ht 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