by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER V.
THE LOCUST-FLIGHT.
The field-cornet slept but little. Anxiety kept him awake. He turned andtossed, and thought of the locusts. He napped at intervals, and dreamtabout locusts, and crickets, and grasshoppers, and all manner of greatlong-legged, goggle-eyed insects. He was glad when the first ray oflight penetrated through the little window of his chamber.
He sprang to his feet; and, scarce staying to dress himself, rushed outinto the open air. It was still dark, but he did not require to see thewind. He did not need to toss a feather or hold up his hat. The truthwas too plain. A strong breeze was blowing--it was blowing _from thewest_!
Half distracted, he ran farther out to assure himself. He ran untilclear of the walls that enclosed the kraals and garden.
He halted and felt the air. Alas! his first impression was correct. Thebreeze blew directly from the west--directly from the locusts. He couldperceive the effluvium borne from the hateful insects: there was nolonger cause to doubt.
Groaning in spirit, Von Bloom returned to his house. He had no longerany hope of escaping the terrible visitation.
His first directions were to collect all the loose pieces of linen orclothing in the house, and pack them within the family chests. What!would the locusts be likely to eat them?
Indeed, yes--for these voracious creatures are not fastidious. Noparticular vegetable seems to be chosen by them. The leaves of thebitter tobacco plant appear to be as much to their liking as the sweetand succulent blades of maize! Pieces of linen, cotton, and evenflannel, are devoured by them, as though they were the tender shoots ofplants. Stones, iron, and hard wood, are about the only objects thatescape their fierce masticators.
Von Bloom had heard this, Hans had read of it, and Swartboy confirmed itfrom his own experience.
Consequently, everything that was at all destructible was carefullystowed away; and then breakfast was cooked and eaten in silence.
There was a gloom over the faces of all, because he who was the head ofall was silent and dejected. What a change within a few hours! But theevening before the field-cornet and his little family were in the fullenjoyment of happiness.
There was still one hope, though a slight one. Might it yet rain? Ormight the day turn out cold?
In either case Swartboy said the locusts could not take wing--for theycannot fly in cold or rainy weather. In the event of a cold or wet daythey would have to remain as they were, and perhaps the wind mightchange round again before they resumed their flight. Oh, for a torrentof rain, or a cold cloudy day!
Vain wish! vain hope! In half-an-hour after the sun rose up in Africansplendour, and his hot rays, slanting down upon the sleeping host,warmed them into life and activity. They commenced to crawl, to hopabout, and then, as if by one impulse, myriads rose into the air. Thebreeze impelled them in the direction in which it was blowing,--in thedirection of the devoted maize fields.
In less than five minutes, from the time they had taken wing, they wereover the kraal, and dropping in tens of thousands upon the surroundingfields. Slow was their flight, and gentle their descent, and to the eyesof those beneath they presented the appearance of a shower of _black_snow, falling in large feathery flakes. In a few moments the ground wascompletely covered, until every stalk of maize, every plant and bush,carried its hundreds. On the outer plains too, as far as eye could see,the pasture was strewed thickly; and as the great flight had now passedto the eastward of the house, the sun's disk was again hidden by them asif by an eclipse!
They seemed to move in a kind of _echelon_, the bands in the rearconstantly flying to the front, and then halting to feed, until in turnthese were headed by others that had advanced over them in a similarmanner.
The noise produced by their wings was not the least curious phenomenon;and resembled a steady breeze playing among the leaves of the forest, orthe sound of a water-wheel.
For two hours this passage continued. During most of that time, VonBloom and his people had remained within the house, with closed doorsand windows. This they did to avoid the unpleasant shower, as thecreatures impelled by the breeze, often strike the cheek so forcibly asto cause a feeling of pain. Moreover, they did not like treading uponthe unwelcome intruders, and crushing them under their feet, which theymust have done, had they moved about outside where the ground wasthickly covered.
Many of the insects even crawled inside, through the chinks of the doorand windows, and greedily devoured any vegetable substance whichhappened to be lying about the floor.
At the end of two hours Von Bloom looked forth. The thickest of theflight had passed. The sun was again shining; but upon what was heshining? No longer upon green fields and a flowery garden. No. Aroundthe house, on every side, north, south, east, and west, the eye restedonly on black desolation. Not a blade of grass, not a leaf could beseen--even the very bark was stripped from the trees, that now stood asif withered by the hand of God! Had fire swept the surface, it could nothave left it more naked and desolate. There was no garden, there were nofields of maize or buckwheat, there was no longer a farm--the kraalstood in the midst of a desert!
Words cannot depict the emotions of the field-cornet at that moment. Thepen cannot describe his painful feelings.
Such a change in two hours! He could scarce credit his senses--he couldscarce believe in its reality. He knew that the locusts would eat up hismaize, and his wheat, and the vegetables of his garden; but his fancyhad fallen far short of the extreme desolation that had actually beenproduced. The whole landscape was metamorphosed--grass was out of thequestion--trees, whose delicate foliage had played in the soft breezebut two short hours before, now stood leafless, scathed by worse thanwinter. The very ground seemed altered in shape! He would not have knownit as his own farm. Most certainly had the owner been absent during theperiod of the locust-flight, and approached without any information ofwhat had been passing, he would not have recognised the place of his ownhabitation!
With the phlegm peculiar to his race, the field-cornet sat down, andremained for a long time without speech or movement.
His children gathered near, and looked on--their young hearts painfullythrobbing. They could not fully appreciate the difficult circumstancesin which this occurrence had placed them; nor did their father himselfat first. He thought only of the loss he had sustained, in thedestruction of his fine crops; and this of itself, when we consider hisisolated situation, and the hopelessness of restoring them, was enoughto cause him very great chagrin.
"Gone! all gone!" he exclaimed, in a sorrowing voice. "Oh!Fortune--Fortune--again art thou cruel!"
"Papa! do not grieve," said a soft voice; "we are all alive yet, we arehere by your side;" and with the words a little white hand was laid uponhis shoulder. It was the hand of the beautiful Trueey.
It seemed as if an angel had smiled upon him. He lifted the child inhis arms, and in a paroxysm of fondness pressed her to his heart. Thatheart felt relieved.
"Bring me the Book," said he, addressing one of the boys.
THE SHOWER OF LOCUSTS.]
The Bible was brought--its massive covers were opened--a verse waschosen--and the song of praise rose up in the midst of the desert.
The Book was closed; and for some minutes all knelt in prayer.
When Von Bloom again stood upon his feet, and looked around him, thedesert seemed once more to "rejoice and blossom as the rose."
Upon the human heart such is the magic influence of resignation andhumility.
