The diamond fields are subject to heavy rains, and also to very sudden and furious winds. The amount of dust and flies in circulation, is quite uncalculable. One visitor says that the flies, troublesome as they are, are much more agreeable than the dust. “Although persecuting one most incessantly by day, night puts a stop to their torments, while no sooner does a puff of air come from yonder plain, than you inhale a volume of dust—not the earthy, loamy dust of agricultural land, but the whitish-gray lung powder which has been refined by the action of shovel and sieve, until it is as light as air. It impregnates your food, your hair is like a door mat, and your eyes have a chronic soreness, as though a thousand delicate needles were pricking into the eyeballs, while your body is chafed and sore from the friction of dusty clothes. All this is unpleasant; but we will suppose that the gentle wind has increased to a howling tempest, that storm clouds fill the sky, and tents shake to the breeze; then, and then only, do the diggers reach the climax of misery. From hundreds of sieves, and hundreds of conical dust heaps, the wind gathers its load, and, like some malicious fiend, sweeps through the camp, turning the light of day into a hideous yellow twilight, circling around unprotected tents, and through all the seams and cracks, filling them full of floating dust. The diggers sneeze, cough, weep, and for relief rush into the open air, or more properly, into an air of lime, where, utterly choked and blinded, they fall on their faces, there to gasp for breath, like a dying turtle, and curse the day they saw the fields.