At 10.45 A.M. we resumed our march. The fiery sun had sublimated
black clouds, the northeast quarter looked ugly, and I wished to
be housed before the storm burst. The coast appeared populous; we
met many bushmen, who were perfectly civil, and showed no fear,
although some of them had probably never seen a white face. All
were armed with muskets, and carried the usual hunting talismans,
horns and iron or brass bells, hanging from the neck before and
behind. We crossed four sweet-water brooks, which, draining the
high banks, flowed fast and clear down cuts of loose, stratified
sand, sometimes five feet deep: the mouths opened to the north-
west, owing to the set of the current from the south-west, part
of the great Atlantic circulation running from the Antarctic to
the equator. Those which are not bridged with fallen trees must
be swum during the rains, as the water is often waist-deep. Many
streamlets, shown by their feathery fringes of bright green palm,
run along the shore before finding an outlet; they are excellent
bathing places, where the salt water can be washed off the skin.
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