might run short in that secluded spot, so I was told to proceed to Setlagoli, a tiny store, or hotel as we should call it, with a shop attached, thirty-five miles south in Bechuanaland, on the main road to Kimberley, from which quarter eventually succour was expected.  My few preparations completed, I simply had to sit down and wait for daybreak, sleep being entirely out of the question.  In the night the wind increased, and howled mournfully round the house.  At four o’clock, when day was about to break, I was ready to start, and some farewells had to be said.  These were calm, but not cheerful, for it was my firm belief that, in all human probability, I should never see the familiar faces again, knowing well they would sell their lives dearly.

It was reported amongst my friends at home that, in order to escape from Mafeking, my maid and myself had ridden 200 miles.  One newspaper extract was sent me which said, concerning this fictitious ride, that it “was all very well for Lady Sarah, who doubtless was accustomed to violent exercise, but we commiserate her poor maid.”  Their pity was wasted, for the departure of my German maid Metelka and myself took place prosaically in that most vile of all vehicles, a Cape cart.  Six fine mules were harnessed to our conveyance, and our two small portmanteaus were strapped on behind.  The Jehu was a Cape boy, and, to complete the cortege, my white pony Dop brought up the rear, ridden by a Zulu called Vellum.  This boy, formerly Dr. Jameson’s servant, remained my faithful attendant during the siege; beneath his dusky skin beat a heart of gold, and to him I could safely have confided uncounted treasures.  As the daylight increased so did the wind in violence; it was blowing a perfect gale, and the dust and sand were blinding.  We outspanned for breakfast twelve miles out, at the farm of a presumably loyal Dutchman; then on again, the wind by now having become a hurricane, aggravated by the intensely hot rays of a scorching sun.  I have never experienced such a miserable drive, and I almost began to understand the feelings of people who commit suicide.  However, the long day wore to a close, and at length we reached Setlagoli store and hotel, kept by a nice old Scotch couple, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser.  The latter was most kind, and showed us two nice clean rooms.  Here, anyway, I trusted to find a haven of rest.  This hope was of short duration, for Sergeant Matthews, in charge of the Mounted Police depot, soon came and told me natives reported several hundred Boers at Kraipann, only ten miles away.  He said they were lying in wait for the second armoured train, which was expected to pass to Mafeking that very night, carrying the howitzers so badly needed there, and some lyddite shells.  The sergeant opined the Boers would probably come on here if victorious, and loot the store, and he added that such marauding bands were more to be feared than the disciplined ones under Cronje.  He even suggested my leaving by moonlight that very night.