The Kaffirs flung down their loads, and stood watching it with glittering eyes, while Cocoeni stretched out his arm and explained the startling phenomenon with one word, “Locusts!”
One of the plagues of Moses was coming. Even while Cocoeni still pointed, the swarming insects with their violet wings were upon them in countless hosts.
They filled miles of space with such a palpable mass that only a dim twilight prevailed. They covered the earth like a fall of snow six inches deep with no intervening space. All the air was reverberating with their loud chirping, the rustling of their crisp wings, and the shrieking cries of the birds who devoured them wholesale, yet without apparently diminishing their bulk.
Our heroes were appalled at this numberless host, and dazed with the darkness and noise. They staggered about trying vainly to shake the pests off, that dropped so thickly and incessantly upon them. They slid and squashed thousands under their feet; while they felt sick as they watched their followers greedily imitating the ravenous birds, and devouring handfuls of them, as fast as they could chew and swallow.
For an hour this went on, as the rustling, whistling, shrieking, and living cloud of darkness swept over them. Then gradually the air cleared, and the fierce sun poured down upon that glistening and writhing plain.
Not a blade of grass or leaf of herbage was left. Around them spread a barren desert; even the river-bed was choked up with a moving compact mass of blackness.
They resumed their march, watching the cloud as it swept westward, and slipping about as if treading amongst slushy ice, over the ankles. It was horrible. It was sickeningly disgusting.
The Kaffirs, however, showed no disgust. After gorging themselves, they filled their bags with these insects, and trudged along singing merrily.
“Are they good to eat, Cocoeni?” asked Ned.
“You bet they are, baas, bully fine. You eat one, and then you will find out.”