Page:Seven Years in South Africa v1.djvu/81

 me. A dull, dense fog was all I could distinguish. A bitter wind rushing from the hills, and howling around us in the exposure of our open waggon, seemed to mock at the protection of our outside coats, and resolved to make us know how ungenial the temperature of winter in South Africa could be; and the grey clouds that obscured the sky shadowed the entire landscape with an aspect of the deepest melancholy.

Yes; here I was approaching the Eldorado of the thousands of all nations, attracted hither by the hope of rich reward; but the nearer I came, the more my spirit failed me, and I was conscious of a sickening depression.

Immediate contact with the fog that had been observed from the distant heights, at once revealed its true origin and character. It proved to be dense clouds of dust, first raised by the west wind from the orange-coloured sand on the plains, and then mingled with the loose particles of calciferous earth piled up in heaps amidst the huts on the diggings. So completely did it fill the atmosphere, that it could require little stretch of imagination to fancy that it was a sandstorm of the Sahara. As we entered the encampment the blinding mist was so thick that we could only see a few yards before us; we were obliged to proceed very cautiously; and before we reached the office of my friend the Fauresmith merchant, another mile or so farther on, our faces and our clothes were literally encrusted. We only shared the fate of all new-comers, in feeling