provisions 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