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.