FOOTNOTES:
[1] Mr. Van As and Mr. Fourie laid out the floor for my tent, and encircled it with a 9-inch wall.
[2] Each tent was numbered.
[3] Not real church elders; each, however, had a block of tents under his care.
[4] Stream between Camp and village; it only had running water, though, after rain.
[5] Mr. Van As's eldest daughter.
[6] Sannie Otto was the bosom friend of Sarah van As. Sarah has since died.
[7] My father was for many years minister at Colesberg, and my uncle again at Fauresmith.
[8] Some friends at Durbanville subscribed about £20, with which I had bought some invalid food, to take down with me from Cape Town (beef tea, Benger's Food, jelly, arrowroot, dozen bottles of port). While visiting the sick I noted down the most distressing cases, and after the day's work I made a final round to these tents with some of this invalid food.
[9] Pieter de Lint, an old College friend.
[10] Our Hymnary is divided into Psalms and Evangelical hymns (Psalmen en Gezangen).
[11] I decided to note down always in diary my text for the address at the gravesides. Our people expect the pastor to give an address before reading the Burial Service.
[12] What with water to be carried, rations to be fetched, wood to be brought and chopped, food to be cooked (in the open), bread to be baked, washing to be done (not to speak of the menial sanitary duties), it was indeed hard for a mother (herself perhaps weak), with a number of sick children, to keep her tent clean.
[13] Van Huysteens. The mother was shot while they were fleeing before the English. There was a babe of five months.
[14] As a pigeon feeds its young.
[15] Where I have often camped out.
[16] College chum.
[17] The twelfth was probably in hospital.
[18] When removing the dead from a certain section of the Camp, the bearers had to pass my tent.
[19] She was a probationer.
[20] The women, brandishing the meat ration on high, literally laid siege to the official tent. The meat supplied was miserably lean, quite unfit for consumption. I myself wouldn't have given it to a dog. When thrown against a wall, for instance, it would stick. Throughout the Camp it was dubbed "vrekvlys" (a man dies, an animal "vreks"—vlys is meat). The flour given was good, for the bread was usually excellent.
[21] This number soon grew to 800.
[22] There were three such tents about 100 yards beyond the hospital; they were the most dilapidated tents in the whole Camp, always open; they were occasionally blown down.
[23] A ration of coal was sometimes served out.
[24] Another old College chum.
[25] The Van As's received my ration (which was same as theirs), and I took all my meals with them.
[26] This doctor, a most capable man, was always most friendly to me. I had learnt to humour him, and he was ever willing to accompany me, even at night, to desperate cases. He was, however, almost as universally detested as he was feared, and ultimately was knocked down by an irate husband.
CHAP. II.
Sunday, September 1.—Recklessness; preached twice to-day without any preparation; "sommer uit die vuis uit" (literally, straight from the fist); simply compelled to; very unpleasant day; wind and dust; made services very short; fifty-five minutes.
In afternoon a large crowd of young people.
Mr. Otto took funerals for me this morning (eleven buried).
This afternoon Mr. Becker buried six.
About fourteen have died since last night.
It is pitiable to see the innocent little children and babies suffering and struggling against the accursed pneumonia; and there seems no hope when once they get it. Poor little mites!
A census taken lately gives 683 as the number of sick. Milk ration[27] has been stopped since yesterday; new sorrow. Our Camp a veritable valley of desolation. For the very essence of sorrow and misery, come here! For weeping, wailing mothers, come here! For broken hearts, come here! For desperate misery and hopelessness, come here! What would become of us if we had not our Religion to fall back upon! What, if we had not the assurance that a Good and Merciful God reigns above! What if there was no Love! What, if there was no hope of the Resurrection and Life Everlasting! What, if there is nothing beyond the Grave!
The nights here are so awful, and one yearns for day; and then the fearfulness of being awakened repeatedly in the night by the tramp of those who carry away the dead to the morgue tents. I woke last night in such a way, and knew that they were bearing young Herklaas away. One grows a bit pessimistic under the circumstances. Despite my services, I had to visit several sick—mostly dying children, with weeping mothers. It is so hard to pray, and so very wearying. And then, to comfort and cheer, when your own heart is lead within.
In the hospital there are many sick; am neglecting the hospital, and my conscience hurts, but am going regularly from to-morrow; must find time somewhere.
Mrs. De Lint's children are all sick; baby very bad; poor woman; am so sorry for her; Peter away in Ceylon.
Those deep rings round the eyes, which one sees all about, bear testimony to nights of watching and of anguish in the heart. May God take pity!
Monday, September 2.—Bitter day, the bitterest I have yet had; Superintendent furious because of my last letters[28]. The worst is I see that I am altogether misunderstood, and that I am suspected now of interfering and working against the Superintendent. And yet this is not so, for I would go to-morrow if I knew I was at all hostile to the authorities. I fear I have been indiscreet in what I wrote; shall have straight talk to-morrow, and ask Superintendent to let me resign if I have not his confidence; there must be no suspicion, otherwise I cannot stay. This matter is a load upon my heart.
Busy day; new tents 63, 552a, 50, 40, all with sick children except 552, where young man is very sick.
Called to hospital; Mrs. Retief dying; prayer; expired just after. Hurried to 34, but found I was just too late; Mrs. Ackerman just died.
156; very sad case; mother, Mrs. Joubert, died this morning, and when I came I found three helpless little ones all alone, and sick too; father in Bloemfontein Camp; the grandmother will provide, I understand.
Had short conversation with Mr. Branders, Superintendent Sunday School, and decided to exhort parents to send children to school.
395; Mrs. Botha very ill; twenty-eight days in bed; advise removal hospital; this afternoon doctor called and said she was dying; she leaves a baby.
Went to few cases with doctor; very interesting; get on well with him.
Visited 239, Ignatius, with malignant growth on arm; must soon die.
Took doctor to see 36; young girl suddenly sick; great misery there; bad ventilation; four others measles.
Funerals this afternoon (about nine); "Hetgeen gij zaait wordt niet levend tenzij dat het gestorven is" (That which thou sowest is not quickened except it die).
Visited hospital to-day, and mean to go regularly each day.
Tuesday, September 3.—Went to Superintendent first thing to-day; reasonable[29]; long talk; reconciled; thank God.
Found boy in 34 very, very bad; this afternoon stopped bearers on way to morgue tents, and learnt that they were carrying him away; poor little fellow; he suffered so very much!
In 35 there is also great sickness.
27; Mrs. Taljaard; very sick baby; also sick boy; husband commando.
Hospital; read and prayed in the three wards; glad I went; some very seriously ill; so sorry to hear that Miss Hendriks died this morning; she was very bad; spoke to her yesterday, and prayed with her; she enquired restlessly, time after time, "Is dit nog nie vijf uur nie?" (Is it not yet five o'clock?). At five this morning she passed away.
The men's ward quite full; all ages; all were so glad to have me read and pray.
541; Mrs. Steyn; two children gone; very sore; glad I went.
500; Mrs. Schoeman; eight children; two sick; husband Ceylon.
503; Mrs. Robertson; baby dead; two boys sick; husband fighting.
In 418 great misery; Mrs. Herbst ill and three sick children.
In 322 called in to pray for dying baby.
Very busy afternoon; always stopped on way and called in.
Neglected 475.
The poor little mites! the horrid, cruel pneumonia! and there seems to be no saving them when once the pneumonia, grips them.
Mr. Becker took funerals, seventeen; several in blankets.
And so we go forth day by day; the dread whistle; the regular tramp of the bearers to morgue tents, and the slowly winding procession every afternoon.
Called hurriedly to hospital twice; dying girl just brought in; could understand.
Hysterical girl Martie[30], swearing and cursing all round; each nurse in particular, and the whole lot generally.
Old Mrs. Van Zyl, 492, evidently dying.
Called to enquire after old Mrs. Oosthuizen; found she had died soon after last visit.
Pleasant evening; stories of my travels; in Italy once more.
Wednesday, September 4.—My visits to hospital I love.
That one girl such a sad case; fever and most terrible headache; they say it is sunstroke.
Hysterical girl quiet.
Filth and stench in some tents almost unbearable.
Nos. 34 and 35 very bad; ventilated tent myself; some folks built that way, and sickness becomes their trench behind which they shelter. But I will persist in maintaining that no matter the sickness, no matter the distress and poverty, cleanliness is a possibility anywhere[31]. But what an opportunity for the careless to degenerate!
