The field-cornet slept but little. Anxiety kept him awake. He turned
and tossed, and thought of the locusts. He napped at intervals, and
dreamt about locusts, and crickets, and grasshoppers, and all manner of
great long-legged, goggle-eyed insects. He was glad when the first ray
of light penetrated through the little window of his chamber.
He sprang to his feet; and, scarce staying to dress himself, rushed out
into the open air. It was still dark, but he did not require to see the
wind. He did not need to toss a feather or hold up his hat. The truth
was too plain. A strong breeze was blowing--it was blowing _from the
west_!
Half distracted, he ran farther out to assure himself. He ran until
clear of the walls that enclosed the kraals and garden.
He halted and felt the air. Alas! his first impression was correct.
The breeze blew directly from the west--directly from the locusts. He
could perceive the effluvium borne from the hateful insects: there was
no longer cause to doubt.
Groaning in spirit, Von Bloom returned to his house. He had no longer
any hope of escaping the terrible visitation.
His first directions were to collect all the loose pieces of linen or
clothing in the house, and pack them within the family chests. What!
would the locusts be likely to eat them?
Indeed, yes--for these voracious creatures are not fastidious. No
particular vegetable seems to be chosen by them. The leaves of the
bitter tobacco plant appear to be as much to their liking as the sweet
and succulent blades of maize! Pieces of linen, cotton, and even
flannel, are devoured by them, as though they were the tender shoots of
plants. Stones, iron, and hard wood, are about the only objects that
escape their fierce masticators.
Von Bloom had heard this. Hans had read of it, and Swartboy confirmed
it from his own experience.
Consequently, everything that was at all destructible was carefully
stowed away; and then breakfast was cooked and eaten in silence.
There was a gloom over the faces of all, because he who was the head of
all was silent and dejected. What a change within a few hours! But the
evening before the field-cornet and his little family were in the full
enjoyment of happiness.
There was still one hope, though a slight one. Might it yet rain? Or
might the day turn out cold?
In either case Swartboy said the locusts could not take wing--for they
cannot fly in cold or rainy weather. In the event of a cold or wet day
they would have to remain as they were, and perhaps the wind might
change round again before they resumed their flight. Oh, for a torrent
of rain, or a cold cloudy day!
Vain wish! vain hope! In half-an-hour after the sun rose up in African
splendour, and his hot rays, slanting down upon the sleeping host,
warmed them into life and activity. They commenced to crawl, to hop
about, and then, as if by one impulse, myriads rose into the air. The
breeze impelled them in the direction in which it was blowing,--in the
direction of the devoted maize-fields.
In less than five minutes, from the time they had taken wing, they were
over the kraal, and dropping in tens of thousands upon the surrounding
fields. Slow was their flight, and gentle their descent, and to the
eyes of those beneath they presented the appearance of a shower of
_black_ snow, falling in large feathery flakes. In a few moments the
ground was completely covered, until every stalk of maize, every plant
and bush, carried its hundreds. On the outer plains too, as far as eye
could see, the pasture was strewed thickly; and as the great flight had
now passed to the eastward of the house, the sun's disk was again hidden
by them as if by an eclipse!
They seemed to move in a kind of _echellon_, the bands in the rear
constantly flying to the front, and then halting to feed, until in turn
these were headed by others that had advanced over them in a similar
manner.
The noise produced by their wings was not the least curious phenomenon;
and resembled a steady breeze playing among the leaves of the forest, or
the sound of a water-wheel.
For two hours this passage continued. During most of that time, Von
Bloom and his people had remained within the house, with closed doors
and windows. This they did to avoid the unpleasant shower, as the
creatures impelled by the breeze, often strike the cheek so forcibly as
to cause a feeling of pain. Moreover, they did not like treading upon
the unwelcome intruders, and crushing them under their feet, which they
must have done, had they moved about outside where the ground was
thickly covered.
Many of the insects even crawled inside, through the chinks of the door
and windows, and greedily devoured any vegetable substance which
happened to be lying about the floor.
At the end of two hours Von Bloom looked forth. The thickest of the
flight had passed. The sun was again shining; but upon what was he
shining? No longer upon green fields and a flowery garden. No. Around
the house, on every side, north, south, east, and west, the eye rested
only on black desolation. Not a blade of grass, not a leaf could be
seen--even the very bark was stripped from the trees, that now stood as
if withered by the hand of God! Had fire swept the surface, it could
not have left it more naked and desolate. There was no garden, there
were no fields of maize or buckwheat, there was no longer a farm--the
kraal stood in the midst of a desert!
Words cannot depict the emotions of the field-cornet at that moment.
The pen cannot describe his painful feelings.
Such a change in two hours! He could scarce credit his senses--he could
scarce believe in its reality. He knew that the locusts would eat up
his maize, and his wheat, and the vegetables of his garden; but his
fancy had fallen far short of the extreme desolation that had actually
been produced. The whole landscape was metamorphosed--grass was out of
the question--trees, whose delicate foliage had played in the soft
breeze but two short hours before, now stood leafless, scathed by worse
than winter. The very ground seemed altered in shape! He would not
have known it as his own farm. Most certainly had the owner been absent
during the period of the locust-flight, and approached without any
information of what had been passing, he would not have recognised the
place of his own habitation!
With the phlegm peculiar to his race, the field-cornet sat down, and
remained for a long time without speech or movement.
His children gathered near, and looked on--their young hearts painfully
throbbing. They could not fully appreciate the difficult circumstances
in which this occurrence had placed them; nor did their father himself
at first. He thought only of the loss he had sustained, in the
destruction of his fine crops; and this of itself, when we consider his
isolated situation, and the hopelessness of restoring them, was enough
to cause him very great chagrin.
"Gone! all gone!" he exclaimed, in a sorrowing voice. "Oh! Fortune--
Fortune--again art thou cruel!"
"Papa! do not grieve," said a soft voice; "we are all alive yet, we are
here by your side;" and with the words a little white hand was laid upon
his shoulder. It was the hand of the beautiful Truey.
It seemed as if an angel had smiled upon him. He lifted the child in
his arms, and in a paroxysm of fondness pressed her to his heart. That
heart felt relieved.
"Bring me the Book," said he, addressing one of the boys.
The Bible was brought--its massive covers were opened--a verse was
chosen--and the song of praise rose up in the midst of the desert.
The Book was closed; and for some minutes all knelt in prayer.
When Von Bloom again stood upon his feet, and looked around him, the
desert seemed once more to "rejoice and blossom as the rose."
Upon the human heart such is the magic influence of resignation and
humility.