But they went somehow, and at last in the far east the sky began to lighten, while the cold breath of dawn stirred the tilts of the waggons and chilled me to the bone.

The fat Dutchwoman behind me woke with a yawn, then, remembering all, moaned aloud, while her teeth chattered with cold and fear.

Hans Botha went to his waggon and got a bottle of peach brandy, from which he poured into a tin pannikin, giving us each a stiff dram, and making attempts to be cheerful as he did so.

But his affected jocularity only seemed to depress his comrades the more.

Certainly it depressed me.
Now the light was growing, and we could see some way into the mist which still hung densely over the river, and now--ah! there it was.