In the evening, on their arriving at the halting-place, Le Vaillant observed with surprise a tent, guarded by Hottentots, pitched a little in advance of him; and upon inquiry, found that it belonged to a M. Pinard, one of the individuals he had rejected at Cape Town. A presentiment of evil immediately flashed upon his mind. He regarded the tent with inquietude. Misfortune seemed to perch upon its summit. And in the sequel he learned, with vexation, how well-founded his apprehensions had been. However, for the moment, the encounter seemed to offer nothing but pleasure. Pinard was the bearer of letters from some of his dearest friends, and to a man of sound feelings a person thus armed is irresistible; but to an evil disposition the very counterfeiting of goodness is too painful long to be endured. Our Dutch adventurer, whose wealth chiefly consisted in brandy, a commodity which experience had taught him was omnipotent with Hottentots, seemed to consider his casks as too weighty, and habitually exerted himself in diminishing the burden. In one word, he was a drunkard; and having indulged himself with an extraordinary dose on the very evening of Le Vaillant’s arrival, the brandy-casks were abandoned to the Hottentots, and in a short time both camps were a scene of wild revelry and intoxication. To those who have observed the manners of savages, whether in our own country or in the woods, it must be well known that the Circean transformations are not fabulous. Brandy has everywhere the power of changing men into beasts, and into beasts which are the more dangerous, inasmuch as they retain, under their new forms, a memory morbidly retentive, which seems to rejoice at its escape from the restraints of reason. Le Vaillant’s followers, having nothing to fear from the reproaches of decorum, now plunged into the delights of drunkenness with an avidity which appeared as if intended as an imputation on his want of generosity; for they considered his prudent economy as a niggardly doling out of a necessary of life, brandy being by them regarded in that light. Though he had given orders that the caravan should be put in motion at the break of day, the men, with the exception of Klaas and two or three of his companions, were all furiously intoxicated before the oxen could be yoked to the wagons. Even old Swanspoel, who had hitherto conducted himself with prudence, yielded to the seduction, and endeavouring with reeling steps to mount the wagon, his foot slipped, and he rolled under the wheel, which immediately passed over his body. Le Vaillant, who loved the old man, feared he had been crushed to pieces; but it was afterward found, upon examination, that he merely had two ribs broken; though this fracture caused him such terrible anguish on the road, that he conjured his master, with clasped hands, to blow out his brains with one of his pistols. As our traveller was utterly ignorant of surgery, it was