Managed to get bedstead for Mrs. Van Zyl; fear she won't last long.
I wonder what the safest policy would be when two women pour out their griefs into your ear at the same time. When they simultaneously tell you all about their departed cherubs? Some people selfish in their sorrow. Took little camphor brandy Mrs. Niemand's; tent full lamenting womenfolk; and the helpless babe casting her black eyes from one to another. Some people will insist on anticipating the Almighty (the child is dead, though).
Saw a child to-day the very image of a mouse; two months' illness; large ears; black eyes; thin, bony hands; huddled together.
Very busy afternoon.
Funerals at 4 p.m.; eighteen corpses; "En God zal alle tranen van hunne oogen afwisschen" (And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes).
How can one's heart remain hard? Can one be unmoved when you see weeping, stricken mothers kneeling in anguish beside their infants' graves?
Love, after all, is the greatest and most mysterious of all things.
Explain it that a mother can cling to a helpless, idiotic, deformed boy for fourteen years, and feed him mouth to mouth! Explain that a mother can sit up night and day, day and night, with a sick child! Look at those deep-set eyes, sorrow-sunken, their care-wornness, and tell me what is this Love that endureth all things!
Two things have I learnt during these fourteen days which till now to me were "all fancy"—the meaning of Love and the thing called Religion.
Thursday, September 5th.—Tent overhauled; floor rubbed and "smeered" (coated); very miserable, windy day; dust; dirt; towards evening cold south winds; fear it will work havoc with the children to-night.
Hospitals; so sorry about Miss Snyman; quite delirious to-day; wonder if she will live.
Hysterical one[32] quite tame; "Ach, minheer zijn hand is tog zoo koud; ik wens, minheer, wil die heele dag mij kop hou" ("Ah, sir, your hand is so very cold, I wish you would hold it to my head the whole day").
Found things cleaner at 35; still great misery.
Fear old Mrs. Van Zyl will die.
The De Wets (526) sad way; so many sick; one daughter dead; two children in hospital; this afternoon baby died.
Neglected to go to Mrs. Niemand—poor little mother!
De Lintz in great misery; gnashing teeth girlie[33] weaker.
Some people selfish in their sorrow; but I don't suppose a man can fathom the love a mother bears her child!
Near Church (!) 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 sod falls with its horrible thud; it unstrings the chords of one's being, and the best thing is to depart.
Spent afternoon in; at five, went to few tents.
Old Tante yonder; the great collapse; very sorrowful; faithful unto death. Weeks of toil; untiring efforts with sick daughter and her three sick children; poor; helpless; no one to assist save little Billy, who herself is sick. And now—now the daughter is better, the three children on the way to recovery, and the faithful old grandmother? Nunc demittis. She has lain there like a log since yesterday without nourishment; took beef tea; kind neighbour brought broth; made her sit up, and she gulped down the food; will try and get her removed to hospital to-morrow.
Visited Mrs. Naude of yesterday; anguish; the last child died this morning; husband gone; three children gone; alone. Made fool of myself. O, the pity of it all!
Long visit from Doctor; desperate; at wit's end; and with a sermon hanging upon my mind.
Sunday, September 8.—Most awful day of wind and dust. May I never see such another.
Church (!); open air; clouds of dust; people just simply buried in dust; could scarcely read; whole service forty-five minutes.
During sermon compelled to turn round and shut eyes; saw on opening them that my black hat had changed to my brown one.
Met wailing women on return; Mrs. Lubbe; news of husband's death; shot in war; frantic; visited this evening; hopeless. What could I do? frantic despair; cruel anguish unconsolable. Grief makes one unreasonable. I think one should fight against grief and not collapse so readily; and yet—and yet!
Funerals five; old Mr. Petersen; large crowd; availed myself of opportunity; "Alleen wiens namen opgeschreven zijn in het Boek des Levens des Lams" (But they which are written in the Lamb's Book of Life).
May God not let His word return to Him void; read also Psalm 25, which I read to old Mr. Petersen just before he died.
Accompanied Mrs. Mentz to see husband in hospital; youngest child dead; father knows not; in fear and trembling lest she should tell. He gave her half an orange to give the little girl (buried already); I must tell him of child's death to-morrow; bitter task.
Disappointed about hospital; could not go through thoroughly; some there who won't pull through, I'm afraid.
On way home from funerals called in to pray for dying children; found I was too late at the first tent; much grief and wailing; second tent; baby dying.
Neglected to go to old mother beyond; wonder if!
This evening two girls came to ask for candle; great misery no light; gave half a candle; visited this evening Van der Walt; sorrowful; three children ill; saw my candle burning. What if I had not been able to give! Other sick children; sent brandy and Benger's food.
Mr. Becker service afternoon; same old dust.
Heard there were some of the Ladies' Commission present; good! May God bless their work and give them His Spirit in their work. May they see all.
Nice singing at our Church this evening; Miss Dussels; new doctor sick; "ipperkonders" gave him cocoa.
Weinanda dead; thank God! another burden of suffering ended.
Woman I prayed with in hospital this afternoon, dead this evening.
Girlie (35) Ackerman also dying.
Mrs. De Wet called me to her bedside (hospital), and asked me to pray that she might sleep. May God's angels guard over those hospital tents this night.
Monday, September 9.—Ladies' Commission; one of them, Dr. Jane Waterston. Glorious rain. How nice it will be to sleep with the soothing music of falling showers.
Our new kitchen getting on famously. What a comfort it will be when finished. It takes 800 bricks to build a kitchen here, and few there be that possess such a luxury. Spent half an hour in kitchen of hospital after visits; delighted with the sight of walls again; more determined than ever to go and do likewise. Am sure won't need more than 3,000 bricks to build a regular palace, and won't it be glorious! Besides, one does not know in the least, how long we are still to remain here, and even were it only a month longer it would be worth while.
Doctor gave up 71; went and found woman dead; child very sick; found Mr. Becker there.
Just after dinner was called to see one of the little orphans of few days ago; went at 2.30; too late; bad of me; should have gone immediately.
To-day saw the thinnest, boniest woman imaginable; Mrs. Booysen; just a skeleton; husband Ceylon; daughter here; son and daughter still at the front.
Saw also the most emaciated baby imaginable; puny; nine months; mother dead; lives on "genade" (mercy) of other mothers whose babies are dead; a regular "kannie dood" (literally, a "won't die").
Got the Van Huysteen girls to undertake case of outside tent with old grandmother; opened bottom to-day to ventilate; foul.
Visited old Mr. Van Heerde; very bad; wife "praat soos een boek" (talks like a book); quite a change to do a bit of listening on points of Theology!
Found the Fouries of first day; daughter much better.
The quack doctor deserves to be kicked; found bottle of medicine on table somewhere; pure water; five shillings. He is coining money and fleecing people most scandalously; child now luckily in hospital; spoke strongly to parents on the point.
In hospital things are rather glum; Miss Snyman utterly weak and fearfully excited; hysterical girl still alive; so are all others; but I fear some of them won't see light of morning.
Doctor actually in bed in hospital; bad too; rather a sell; tables cruelly turned on us.
Tuesday, September 10.—Ladies' Commission here again; can more or less predict what report will be.[37]
Rain all night; soaking showers; this morning everything very muddy; some streets in Camp awful; and then to see the "gesukel" (distress) this morning all round among the women trying to cook breakfast.
Yesterday met several women carrying heavy buckets of water; "Dit is daarom nie vrouwen's werk nie" (This truly is not work for women).
The women here have a rough time; what with no servants, no kitchen, scanty wood, and poor rations; it is hard to make ends meet. Were it not for the little extras[38] we have (golden syrup, jam, oatmeal, tea and until yesterday fat), I wonder what I would do.
Went to village to-day; nothing to be had there; was absolutely refused permit for rice and beans; got 4 lbs. peas; candles not to be had for love or money; dined Beckers.
Owing to presence of Ladies' Commission, unable to do my daily visit to hospital; three have died—Mrs. Kruger, Miss Ackerman, and a lad of seventeen.
Superintendent called me to-day, and said I could issue "briefies" (notes) for food to-morrow; very glad, for I know many tents where there is dire distress.
Very weary and sickish; eager for bed.
