The Basuto method of carrying news is as follows. In certain villages, at considerable distances apart, there are men whose business it is to act as "criers," because they possess the art of throwing their powerful voices through long distances. In each district, certain spots are selected from which to call. These spots are chosen because of their natural advantages. When any important news has to be sent through the country, a "crier," or Mohale or a Marumo, as he is called (literally "the brave man of the assegai"), goes to the top of one of these chosen places, and shouts his news to the village in the distance, where dwells the next "crier." It is desirable to call at night, as the voice carries so much more distinctly. Crier No. 2, on hearing the voice, listens, perhaps asks a question or two, and then sets off at a trot to the next spot, from whence he calls to Crier No. 3, and so on. In this way the news travels with astonishing rapidity. Long distances are covered in a few hours. News of battle is never sent until after sunset. During the fighting in Natal and in the Stormberg, the Basuto invariably heard of any big engagement before we did, though we were possessed of telegraphic communication. Of course, I am only referring here to South Basutoland. As far as I know, our headquarters was all along in direct communication with the Generals, and probably received information before other parts of the country. Often in the evenings, when there is, for South Africa, a great stillness over all, the silence will be broken by the call of one human voice to another. It is by no means unmusical, and there is nothing harsh about it. Somehow the sound seems fitted to the scene, part of the weird strangeness of one's surroundings. I wish my pen were gifted enough to describe it properly, so as to bring the picture before you--the dim twilight; the cool after the great heat of the day; the tiny blinking fires here and there on the dark, frowning mountains from numberless hamlets; the voice of nature hushed to a dreamy murmur; then the deep drawn-out call from one village to another, arousing countless echoes from the kloofs below, or the steady rise and fall of many voices chanting in the minor key some favourite heathen song as the singers sit round their homes in the refreshing coolness of a Basutoland summer night. One is filled with a great wonder. Life and oneself seem so little, the world so vast, and eternity the vastness beyond all words. People living in such a country are naturally emotional, and very impressionable, with a firm belief in the supernatural. Their music, too, if such it can be called, is in the minor key, though even that does not have a lastingly depressing effect upon them. They are just like big, undisciplined children, full of "moods" and impulses, and easily influenced by kindness. CHAPTER VIII. NATIVE DOCTORS--THOKOLOSI--MOLOI--WARFARE--PROVERBS.