sometimes done. When a
farmer sees a cloud of them coming--a cloud, it may be, of three miles
in length by half a mile in breadth or more--he kindles fires round his
garden and fields, raises a dense smoke, and may sometimes, though not
often, succeed in preventing them from alighting. But the younger or
jumping locusts, strong in the stupidity of youth, cannot be turned
aside thus. Nothing, indeed, but a rushing stream will stop them; even
a mighty river, if not rapid, is insufficient. Stagnant pools they
cross by drowning the leading multitudes, until a bridge--not "of
sighs," but--of death is formed, of size sufficient to carry them over.
They even cross the great Orange River thus in places where its flow is
calm. In Africa they pass in such countless swarms, both winged and
wingless, that their approach is viewed with dismay, for where they rest
they devour every green thing, and flocks and herds are left utterly
destitute, so that starvation or change of ground is unavoidable. They
usually begin their march, or flight, after sunrise, and encamp at
sunset--and woe betide the luckless farmer on whose lands they chance to
fix their temporary abode.

Locust-swarms are followed by a little bird--named _springkaan-vogel_ or
locust-bird--which comes in such dense flocks as almost to darken the
air. These locust-birds are about the size of a swallow, with numerous
speckles like a starling. They live exclusively on locusts--follow
them, build their nests, rear their young in the midst of them, and
devour them. But this is by no means the locust's only enemy. Every
animal, domestic and wild, destroys and eats him. Cattle, sheep,
horses, fowls, dogs, antelopes--all may be seen devouring him with
greediness. He even eats himself, the cannibal! for if any of his
comrades get hurt or meet with accidents in travelling, as they often
do, the nearest fellow-travellers fall on, kill and devour the
unfortunates without delay.

The only human beings who rejoice at sight of the terrible locusts are
the Bushmen. These have neither herds, flocks nor crops to lose, and
though the wild animals on which they subsist are by these insects
driven away, the Bushmen care little, for they delight in fresh locusts,
follow them up, feed on them, and preserve quantities by drying them for
future use.

Before morning the splendid garden of Conrad Marais was a leafless,
fruitless wilderness. Not a scrap of green or gold was left. A