Mrs. V.d.W. very, very bad; greatly comforted; beseeched me to come again.

In old ward also; some very sick; Mrs. Griesel, Mrs. De W., Mrs. Steyn, Engelbrecht—­all very low.

Feel more and more to neglect hospital would be criminal.

Then still two other women’s wards, where had to read and pray and speak word all round; and finally the children’s ward; girlie very bad.

After rounds (seven wards) felt like king; happy; weary, yet withal happy.

And our camp?  Total neglect.  But will I ever here roll me snugly in my blankets with the satisfaction that all the sick and suffering have been visited?

There have died up to September in our camp over 500.  Appalling!

Only one buried this afternoon (Mr. Becker); died in hospital.

* * * * *

Thursday, October 3.—­No diary yesterday; listless to-day also; hot; oppressive days; one just longs for day to end.  Towards evening (sunset) usually nice and cool, and wind goes down.

What shall I write about?  Diary becoming monotonous; too great a sameness.  Hospitals; visits; sick; dying; funerals; morose topic; oppressive.

Boer khaki in camp to-day.  Result of visit, about a dozen have joined forces of the English.  Wonder if a worm wouldn’t have more self-respect!  Such characters make themselves despicable and contemptible in eyes of the English themselves.  To us it brings deep-down humiliation.  Can a man sink so low?  Enough.

Two night ago some women and children cleared off—­“for,” said they, “lest we starve here.”

Can a man (let alone a woman—­breathe not of a child) remain healthy and strong on bread, meat (miserable half-pound), coffee, and condensed milk?  And so, when a sickness comes there is nothing to fall back upon—­no resistance.  And with a wasted constitution who can battle against fever, pneumonia, and other things?

And for those that grimly struggle through, there is nothing wherewith to nourish and strengthen; no real milk; no eggs; wine; no delicacies such as convalescents should be tempted with.  About as saddening sight as one can dream of is a peep into the children’s ward—­poor wasted, withered little innocents!

Mr. Otto buried eight this afternoon.

* * * * *

Friday, October 4.—­Let me have a clean blank page for to-night in honour of my new home!  Here I sit in glorious solitude, actually in a room!  Four walls, four naked walls, but walls withal—­stare down upon me with their muddy countenances, and I have an idea that they smile upon me in affection—­four muddy brown smiles!

And so my ideal has been realised; and I am proud possessor of a house.  Really word “house"[61] seems too inadequate, too insignificant wherewith to name it.

(Later)—­Short joy; rudely awakened to sorrows of life; mother just gone by weeping bitterly; went out and took her home to her tent; daughter dying in hospital; Ferreira (admitted yesterday, fever).  This morning still conscious when I spoke to her, and when we read and prayed together.  And now?