Our only communication with the world was by means of our faithful Fingoes, who, assuming the Kaffir characteristics, made their way down to Beaufort by secret bush paths under cover of night. On these occasions, which, except on emergencies, were only once a month, the "post party," equipped for the road, came at nightfall to our little whitewashed mess room for the mail; their tall, dusky figures filling the doorway as they stood folded in their blankets; the old chief, Umkye, a fine fellow of six feet three, minus an eye, receiving the mail-bag with many injunctions about its safety. Lingering at the door, the party invariably cast wistful glances at the bottles on the table, when, perhaps, some one, egged on by the rest, would venture to say, with assumed gravity, "Plenty cold night, Baas," and then (as all Kaffirs and Fingoes do) put the end of his thumb between his teeth, in a half deprecatory half-frightened manner. But finding the hint not taken, would return to the attack,--"Kleine sopie goot für de brieffe" (A little drop will be good for the mail). The thumb in the mouth again; "Banyou, Amakosa in de padt, Baas; ein bidtge sopie make big heart" (plenty of Kaffirs in the way, sir; a little dram, &c. &c.). The glistening eyes and animated expression that accompanied the pouring out the coveted dram, and the gusto with which the last drop was drained, would have made a fine subject for the pencil. Their dislike to this duty was extreme; and unless old Umkye, whose authority none of them dared dispute, were of the party, ten to one the big hearts would get so small on approaching the bush, that they were pretty sure to turn back. On one occasion we found out that the rascals had only gone a few hundred yards from the Fort, and sitting down under the shelter of some rocks, indulged themselves with a pipe for a couple of hours, declaring, when they returned, that they had fallen in with Kaffirs, and barely escaped with their lives. Their escape, however, not being viewed in the light they had anticipated, they were consigned to the guard-room for the remainder of the night, and in the morning, their foot-prints having been tracked, they were told, very much to their surprise (never suspecting white men of tracing spoor), where they had been and what they had done, and were also given to understand that they would be kept prisoners till nightfall, when, though they had shown themselves rascals, they would graciously be permitted the undeserved privilege of proving they were not "amafazi" (women), and would be allowed to set off again. But they had really several narrow escapes, having been once or twice attacked and dispersed by war parties, and owing their escape solely to the darkness of the night and their intimate knowledge of the bush paths. Their journey this month with our letters for the English mail was the last for poor old Umkye; the post-party was waylaid by the Kaffirs, and he was killed; the rest,