Funerals nine; "U te kennen is het eeuwige leven" (To know Thee is life everlasting."
Yesterday Mr. Becker buried eleven.
To-day most were in blankets.
Wednesday, September 11.—Waylaid doctor; throat bad; got two bottles medicine; seedy.
34 and 71 great distress; the girl in 71 actually still alive; some people die hard.
Hurried back to hospital; Miss Snyman now so hysterical removed; tent to herself; wonder if!
That Lotz girl too is still alive; but what a wonderful constitution she must have!
Saw some distressing and heartrending cases to-day.
626; mother in agony; strong daughter (18) in throes of death and fearfully "benauwd" (in agony), pneumonia. Little sister; insensible; far gone; no doctor.
Hunted for doctor; gone to village; took him down this evening at nine. O, the sorrow of it! Can never imagine a more harrowing spectacle; we got medicine down; stayed three-quarters of an hour; left doctor there and returned. Here go the bearers with their lifeless burden; the elder sister died little while ago.
The little one, too, is dead; poor suffering innocents!
That sweet little girl at 128, whom I visited late last night, and with whom I prayed—she, too, died early this morning; and now she has the desire of her heart: they were laying her out when I called this morning.
Visited tent to which I sent little brandy yesterday; found child had just died; too late.
Gave old woman at 34, children and grandchildren, earnest talking-to this afternoon; old woman, over seventy, quite callous as to religion; no "behoefte" (sense of need): "Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth."
Old Mr. Van Heerde, whom I visited two days ago, died in night. Great consternation about little boy in 348; was getting on so well, and actually dead this morning. Doctor completely upset; he took great trouble with this child; poor little chap, he had such a bonny little face.
Our kitchen we are building, getting on famously; I stand good for bricks and wood; we need about 1,000 bricks; quite a great affair, and will prove a blessing.
Gave out "briefies" to-day, but fear that I shall give up the job; what use, when they return empty-handed, or with but half the things! Sorely vexed in my soul at the treatment I receive. Why ask me to issue briefies?
Washing-stand looks handsome, thanks to Stienie; oilcloth will make it quite spruce.
Young man addressed me quite intimate-like this afternoon, "En wat schrijf maat in de boekie?" ("Mate, what are you writing in that book?")
Mr. Becker funerals; don't know number.
Thursday, September 12.—News from Steytler[39]; sent away from Potchefstroom; let me be doubly careful. I am so attached to my work now, love it, that it would be a grievous burden were I compelled to give it up[40].
Only there is too much, too much to do, and if I visit one side of the Camp, the other side has to be neglected. Five would have their hands comfortably full here, and then there would be less "oorslaan" (neglect).
I am continually asked to visit new sick people; there seems to be no end to all the sickness.
The woman in 34 is very bad; next door to 626 is also great misery; children very sick and without medical attendance. That is so sorrowful; the number of tents where no doctor comes[41], the absence of invalid food and nourishment; the hard, bare floor (heard of a case yesterday where grass had begun to grow under sick bed); the despair and helplessness of the mothers.
Another burden—no lights! There are numbers of tents where there is sickness, in some cases dying people, and where to-night there is not an inch of candle.
Pathetic sight yesterday; mother melting odd ends and scraps of tallow and fat to make some sort of candle; daughter on brink of death.
Wonder what plan they have made to-night for light!
Girl 71 still alive; wonderful.
Funerals—nine, I believe; great crowd; calamity; one grave short, and coffin had to be returned; women faint; consternation.
Upset, and couldn't pick my thread in address, "En ziet een groote schaar die niemand tellen kon" (And lo! a great multitude which no man could number). These funerals most painful and wearying, and then the burden of having to give address.
Small quantity boards arrived; may we have no more burials in blankets now!
Mrs. Snyman in tears yesterday in hospital, and her great trouble was that there would be no coffin for her daughter, who is in jaws of death; reprimand; should not anticipate God; besides, the sorrows of to-day are grievous enough, why bear to-morrow's in the bargain?
Great wailing and lamentation round morgue tents this morning; daughter and wife of old Mr. Van Heerde; and she boasted so big three days ago of her boundless faith. Gave her straight talk; fruit of our faith is our resignation and peace of heart. Thank God rather for the blessedness of so long and happy a union; cross with daughter; a woman can become so unreasonable in her grief.
Arrival of my autoharp; gladness.
Friday, September 13.—Spat fire. Now let me never have occasion to get so annoyed again; wished for a bag of chaff to pummel for half an hour just to let off steam.
458 the very essence of misery; old mother helpless (since dead); young mother sick; three wretched and sick children; and yet when I presented myself for rice at office was cold-shouldered by Assistant Superintendent; and these be the things sent by friends from Cape Town to relieve distress here; and after permission from Superintendent to issue "briefies! I got rice and two beef teas after all; but sparks inward flew all the same.
Got to 458; found old grandmother dead; wished Assistant Superintendent could have been forced to look in; but what an if!
There comes the pity of it all—total absence of sympathy of any kind!
Wonder of wonders; 70 new person; much better; returned from the very borders; now let me never doubt on the subject of miracles again!
Saw crowd (hateful) round 34; worked way in; dying. Singing of hymn; prayer (and after, strong words to crowd). This horrible attractiveness of a deathbed! Where does it originate?
34 and 35, Ackermans; these people have had ten deaths since their arrival in Camp; they are dying out altogether. There is one in hospital, and she has small chances of recovery.
Long visit to hospital; all four wards. Spoke to Mrs. ——, who lost her babe in night.
Betty Lotz quite "plezierig" (cheerful); Betty Kruger (mother died few days ago in hospital), sweet little girl; languid dark brown eyes; much suffering; wonder if!
Snyman girl very low; mother there; very pathetic: quite delirious; fear!
Went to see Mrs. Welgemoed, 518; very bad; don't think she will "make it."[42]
Mrs. Hett called me in; very concerned; Annie, ten years, very ill; sweet little thing; took her some Benger's Food and milk; wine. Mother in mortal dread of seeing child sent to hospital; but what foolishness! Selfish, and altogether disastrous policy.
Saw Mr. Becker; not here yesterday; poor man; new misery; new cross; and he looks like a bit of leather already. The military contemplate taking possession of his parsonage (he has wife, four little children), and this good man has slaved ever since the Camp has been here, day after day, indefatigably, out of pure goodness and charity.[43]
Our kitchen has the woodwork of its roof finished; hope soon to see it completed; glorious anticipation; a masterpiece!
Tramping about from 1.30 to 6.30, and now exceedingly tired. Wonder how about Sunday's sermons.
Mr. Becker; funerals—nine, I believe.
Saturday, September 14.—Great day; this way: inspected this afternoon immense new marquee tent put up for hospital; glorious within; charmed; mindful of our sufferings when trying to hold and attend Divine service; idea spontaneous; immediate action; bee-line to Superintendent's tent; psychological moment; agreeable. Hurrah! Strike iron while hot; enlist men to help at 3 p.m. Resultum: Fine large tent between the two school sheds; "Alles achter mekaar" (everything in order). Can have use of school forms, which will seat 300 people. Position grand; bit aside, but quiet and clean neighbourhood. Inauguration to-morrow.
And sermon? That still to be made. It's no absolute good; busy whole morning; planned to reserve afternoon for preparation.
Afternoon comes; new church; funerals; final visits, and where does the preparation come in? No show! Never mind; too satisfied to grumble to-night; "Alles zal wel recht komen" (all will come right).
No chance for hospital to-day; sorry; Betty Lotz dead; poor child. Yesterday I still teased her with her cropped hair and the orange she was eating; always so glad when I come; "Betty, gij kan moes mooi hoor als ik lees en bid neh" ("Betty, you listen very nicely when I read and pray"). "O ja, minheer, ik luister baing mooi" ("O yes, sir, I listen very well").
Buried her this afternoon, also seven others; "Dood, waar is uw prikkel?" (Death, where is thy sting?)
She belonged to 627, from which two daughters were buried in the week; parents far away; aunt still very sick.
Found Mrs. Barkhuizen dying; passed away soon after I left.
518, Mrs. Welgemoed, died in night; baby also dying; great sorrow.
Called to console mother whose babe had just died, Mrs. Van der M.
Next door old Mr. R. dying, and, worst of all, unprepared. Oh! how unspeakably difficult is my work and how fearful the responsibility!
