great misery; sick mother (husband Bloemfontein) and
four sick children; all helplessly ill; no one to help; and water has
to be carried and wood fetched and chopped.

Milk supply has been stopped in Camp; this causes great distress.

What sorrows one is to find tent upon tent with sick children and no
nourishing or invalid food; not even milk.

Wonder if there can be suffering greater than what some folk endure
here.

Mr. Becker funerals; four, I believe, only (!).

Eight died since yesterday afternoon; may a change come speedily.

* * * * *

Friday, September 6.--Handicapped with a horrible cold, which won't
go away; throat hoarse; unpleasant day, very; wind, dust.

Daily routine: Hospital; visits; dinner; visits; funerals; visits;
supper; bed.

Nine buried this afternoon; "Heere gij zijt ons een Toevlucht van
Geslacht tot Geslacht" (Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in
all generations); dreary business.

There have died during one month (August) about 230 people.

A new doctor has come, and now I hope things will grow brighter.

Miss Snyman in hospital little better.

Sad case this evening; found mother at bedside[34] of sick child; she
has lost two already this week, and this one is the last; husband
died Green Point. The sorrow of it! May God spare that child's life.

Hear from Mr. Becker that the old Tante[35] beyond the Camp, with
sick mother and sick children, has broken down. What on earth will
become of them?

Some here unconsciously overdo it, and overtax their own strength in
their grim fights with Angel of Death. A sort of superhuman power
sustains them for a time, and then--the collapse!

But there sings the kettle![36]

* * * * *

Saturday, September 7.--To-morrow is Sunday, and my sermons? O, the
recklessness of it! I had determined to set aside this afternoon for
preparation.

Morning very busy.

Mrs. Mentz' child dead.

Hospitals; hysterical girl very bad; fear she won't pull through;
others betterish; except the fever one; very weak.

In men's ward, old Mr. Petersen dying; quite conscious; waiting on
God; Ps. 23.

Another youth also very bad.

Arrangements upset; funerals this morning (seven); had to rush to
overtake procession; Ps. 39, "Handbreed" (an hand-breadth).

Found I was burying Mrs. De Lint's infant and also "she of the
gnashing teeth."

Sorrowing mothers; I always hurry away when the first