those girls to watch over her! Husband rushed
out of tent in tears. Now, what could I do?

"Is there no pity sitting in the clouds can see into the bottom of
our grief?"

10 p.m., walked through Camp.

Great coughs; little coughs; deep coughs; shrill coughs; hoarse
coughs; long coughs; short coughs; coughs that are no coughs at all.
Wonder how many are to die to-night!

* * * * *

Wednesday, August 28.--Now if there is anything that rubs me up the
wrong way, it is to see a crowd around a tent doorway, watching the
end. Yesterday I lost my temper at 35, and gave it hot all round.
Such barefaced curiosity is revolting; I hate it.

Yes, 35 (21 years) passed away last night, and so did 415 (Mrs.
Meintjes), whom I visited late last evening.

This morning the black list was laid on my table; twelve[17] in the
night--339, 415, 125, 253, 180, 526, 419, 35, 353, 450, I didn't
expect 415 to live long.

The night has been a most restless one; "Ja, minheer, ons het
vannacht nie rust gehad nie" ("Yes, sir, we had no rest last night")
(morgue tents men).

I woke at 2 a.m. with the tramp of these bearers removing
corpses[18].

One longs for day, and the night seems never to end.

Twice funerals--morning at 11 a.m. (six), "Leer ons alzoo onze dagen
tellen" ("So teach us to number our days"); afternoon, 4 p.m. (six),
"En de dooden werden geoordeeld uit hetgeen in de boeken geschreven
was, naar hunne werken" ("And the dead were judged out of those
things which were written in the books, according to their works").

Our wood has given in, and we are forced to bury in blankets. But let
me not think on it! It is painful to remember, and our people feel
very deeply.

The Van der Walts managed to put together an apology for a coffin,
and there was something pathetically comic about that production. I
think it was made of candle and milk boxes.

That reminds me, what queer pastimes some folks can have. One man
casually informed me that he attends all the funerals! But some folks
unconsciously delight to wander in the sombre shadows of life. A
funeral to me is a most fatiguing duty; more so when one has to give
an address at the graves, and there is no time for preparation except
on the march to the burying ground. I am getting reckless, for I am
forced absolutely to rely on impromptu grace. I tremble, when I think
what I risk each day.

Visits only a dozen, owing to funerals.

Sad about 91