Wonder if he is still alive? Mr. Otto[44] went to him too, and I asked Mr. Becker to visit him also.
Rather ashamed this morning; had taken down Nos. 268 and 263 some days ago, and never yet been there. To-day "voorgekeerd" (waylaid).
268, Mrs. Steyn; very sick for one and a half months already; glad I went; in other tent found Mrs. Fourie; heard that her two children already dead; very resigned; glad of my visit even though so late in day.
While in official tent, woman came with note, for maizena, brandy, and milk from doctor; was simply told there was none. (And where are the things that came down lately, with two dozen brandy and 24 dozen milk?)
Gave her arrowroot and milk. This is no isolated case. How many go away empty-handed who present "briefies" at the office? The cry for a little brandy or wine is simply pitiable. And candles! Fie on it! O fie!
Our kitchen nearly done; grand tin roof, out of coffee tins (one shilling a tin); must inaugurate on Monday with pancakes or something.
Now for sermon (10.30 p.m.).
Sunday, September 15 (the Great 15th)[45].—What a day!
Yesterday ecstasy over new church; to-day in the depths again. Joy shortlived. This way: very stormy night; soaking rains; morning whirlwind, frightful; hurried to the church; one side already blown loose; mighty burst wind; whole show laid low. Such are the vicissitudes of Camp life.
Service out of question. Thankful!
Similar tent, hospital, also blown down same time. A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
One of morgue tents also blown down.
Last night very restless one; bearers with their horrid tramp always waken me, and it is fearful to be so awakened.
Mr. Roelvert they bore away last night, and several others. It was frightfully dark, and on one occasion the men walked bang against my "airing structure"[46] to their great discomfort.
Woke again 3.30 with peculiar noise. "There goes Dr. Maddon's[47] tent," says I, "the pole has snapped." Rather helpless sort; guessed he would come to me; and so it was. Made him call out five times before I answered, just for fun; got up and helped him; delightful to get into bed again.
So sorry. I hear Betty Lotz was buried yesterday in blanket; glad I was unaware it was she. She asked me the last time I saw her, "Wanneer gaat, minheer, dan mij stukkie lees uit die Bijbel?" ("Sir, when are ou going to read my little portion out of the Bible?") "Wat is dit dan, Betty?" ("What is it, Betty?") "Minheer, van Jairus en sijn dochtertje" ("Sir, about the daughter of Jairus"). I promised to read that for next day; but this promise unfulfilled; couldn't go to hospital yesterday; besides, she was carried away by then. Never mind, I'll read about Jairus' daughter to-morrow all the same.
Betty Kruger betterish; poor little thing; her mother died in beginning of week, also in hospital. She knows nothing though, but to-day she asked her sister to make her a black frock because her mother was dead.
Miss Taljaard very much better; if she pulls through it will be a miracle. Mr. Van der Merwe very, very bad indeed (enteric); wonder if! Sad; mother died some days ago; then young wife, and yesterday his little daughter was buried. Is there a sorrow like to our sorrow?
Little boy is dying in hospital.
156; of these remaining orphans (Joubert's), one little girlie is dying. Foeitog!
70 very much better.
Got bedstead for 631; three little children dangerously ill; and all three "deurgele" (bedsores); "Mammie, mammie, mij boutjes is zoo zeer" ("Mother, mother, my legs are so sore").
The misery there is heartrending; hard ground; cold and wet as well. Poor little mites; and nourishment?
Second visit. Found mother down too; terrible pain. What will happen now, I wonder!
Called in to 620; old Mrs. Roux; sick; prayer; asked me to come again.
Wish I could press a button and summon papa to do the praying part for me!
Number of deaths so far (according to Mr. Becker's funeral lists) about 420.
Since I've been here (25 days), we have buried about 300. Appalling figures!
This afternoon (Mr. Becker), funerals eight.
Monday, September 16.—Flood.
Our Camp one sheet of water and mud; furrow too small for the rush of water; great inundations; many tents flooded; great misery; and how about the cooking business? Everything to be done outside (we are among the few privileged with a kitchen). Women have to wade through water and mud; wet wood; raining continually. Just picture the scene!
Came to one tent; in front of door one mass clay and mud; inside awful; and yet there lay a girl very dangerously sick, and another also down.
425, Mrs. Booysen; skeleton; completely flooded; everything wet; and the floor! Yesterday they got her a bedstead; till now she had to lie on the floor; sick daughter; wonder where she will sleep. Floor? Impossible.
In another tent rain leaked through; water all over.
Another matter which tells of fresh misery. The sanitary sheds and screens are all some distance out of the camp. Imagine the painfulness of affairs on days like this, when one hardly dares put head out of doors.
Overheard conversation between old man and doctor:
You, what do you want here? Go away from this —— tent! Voetzak, voetzak! Get away from this —— tent!" This was to an old man. It makes one's blood boil. There is no real—no, not a particle of—sympathy.
In 631, wife told me doctor (another) came past, and she, meaning that he was looking for her tent (third morning already and he had not yet come), attempted to direct him. "You go to ——!" was all she got; and she has three little ones in very precarious state.
Visited in New Camp; several sick there.
652, sick wife and child. (Nice biltongs[48] hanging up; but for all my hints, got nothing!)
631, Kotze; doppers; two girls measles; prayer; repeated Psalm.
518, little child (mother dead two days ago) died this after noon.
Found another very sick girlie, 532, Venter; took orange wine, arrowroot, milk; but I doubt whether she'll "make it"; too far gone.
Talk with Mrs. Steyn, who has lost three children; such a good little woman; while there an old Tante came, evidently to tell all her tale of woe, so I cleared.
Funerals ten, all children.
Meant to have spoken on "Heere, maak mij bekend mijne einde" (Lord, make me to know mine end), but on discovery at graveyard that all were children, spoke on "The Reaper and the Flowers."
Miss Snyman in hospital, moaning awfully just now; just been there; poor girl; and she disturbs all the others.
Spruit nicely down; Mr. Becker not come; can't get across evidently.
Visits to hospital. In women's ward "beterschap"; little Betty and Miss Taljaard much better; wonder if!
Read to them about Jairus' daughter; but the other Betty "wasn't there no more" to hear.
Pancakes; five easily.
Tuesday, September 17.—Fine, glorious day; people all busy airing and drying things; life again.
69, old Mr. Theunissen, very weak; old man; old wife; floor. Hard luck; "Ach, Minheer, ik het zoo gewens dat mij zoon mij ooge moet toe druk, en nou is hij in Ceylon, en ik voel dat ik nie langmeer hier zal wees nie" ("O sir, I did so wish that my son should close my eyes, and now he is in Ceylon, and I feel that I won't be here much longer").
Saw Mr. Mentz being led home to tent (from hospital) by Mr. Booysen; anxiety; knows nothing about daughter's death, and his wife lies ill in bed. What's to be done? Mr. Mentz (one month in hospital) still very weak. Brought him to the Van As's for some tea while I planned how best to act. Decide to break news to him just before he arrives at tent; very painful task indeed. Caught the two up just before tent door, and told him to stop a minute. Now God help me and him!—Thank God, it is over! Rude, cruel awakening! O the sorrow, the sorrow of it! Prayed with family, and left with heavy, leaden heart.
Why is there so much sorrow and bitterness in this life?
Last week, when his wife visited him in hospital, he gave her half an orange to give his Nellie, and on another occasion a biscuit—and all the while his girlie was under the cold, dark sod.
Visited Van den Heever, 68. Also 626, 631, 624, 70, 74.
Went with trembling heart to 532; "Waar is die kind?" ("Where is the child?"). "Nee, Minheer, zij is vannach om een uur dood" ("Sir, she died last night at one o'clock").
Found the Van Zyls, 499, and the Robertsons, 503, had also lost babies during last few days.
424, Hasebroek; sick child; baby died yesterday.
482, Hetts; little daughter very sick; wonder if! Such a sweet little thing.
Getting sick to death of doctor; such a terrible amount of brag and big talk, always about himself; always dread his calls; can never get so far as to return; a regular thorn in the flesh.
Visits to hospital.
Mr. Van der Merwe still very bad; men's ward full of boys; some very bad.
Martie Snyman recognised me to-day, and asked me to pray for her; mother there too.
Mr. Becker funerals; six.
