Sunset and Evening Star!

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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).