Remembering the sergeant’s warning, I decided to start at once for Mosita, twenty-five miles farther away from the border, leaving Vellum to bring on any further intelligence when the sergeant, who had been away all night watching the Boers, returned.  We now traversed a fine open grassy country, very desolate, with no human habitation.  The only signs of life were various fine “pows"[24] stalking sedately along, or “korans,” starting up with their curious chuckle rather like the note of a pheasant, or a covey of guinea-fowl scurrying across the road and losing themselves in the waving grass.  Meanwhile the driver kept up an incessant conversation with the mules, and I found myself listening to his varying epithets with stupefied curiosity.  During that four hours’ drive we only met two natives and one huge herd of cattle, which were being driven by mounted Kaffirs, armed with rifles, to Mosita, our destination, where it was hoped they would be out of the way of marauding Boers.  At last we reached the native stadt of Mosita, where our appearance created great excitement.  Crowds of swarthy men and youths rushed out to question our driver as to news.  The latter waxed eloquent in words and gestures, imitating even the noise of the big gun, which seemed to produce great enthusiasm among these simple folk.  Their ruling passion, I afterwards found, was hatred and fear of the Boers, and their dearest wish to possess guns and ammunition to join the English in driving them back and to defend their cattle.  In the distance we could see the glimmering blue waters of a huge dam, beyond which was the farm and homestead of a loyal colonial farmer named Keeley, whose hospitality I had been told to seek.  Close by were the barracks, with seven or eight occupants, the same sort of depot as at Setlagoli.  I asked to see Mrs. Keeley, and boldly announced we had come to beg for a few nights’ lodging.  We were most warmly received and made welcome.  The kindness of the Keeleys is a bright spot in my recollections of those dark weeks.  Mrs. Keeley herself was in a dreadful state of anxiety, as she had that very day received a letter from her husband in Mafeking, whither he had proceeded on business, to say he found he must remain and help defend the town; his assistance was urgently needed there in obtaining information respecting the Boers from the natives, whose language he talked like his own.  She had five small children, and was shortly expecting an addition to her family, so at last I had found someone who was more to be pitied than myself.  She, on the other hand, told me our arrival was a godsend to her, as it took her thoughts off her troubles.

Affairs in the neighbourhood seemed in a strange confusion.  Mr. Keeley was actually the Veldtcornet of the district, an office which in times of peace corresponded to that of a magistrate.  In reality he was shut up in Mafeking, siding against the Dutch.  The surrounding country was peopled entirely, if sparsely, by Dutch farmers and natives, the former of whom at first and before our reverses professed sympathy with the English; but no wonder the poor wife looked to the future with dread, fearful lest British disasters would be followed by Boer reprisals.