Wednesday, September 18.—Bitterly cold night; frost; glorious day.
Regular holiday; did precious little "leeraarts" (pastoral) work to-day; grand clean up; fine bookcase of big box; grand!
Baby[49] comes regularly now to clean up.
Tent very close to-day; hot weather; contemplating building house; busy with estimates to-day; will need about 3,500 bricks; such edifice will be real boon when hot weather sets in.
Our kitchen is palatial, and the admiration of the whole camp, and I guess hundreds have cast envious eyes upon it. And yet within it is but 4 feet by 7 feet, its height is 5 feet 10 inches; but it has a pitch roof, with coffee tins beaten out to serve for zinc. It is built of good, raw brick, and the walls are 4 inches thick, plus two more inches of substantial clay plaster. It has a window without panes, and a doorless doorway, and yet a marvellous structure both in workmanship and usefulness. Total cost about £3. Let me not forget its chimney—made of a half-sheet of zinc, and beaten into a cone (1s.). Now with my mind's eye I see the structure sparkling in the gentle moonbeams. A thing of beauty is a joy for ever. Enough!
Rigged up church again; little nearer in, and this afternoon three of us went and put everything geometrically straight—poles, pegs, ropes, etc.—to prevent second collapse. We are going to sink heavy stones into the ground as anchors, and the whole structure we are going to make rigid with wire ropes. This all to be done on the morrow. It is going to serve as school; good!
There must be some two thousand children here, and yet I doubt if fifty go to school; pity; children run loose, absolutely neglected.
Too much sickness about; fear the deterioration.
Funerals this afternoon five; all children; "Heere, maak mij bekend mijne einde" (Lord, make me to know mine end). May those graveside addresses bear fruit!
Called to 104, Hugo's; great sorrow; baby died this morning; poor mother; talk about tears rolling down! Let me not think on it!
179, Roelvert's baby; convulsions after measles; also dying.
A mother's heart: the most delicate, mysterious, profound piece of architecture in creation. Let a man not attempt to fathom its depths; there are mazes which he can never pass through; and there are recesses (illuminated, I guess) which he can just barely know of, let alone enter.
Thursday, September 19.—Two women cleared last night; burghers evidently in near neighbourhood. There are always numbers of women who go to hills to collect wood, and for long, weary distances they carry their loads of oven wood, like so many Kaffir girls. It hurts to watch them return.
Camp continually getting bigger; there must be some 800 tents now, and quite 5,000 souls.
Feel bad at thought of so many thousands whom it is impossible to reach just now, because of the sickness all about.
I have been here just a month, and have, during that time, done nothing but visit sick and dying.
Hospital, too, grown larger; five big marquee tents; began visit there this morning; disturbed by arriving patients and doctor.
Found Martie Snyman dying; dead a quarter of an hour after. We gathered round her bedside and committed her spirit into God's safe keeping; poor child! she had such a time of suffering; mostly always delirious; and her mother! Let me not think of it!
Many new arrivals in women's wards; some dangerously ill.
Poor Betty Kruger; fear she won't "make it."
Meant to go again this afternoon, but disappointed; had to take charge of books which had come; great work, and unsatisfactory too.
Meant to have made long visits to New Camp this afternoon; "Alles verijdeld" (everything fell through).
Visits 432, 482, 268 (old Mr. De V.), 494 (aunt of Miss Van Rooi, who died in hospital), 458, 424, 499, and 503.
Went again with couple of eggs and milk to 432 and 424.
Poor little girl; so very sick, and on ground too.
Found 458 in total darkness; no lights, and little boy dying. Foeitog! Borrowed half a candle from Mrs. Van As.
Ordered bricks to-day for my house—3,500, at 1s. a hundred. Hope to see it standing "moet 'n boog" (for show) by next week.
Split in connection with church; old lot near old church-stand dissatisfied; some folk hard to please; rather vexing; they want us to keep up service at old place as well.
Mr. Becker referred matter to me; said I was quite agreeable if there was possibility of drawing two congregations. Mr. Otto may be induced to conduct one.
Well, certainly, we have enough people for a double service.
Concerned about Catechism class; there must be hundreds who ought to be confirmed. Concerned also about Sunday school. How are we to collect these thousands! If the sickness in camp would only decrease, what great things we could attempt.
Found packet Sunlight soap in tent; my ration; large family Van As gets two cakes; I, single, whole packet; not very complimentary!
Sent parcel books to hospital as library; decided to divide miscellaneous books into four small circulating libraries.
Mr. Becker funerals; eight.
Friday, September 20.—Early bird; brought over all books from store tent; also cask of Quaker oats[50]; very glad of latter; will serve out like mad next week.
Tent now regular chaos; boxes; feel need of house all the more.
Four circulating libraries—Otto's, Dussel's, Van As's, and Lubbe's. Reading, however, rather an impossibility here in camp; one has always something to do. What a blessing that everyone has work in plenty, because in one's work one can derive a measure of happiness and satisfaction; it detracts one's thoughts from the seamy side of life just now.
Immediately after breakfast visited two dying babies, 585, 695.
Great crowd of children assembled in front of church, several hundreds (I hear a weeping and a wailing close by; evidently someone just died); hurried thither; gathered children in circle; Psalm 146; prayer; address (privilege, obedience, faithfulness); also exhorted them to take good care of church and to be careful of lines, ropes, pegs, etc.
Ordered 3,500 bricks at 1s. 1-1/2d. per hundred; saw Superintendent, who promised to provide roofing; hope he won't disappoint. Busy whole morning with books.
Called after dinner Mrs. Pelser; ill and concerned about soul; same one I had long talks with before; afraid she is still ignorant of primary step, reconciliation with God; spent long while in making way of salvation clear; Doppers; tent full; "Haar Leuze" (her delight), Psalm 62, verse 1, and when I read it aloud I was on the point of remarking, "Nee, wach, ik het die regte vers ver jou—Gez 39, vers 3, 'Komt gij allen" ("No, wait, I have the right verse for you—Hymn 39, verse 3, 'Come ye all, sinners come, what dare hold you back"); saved from this calamity[51] by mere chance (grace); perhaps they are Doppers! and so it was. Narrow shave; second time!
Had to hurry to funerals; eight; Martie and Annie Erasmus; "Leer ons alzoo onze dagen tellen" (So teach us to number our days).
(Here go the bearers with another corpse.)
Met another brother of Tolllie's; regular reproduction; brought me to several new sick people; Mrs. Venter very, very ill. Fear! Asked if I should pray for her; "Ja, Minheer" ("Yes, sir"). "En wat zal ik bid?" ("And what shall I pray?") "Ach, Minheer, dat die Heere mij gouw moet kom haal" ("O sir, that the Lord come quick to fetch me").
Poor old dad! He has lost eight children and grandchildren in camp already, and this is his last daughter.
Neglected hospital again; disgusted; those troublesome books!
Had hurried walk round; Mrs. Kruger dying; prayed, but quite delirious.
Met weeping mother on coming out; "Minheer, zal minheer tog nie ver mij help nie om vir mij man een telegram te stuur, hij is in Doornbult Camp. Ik is alleen hier en twee van mij kinders is al dood, and nou le die dochtertje ernstig ziek in die hospital?" ("Sir, won't you be able to help me to send a telegram to my husband, he is in Doornbult Camp. I am alone here; two of my children are already dead, and now my daughter lies dangerously sick in hospital")[52]. That is the saddest part of all. Mothers here alone with sick children, and fathers far off—some in other camps. And then, when Death comes and takes a child, the loneliness of such mothers is too hard a burden to bear. Many children here and many who have died, never yet seen by fathers.
Led prayer meeting at young Otto's tent; six young fellows.
Saturday, September 21.—Longish day; called early to see 270 and 269; again in evening to 270; last stage of consumption; won't last long. (Here go those terrible bearers again! When, O when, will the Angel of Death sheathe his scythe and depart out of our midst!)
Made church straight for morrow; fine stout "doornhout" (mimosa) pins—(more bearers, here they go again!)—and two strong wires fastened to stones buried in ground (anchors). There are some 24 school forms, and these will seat about 400 people.
Quaky about tomorrow; sermon unprepared; meant to have had afternoon to self, but quite impossible.
