ragged clothes, was
sitting inside; the father and the eldest boy were walking beside the
oxen. Their apparent misery was depressing, added to which the day,
which all along had been cold and dismal, now began to close in, and,
what was worse, rain began to fall, which soon grew to be a regular
downpour. At last we could hardly see our grey horses, and every moment
I expected we should drive into one of the many pitfalls in the shape of
big black holes with which the roads in this part of the Transvaal
abounded, and a near acquaintance with any one of these would certainly
have upset the cart. At last we saw twinkling lights, but we first had
to plunge down another river-bed and ascend a precipitous incline up the
opposite bank. Our horses were by now very tired, and for one moment it
seemed to hang in the balance whether we should roll back into the water
or gain the top. The good animals, however, responded to the whip,
plunged forward, and finally pulled up at a house dimly outlined in the
gloom.
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