country.  Leaving our horses in the native stadt, we proceeded on foot to the scene of the disaster.  There was not much to see, after all—­merely a pilot armoured engine, firmly embedded its whole length in the gravel.  Next to this, an ordinary locomotive, still on the rails, riddled on one side with bullets, and on the other displaying a gaping aperture into the boiler, which told its own tale.  Then came an armoured truck—­H.M.’s Mosquito—­that I had seen leaving Mafeking so trim and smart, but now battered with shot; and lastly another truck, which had been carrying the guns.  This had been pushed back into a culvert, and presented a dilapidated appearance, with its front wheels in the air.  The whole spectacle was forlorn and eerie.  All the time I gave cursory glances right and left, to make sure no Boers were prowling about, and I should not have been surprised to have seen an unkempt head bob up and ask us our business.  But all remained as silent as the grave.  Swarms of locusts were alone in possession, and under the engine and carriages the earth was a dark brown moving mass, with the stream of these jumping, creeping things.  I had soon gratified my curiosity, and persuaded my companion, who was busy photographing, also to leave this desolate spot.

The Boers continued to ride roughshod over the land, commandeering oxen and cattle, putting up to public auction such Government properties as they had seized at the different railway-stations, and employing hundreds of Kaffirs to tear up the railway-line.  Our enemies were perfectly secure in the knowledge that no help could come for months, and the greater number believed it would never come at all, and that the “Roineks” were being cut to pieces in the South.  They openly stated there would be no more railway traffic, but that in future trade and transit would be carried on by transport riding—­i.e., by ox-waggon, their favourite amusement and occupation.  In the meantime the cry of the loyal colonists went up from all sides:  “How much longer can it last?”

After a few days Mr. P. duly returned from Mafeking, having had a risky but successful trip in and out of the town.  He reported it all well, and that the inhabitants were leading a mole existence, owing to the constant shelling.  The Boers evidently preferred dropping in shells at a safe distance to risking their lives by a storming attack.  With great pride Mr. P. showed me a basket of carrier pigeons, by which he assured me I could now communicate swiftly and safely with the garrison.  He was even kind enough to send off one at once on a trial trip, with a short note signed with his name, informing Colonel Baden-Powell that I was at Setlagoli, and that I would be able to forward any letters or information they might wish to send.  I had never had any experience of such birds, and was delighted to think how much quicker they would travel than old Boaz.  When the pigeon was released, however, I must confess it