Another death, 128; croup; Smit; tent removed on doctor's orders outside camp while child dying; cruel; entreaties of mother vain; child carried in dying condition; expired little after; when I came, found woman in greatest distress; things bundled outside; indignant; poor defenceless, helpless women. May God help them!
Visits 386, 424, 432, 489, 519.
Called to Mrs. Steyn, 541 (three children gone already); daughter suddenly sick; looks like fever; found Mr. Becker there; poor little mother! She is so reconciled and patient in her tribulation.
Called to tent near shop; Mrs. Theron; great pain; three children, sick; no help; dependent on charity of neighbours; no light; God alone knows how many tents there are without lights to-night and with very sick inmates.
Hospital; talk with Mr. V.d.M.; very sick; delirious somewhat; Psalm 27, prayer.
Girlie in ward 1 very sick.
In children's ward found mother and grandmother sitting by bedside of dying boy five years; mother broken; after my prayer there was a tear glistening in the boy's left eye; pathetic to see mother wipe it away as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
In the upper ward lies a girl[53] of fourteen, with the softest, sweetest face imaginable; two clear, languid, blue eyes; very dangerously ill; wonder if!
Prayed at bedside; daughter of the mother who asked me to wire to her husband yesterday. Spoke to Superintendent; quite unsympathetic; fruitless.
May God spare that child's life!
Mr. Becker funerals; seven or eight, I believe.
Called in by Mr. Kruger; wife died in hospital this morning; son (16 years) buried Monday; another child some days ago; poor fellow; he himself sick; subscribed 5s. to assist him to obtain coffin.
Now for to-morrow's sermon!
Sunday, September 22.—Grand day; ideal weather; longish.
Up six o'clock; sermon; sweat; veld; "Om te doen gedenken" (To bring to remembrance).
Inauguration of church; huge crowd; packed; hundreds outside.
Impossible to use even the tiniest bit of notes; "broekscheur." Made rather mull of first half; "Ik gedenk heden aan mijne zonden" (I do remember my faults this day). Introduction and second point more satisfactory; luckily (?) girl fainted; seized opportunity to give out hymn; grasped notes to refresh memory; "Ik gedenk heden aan de weldaden des Heeren—God's liefde" (I remember this day the mercies of the Lord—God's love).
Feel the utter insignificance of my best efforts; sore point; no time at all to prepare; I tremble when I think of what I venture in coldbloodedness.
After service went to 207; saw bedding outside, and knew the worst. "Gister aand, minheer, is zij gestorven. Ach, minheer, zij kon tog die minuut nie afwag nie, zoo haastig was zij om wegtegaan" ("Yestereen, sir, she died. O sir, she scarcely had patience to wait, so eager she was to depart").
Great tribulation and bitterness on account of doctor, who insisted on forcing hot coffee down her throat, and for whom Mrs. Venter was desperately afraid; also on account of his violent conduct and harshness in the presence of Death. She could not even die in peace.
Mrs. Steyn's girlie very bad; fever; so restless, and so much pain.
There again in evening; still so restless; no sleep last two nights; advised Mrs. Steyn to send her to hospital; environment disastrous; too much to remind her of her two brothers and sister, who died last week.
Rounds in hospital; girlie No. 1 very bad.
In No. 4, girlie of Mrs. Van der Berg very low; did not know me to-day; too beautiful a child, really; got mother permission to stay with her to-night.
Mrs. Bonig's child still alive this afternoon; died towards evening. Thank God!
Another little chap passed away quite suddenly in same tent this morning.
Autoharp in convalescent tent.
Hurried to funerals; four; large crowd; several hundreds; Rev. 7, chapter Mrs. Venter gave as comfort to her people, "Deze zijn het die uit groote verdrukking komen" (These are they which come out of great tribulation).
Hurried from there straight to church to lead girls' prayer meeting; some sixty turned up; off the point, though, in their prayers.
And now for the cream of the day's work. Announced meeting for young people, 7.15, in church; service of song; borrowed two lamps; scanty light. Found immense crowd; many turned away; threw up side of tent; numbers outside; some 500 young people and several old to watch.
Shall never forget how they sang Psalm 146. It was glorious! We sang Psalms and gezangen and some "kinder harp liederen" (children's hymns); and for the last, Gezangen 12, "op lieder wijs" (to new tune). Beautiful! Short address on Zaccheus—"Moeilijkheden" (difficulties). The heartiest and most refreshing meeting ever yet attended; had to stand in middle all the while, with hardly room to turn myself. So delighted that announced another meeting for Tuesday; fine moon just now.
Great point is this—singing sounds lovely at distance, and can be heard all through the camp and in hospital, and who knows how many hearts are not refreshed as the strains come rolling by.
Mr. Becker afternoon service; great crowd also.
Now the day is over!
Tuesday, September 24.—Seedy all yesterday; no diary; straight to bed; hot water from hospital; footbath.
Managed to get half a dozen sheets zinc from Superintendent for roofing.
Distributed books to Elders yesterday afternoon.
Felt rather hopeless to-day; so much to do; quite at loss where to begin; inclined just to sit still.
Visited southern corner of camp; Mrs. De Lint poorly; read letter written by husband.
Gave out "briefies" for rice to some tents.
Astounded this evening by doctor, "Well, now, wasn't it fine that I got you the right to grant briefies?" And this is the Donation Store, quite independent of all Government Stores! A gentleman gave Mr. Becker £50 for things; these goods arrived yesterday. Really, doctor takes the cake—with baker and all! Told him a few gentle truths about these goods.
Letters from home; hope those groceries of mine will come along all right; and that order for £20 worth of stuff[54]. May I succeed in getting the sole right of distribution when that arrives.
Champion[55] writes that at present he cannot fulfil order; disappointing.
One does long so for something nice—some extras which here are quite unobtainable[56]. Dry bread gets a bit monotonous after a while, and the "vrekvlijs" becomes nauseous as the days roll by. It thrusts its miserable, lean presence upon us day by day, and now it has become a dreaded nightmare.
"Kerkeraads vergadering" in tent this afternoon; six Elders to discuss Sunday services; the grumblers would not rest until they too had their own big marquee tent on the old site.
Suggested that we have only one morning service in new place and two afternoon services—one for old people at old place and one for young at new place; could take further steps later on for a double morning service if necessary; Elders agreeable; disperse.
Funerals; four; Mr. Van der Merwe died last night; felt sick myself, and made fool of myself at graveside; but really could not contain myself as they lowered the remains of Mr. Van der Merwe into grave; so big and fine a man; in flower of manhood; wife dead, child dead; so gentle and patient in his suffering; felt so drawn to him because of his huge helplessness. Hard lines! Hard lines! Poor Nurse Rouvier! After all these weeks of devoted, patient, hopeful attendance. It does make one feel rather low. Quite unable to make any sort of address at grave; sorry did not ask Mr. Otto.
Went through hospital; Mr. V.d.B. and Mr. Norval both dangerously ill; fear the worst; pneumonia; former hard character, but to-day quite softened; long talk; not yet saved; prayer; great suffering.
Read Psalm 27 to latter and prayed; very thankful.
Girlie Van der Berg in new ward very low; so weak. May God in His tender mercy hear our prayer and restore her!
Lenie Steyn; hysterical; delirious all day; last night great consternation; got her into hospital this morning.
Girl opposite her dying; mother's only child.
In men's ward little boy (14) died too.
Splendid meeting this evening; packed within and without(!).
Service of song; crowd half an hour before time; singing can be heard all through camp. May many a sad and weary heart have found in our singing a balm for the aching, longing heart.
Now for bed—glorious bed!
Wednesday, September 25.—Deathbed; sorrowful topic to write upon, and yet why shirk it? Let me attempt what I have never before done—a description of a deathbed. It is but human to hasten over the tragic scenes of life, but this evening I want to tarry.
Something prompted me to make early visit to the hospital, so went before breakfast. In first ward went straight to little Mita Duvenhagen's bed, and her I found very bad—struggling hard to breathe; so young and yet so bitter a suffering!
