undone to
make the foreigners realise that their presence was appreciated.

After Koomatipoort was passed the train crept slowly into the mountainous
district, where huge peaks pierced the clouds and gigantic boulders
overhung the tracks. Narrow defiles stretched away in all directions and
the sounds of cataracts in the Crocodile River flowing alongside the iron
path drowned the roar of the train. Flowering, vari-coloured plants, huge
cacti, and thick tropical vegetation lined the banks of the river, and
occasionally the thatched roof of a negro's hut peered out over the
undergrowth, to indicate that a few human beings chose that wild region
for their abode. Hour after hour the train crept along narrow ledges up
the mountains' sides, then dashed down declines and out upon small level
plains which, with their surrounding and towering eminences, had the
appearance of vast green bowls. In that impregnable region lay the small
town of Machadodorp, which, later, became the capital of the Transvaal. A
few houses of corrugated iron, a pretty railway-station, and much scenery,
serves as a worthy description of the town at the junction of the purposed
railway to the gold-fields of Lydenberg.

After a journey of twelve hours through the fever country the train
reached the western limit of that belt and rested for the night in a
small, green, cup-shaped valley bearing the descriptive name of Waterval
Onder--"under the waterfall." The weary passengers found more corrugated
iron buildings and the best hotel in South Africa. The host, Monsieur
Mathis, a French Boer, and his excellent establishment came as a breath of
fresh air to a stifling traveller on the desert, and long will they live
in the memories of the thousands of persons who journeyed over the
railroad during the war. After the monotonous fare of an east-coast
steamer and the mythical meals of a Lorenzo Marques hotel, the roast
venison, the fresh milk and eggs of Mathis were as welcome as the odour of
the roses that filled the valley.

The beginning of the second day's journey was characterised by a ride up
and along the sides of a magnificent gorge through which the waters of the
Crocodile River rushed from the lofty plateau of the high veld to the
wildernesses of the fever country and filled that miniature South African
Switzerland with myriads of rainbows. A long, curved, and inclined tunnel
near the top of the mountain led to the undulating plains of the
Transvaal--a