From there called by Mrs. Van den Berg to new ward, to come quickly, as Lenie was dying. I went, and when I entered saw that God was going to take her away. Let me not attempt to describe her angelic little face of marble white, her beautifully chiselled nose, and her sweet little mouth! Silently we knelt around her bedside—mother, nurse, and I. Of her beautiful blue eyes I have said nothing, for they were closed—the lids gently drawn, and the lashes trying hard to kiss the soft smooth cheeks. "O God, come and help us! O Saviour, come and take Thy place beside her bed—hold her hand—take her in Thy tender arms and press her to Thy bosom! Bear her, Saviour, where Thou wilt, for with Thee she is safe. Comfort our hearts and give us to bend our heads in humble resignation—Thy will be done. Amen!"
"Lenie, Lenie, Lenie, mij kind, jou mammie is hier bij jou, en Jezus ook is hier om jou hand te hou—moenie bang wees nie, mij kind" ("My child, your mother is here, near you, and Jesus too is here to hold your hand—don't be afraid, child"). Under her weary eyelids she looked at us, and a large tear gathered in her left eye. It glistened like a diamond for a moment, and then became the possession of the sorrow-stricken mother. Then we were silent and watched. Slowly and gently the lids opened—now again we could look into those clear blue orbs. Wider—wider—and still wider they grow—uplifted, right away beyond the three forms of clay before her. See how the pupils dilate—they seem to swamp the blue! And so for a few short moments they remain. It was a gaze right beyond us to—- what! Will it be old-fashioned to suggest "Angels," perhaps! Until I grow wiser I shall hold fast to Angels. O, the mystery of the Unknown!
And slowly, gently those lids sink once more to rest—to rest indeed—for her spirit has fled. Peace, perfect peace!
How passing strange, how majestic in its simplicity, how weird in its tragic stillness—the passing of a Soul—the disunion of Body and Spirit! Is this Death? Then may I never fear its shadow!
Sunset and Evening Star!
Thursday, September 26.—Another day gone. What a day of sorrow and tribulation!
Slept like a log.
Took round through camp late last night; heard distressing groans in certain tent; made gentle enquiries; heard this remark after leaving, "Nee, dit is een van die nach police wat hier rond loop" ("No, it is one of the night police wandering about").
Foundations of house laid[57]; yesterday got use Scotch cart and brought over some 1,000 bricks and stones for foundation; good beginning to-day; now things will go swimmingly if weather remains fine.
Unbearably hot to-day; tent untenable; thankful house in course of erection.
Old story again; supply boards for coffins stopped, and now there is the pitiful cry of those who seek wood to make coffins for departed dear ones.
Yesterday old Mr. Duvenhagen came in distress to me; begged from Superintendent, and got him two little boxes[58].
This morning had to tramp round to get hold of few boxes, for I promised Lenie's mother I would provide wood. One does make very rash promises sometimes—but anything to comfort stricken heart of lonesome mother.
That Mrs. Van der Berg has now lost her three children; her husband sits in Bloemfontein Refugee Camp. This to me so inexplicable, so unreasonable, so cruel. Why cannot husband and wife be allowed to go in same camp?
Well, I (next to) stole two nice planks in store tent, and what with empty condensed milk box and my box which I used as chair, able to give quite small fortune in wood for Lenie's coffin.
Buried her and Mita Duvenhagen (both 14) this afternoon; also two small children; "Laat de kinderen tot mij komen en verhindert ze niet want derzulken is het Koninkrijk Gods" (Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for such is the Kingdom of Heaven).
Mita's grave away other end of cemetery (next her brother's), and so I went and spoke few words at her grave too; sang "Voor eeuwig met den Heere" (For ever with the Lord).
Just before funerals went to see Lena Steyn; very low; "Zien, minheer, nou, hoe waar dit was wat zij geze het" (Do you see now, sir, how true her words were?). She always persisted in saying that she was going to die; shall write more of her on another occasion. We prayed at bedside and committed her into God's keeping, Psalm 23; but she was unconscious, I think, although her eyes wandered from mother to me.
The procession had started already when I had still to hear wail of old man of 76, "Ach, minheer, waar zal ik tog planke krij; mij vrouw is dood, en ik kan nerens kiste krij nie" (O, sir, where can I get boards; my wife is dead, and I can't get wood anywhere?).
Last night carried out some papers in my box I use as chair and burnt them outside. Soon man stood next to me, "Minheer, zal ik dan nie daardie kisje kan krij nie? Onze ou baby is dood, en ik kan nerens vir haar een stukkie hout krij nie" (Sir, won't I be able to have that little box? Our little baby is dead, and I can't get a scrap of wood anywhere).
Early this afternoon another man came to me in great distress; also no wood for coffin. It does seem so bitterly hard.
Visiting whole morning, mostly down New Camp way.
There is one man always at my back; times a day; came with most wonderful request two days ago; wants me to get him a—guess? Baby! Wife's died last week, and he is now loafing another.
This afternoon two prayer meetings; men and women; took men's down in old church (big tent there now), "Heere zijt mij genadig" (Lord, be merciful to me). The women's, I hear, was packed. I had over 100 men; very good, seeing so few men here; nine prayers.
This evening children's service again; beautiful moon; glorious singing; "Ik ga heen om u plaats te bereiden" (I go to prepare a place for you); told about Lenie's deathbed; she is now in the mansion prepared for her.
Went straight thence to see Lena Steyn; saw women standing in front of tent; heard sobs, and knew the worst. Poor, poor Mrs. Steyn! "Ach, Minheer, ik het daarom nie gedenk nie dat dit oor die helfte zou gaan nie" (O, sir, I really never thought that it would go beyond the half); had six children; four gone now; husband Ceylon, and she is the dearest little mother in camp almost.
Knelt and prayed, and then mother said, "Kom, laat ons nog eenmal ver haar gaan zien" (Come, let us go and see her once more); so went to see Lena once more in morgue tent.
Rest after weariness; calm after storm; light after darkness; day after dawn.
She passed away while the children were singing Gez. 11. While I spoke to her (Mrs. Steyn) at tent she was laughing and sobbing alternately; and then the thought flashed through her that there was no wood for coffin, so I immediately took whole thing into my hands and assured her I would provide and see that Lena gets coffin.
Another rash promise! The Lord only knows where the wood is to come from! Late this evening, when I took her some cocoa, Mrs. Steyn told me that Lena had said that I would provide coffin. So guess it will come out well in end. The presentiments this child had of her death and other things simply marvellous. Am going to write at greater length about her when I see mother again.
And so these three girlies have gone to Jesus. Now, what has become of all our prayers and supplications?
Friday, September 27.—Longish day.
Great question; where to get material for coffin for Lena? Remembered that I saw that the school was supplied with bookcase, and that the box in store tent (full of matches for distribution) could now be otherwise used; removed all matches[59], and lo and behold! grand big box empty and ready for carpenter; got matches distributed, each tent got two boxes; Roos set to work, and with two more milk cases (loafed at hospital), he was able to make quite respectable coffin. (A decent and respectable coffin here made of scrap wood and small boxes fitted together, and whole coated with preparation of boot blacking and oil. A swell, extra fine coffin has a covering of cheap black material, 1s. 6d. yard.)
Several came again to-day seeking wood; some even wanted the galvanized iron for my roof.
At graves this afternoon saw that they had made a shelf in a grave to hold body and prevent ground falling directly upon it; made me think of catacombs Rome.
Seven buried this afternoon; stood right in front of Lena's grave.
It was Mr. Becker's turn, but he was hindered from coming; rather glad, for wanted to be there myself to-day; "En palmtakken waren in hunne handen" (And palms were in their hands).
Mrs. Steyn found the lost kinderharp (hymn book) I had given Lena few days ago; found under her pillow in morgue tent this afternoon. When I gave it to her she said, "Maar, minheer, moet tog nie vergeet om mij naam in te schrijve" (Sir, you must be sure to write my name in it). So I must remember to do it still. Poor Mrs. Steyn, how resignedly she bears her cross! Sang "Voor eeuwig met den Heere" at grave.
Visits to-day on other side—269, 268, 487, 379, 178, 171, 262.
Called at 329, and found it was same tent where I heard such groans last night; imbecile woman, 53 years; very sick; great suffering; spoke to her, and she actually called me by my name; glad I found tent again; old father of 86; always so keen and hearty at wood-chopping.
Weeping woman came to me after funeral; "Minheer, zal minheer nie zoo goed wees nie om vir Mrs. Engelbrecht in die hospitaal te vertel dat haar kindje dood is, zij word nou begrave?" (Sir, will you be good enough to tell Mrs. Engelbrecht in the hospital that her child has died; she is to be buried now). So another painful task is in store for me.
Received short note from Assistant Superintendent requesting me to discontinue briefies for foodstuffs, "I have now three medical officers who are well able to attend to the sick and needy." And this man (Superintendent) himself requested and authorised me to issue such notes but four days ago. Comment on whole matter superfluous. O for a little more logic and consistency with some people! However, I suppose I can interpret these things in my own way.
Held woman's prayer meeting this afternoon; good audience; "Viel aan de voeten van Jezus en vertelde Him al de waarheid" (Fell at the feet, of Jesus and told Him all the truth); six prayers; but O! such long and wearying ones; thought men could drag it out, but let me be silent about the women.
House 3 feet high; doorway up; grandish.
Sunday, September 29.—No diary yesterday; too tired and listless; eager for bed.
What a grand thing to rest after work! Sleep, glorious, blessed sleep; feel like writing an ode to extol its virtues. Yesterday scorcher of a day.
Spent morning in old quarter; work most wearisome.
So many who call me in and pour out all their sorrows, and it is so terribly hard always to be ready and willing to listen and sympathise. One actually grows "dof" (dull) from sheer weakness. O the monotony of sorrows and troubles!
Called in to see woman who had just received news that husband had fallen in battle. Such sorrow is too great to realise; one can only stand afar off to behold—and weep.
At 3 p.m. suddenly told that no one to take women's prayer meeting; so had hurriedly to go without so much as minute's preparation; quite large crowd.
Mr. Becker played me trick; he took funerals; four I believe, so I had time to make short visit hospital.
Doctor stopped me two days ago, and said the man B—— in hospital wished to be left alone; so left him alone; but this evening he has gone to meet his God. Could never make him out. Was it ignorance or obstinacy or indifference? May God have mercy on his soul.
Old Mr. Norval also died this afternoon; thank God; too terrible to see him struggling with Death; unconscious the last three days; glad read Psalm and prayed with him a few days ago.
And so our fellow-men around us are carried off by Death; and now they are solving the great mystery of the Hereafter. Stupendous thought!
These same men, women and children with whom I prayed, to whom I spoke about eternal things—they know now what we are burning to know. Is there Life after Death? Is there a Heaven? Is there a Hell? What do the departed do just now? Is there perhaps a purgatory where souls are purified? Is there a Throne above, around which a crowd that cannot be numbered stand clothed in long white robes? What about the palm branches? And a thousand more questions.
"The just shall live by his FAITH."
Last night children's service in lower church; great crowd; "En tot zich zelven gekomen zijnde" (And when he came to himself).
This evening similar service in upper church; very bright and hearty; Miss Dussel sang hymn and solo part of "Mannen breeders" (Hold the Fort); nice change in programme; accompanied her on autoharp.
This morning went over to village and exchanged pulpits with Mr. Becker; felt quite lost in big, empty church.
Old sermon had to "bite off spit"[60]; goodness knows where I would have found time to prepare one.
Had nice chat with Macdonald's father.
Grand dinner; roast mutton and actually a dish full of gravy! Could scarce believe my eyes; real gravy; how glorious; and rice too. Think of it! Let me be silent about the dish of stewed peaches—I might fill pages—a dish fit for the gods. Wonder what the look and smell of a vegetable is? Have just faint recollection of such names as potatoes, onions, beans, cauliflower, pumpkin, but I get a bit blurred when try to discriminate; long absence has stunted my memory. Believe there is a vegetable called beetroot too, and wonder if the name cabbage is correct. By the way, what do we call that stuff one sometimes puts on bread for breakfast and tea? I believe, too, having heard and partaken of a preparation called jam in days gone by. And what, now what, do they always put in tea and coffee in other places? Fancy it has whitish colour; have an idea it can be drunk pure too.
Authority (Assistant Superintendent): "En wanneer eet julle Boere dan breakfast?" (And when do you Boers eat your breakfast?)
"O, ik het laatste in Brandfort breakfast ge'eet; hier het ik schars genoeg vir dinner" (O, I had breakfast last at Brandfort; here I get scarce enough for dinner).
Had nice nap on sofa after dinner; what a noble thing a house is; how spacious, how high, how cool! How unnecessarily large people do build houses nowadays.
At 2.45 had to race back for afternoon service; young people; great crowd (700 about); prepared sermon during the fifteen minutes' walk. Record service; forty-five minutes.
Went through two wards hospital.
Mrs. De Wet dying; poor old mother! But she said all along she wouldn't get well again; several very sick there.
Now for glorious bed.
P.S.—Not yet; there came wail from hospital; so I went up; as I surmised, Mrs. De Wet "gone home"; and shall I soon forget that little band of women in black returning to their tents while the pale sad moon cast its shadows of sympathy!
"Ach, minheer, het ik nie gezondigd dat ik nie wou zien en geloof dat zij gaat sterve?" (O, sir, did I not sin, in that I would not see and believe that she would die?)
"Neen. Dank God liever voor die Liefde in u die u verblind heeft. Dank God dat gij hebt liefgehad" (No. Thank God rather for the Love within which blinded your eyes. Thank God that you have loved).
Another solving the great problem of the Unknown!
Monday, September 30.—End of month; cannot help remembering that this was our finest, loveliest month in the Boland (Western Province); and here we have been grovelling in the dust.
Another frightful day of wind and dust; two evils; open the tent to ventilate, and anon everything covered with layer fine dust; close tent and one gets suffocated. And one's clothes! Let me rather change topic.
After burdens of yesterday felt more inclined for good quiet rest, but tent too unbearably hot; so decided to do the hospital; there knew I would find things cool.
First to men's ward; then through three women's wards, and finally to convalescent ward; nice and cool in wards, but grew horribly tired. What with a word of cheer all round and a straight talk to boot, and after a Psalm, short address, and finally (and hardest of all) a prayer—great weariness becomes master, and one feels regularly "pap."
Hospital grown so large lately; takes few hours to "do" it thoroughly.
Best of all, one has assurance and conviction such visits are indeed source of comfort and blessing; mindful now of that sick mother in No. 3; so despondent, and how she thanked me after visit; "Ik voel nou weer blij in mij hart" (I feel glad at heart again). Psalm 115; "Vertrouw op den Heere; Hij is mijn hulp en mijn schild" (Trust in the Lord; He is our help and our shield); "De Heere is onzer gedachtig geweest" (The Lord has been mindful of us); beautiful.
To my utter surprise found Mrs. Fourie in hospital; ailing lately; sure this is much best for her. (The Van As's and Mr. and Mrs. F. form one family circle here.)
Anyhow, this afternoon simply "dead off"; lay on bed till 3 p.m.; and yet one always feels uncomfortable to be idle one hour; it feels like neglect of duty. What one longs for is possibility to have one day or afternoon off regularly; something to look forward to; some time when one can sit still.
Funerals four (Mr. N., Mr. B., Mrs. De W., and girlie); "Dood, waar is uw prikkel?" (Death, where is thy sting?).
Felt unhappy and uneasy all through address, for B. had requested me to leave him alone. Well, anyway my address was directly for the living and not about the dead.
Girl at door this afternoon; "Minheer, het min nie vir mij een Wonderboek?" (Sir, havn't you got a Wonderbook for me?) "Hoe'n soort boek?" (What kind of book?) "Een Wonderboek" (A Wonderbook). "Een Wonderboek!" (head scratchings) "Nee, dit het ik tog glad nie. Maar hoe'n soort boek is dit?" (A Wonderbook! No, I havn't that at all; but what kind of book is it?) "Minheer, daar is tekste in om te leer" (Sir, there are verses in it to learn). "Maar is dit dan nie een Bijbel wat jij wil he?" (But isn't it a Bible you want?) "Ja, minheer, dit is een Bijbel wat ik wil he" (Yes, sir, it is a Bible). New name for Bible—Wonderboek. Not bad!
After tea called to visit very sick old man; long talk; no assurance of forgiveness of sins. Spoke earnestly on Reconciliation with God as first step; am afraid old man disappointed in me; fear he wanted me to recite beautiful Psalms and so forth.
Now for line re house; walls nearly done; two windows; to-morrow roof; edifice stands "met 'n oprechte boog' '(with great show); talk of day; Pastorie.
Just returned from hospital; fear Mrs. Engelbrecht won't last through night.