We joined our hospitable friends of the 91st at their soup and grog; and at tattoo rode back to our bivouac, in considerable fear of being shot by our own sentries as we approached. Pushing our way through the dark shadowy thickets towards the illuminated centre, we stood in a sylvan Robin Hood scene, bright fires blazed in every direction in the warm-looking wood, lighting up the grey branches that met overhead, and contrasting beautifully with the cold clear moonlight that silvered the tree tops, through which appeared glimpses of the starry sky. The horses, with drooping heads, stood sleeping in the ruddy light; the swarthy bearded Boers, in their red woolen nightcaps, and our men in their blankets, sat smoking together by the fires. Soon after we had lain down to sleep by the fire, rolled in our plaids, a moaning wind rushed through the trees; the moonlight vanished; a few heavy drops came pattering on the leaves; and presently the rain poured steadily down upon us. We slept however, for some hours, till thoroughly awakened by the cold, and by the wet which trickled down our necks, we got up one after another, from the soaked ground. Drawing my drenched plaid over my shoulders, for my horse had the benefit of the blanket, I sat, for the rest of the night, by the fire, in the steaming circle of soldiers, smoking my pipe and watching the big drops that fell hissing on the glowing logs as the fitful gusts sent them rattling down from the trees. At daylight I mounted my shivering horse, and with a well soaked saddle under me, and as stiff as a poker from the wet and cold, rode over to Colonel Napier for orders. The Column was just falling in for the march, and I was to remain with fifteen men, in ambuscade for the Kaffirs who might come, as was their constant practice, to search the deserted encampment. We entered the little belt of wood, within pistol shot of the fires, and the Division moved off. Soon after its last section had disappeared over the furthest ridge, the ground was covered with enormous vultures, boom-vogels, black and white crows, and secretary birds, which stalked about within a very few yards of us. The boom-vogel is a very dark-plumaged vulture, like a turkey cock, with red wattles and a bare brown neck; they go in pairs only, and generally accompany a flock of the common vulture. After two or three hours useless watching in a wet ditch, in wetter clothes, and on a bitter cold day, our zeal began to evaporate; and as the Kaffirs did not appear, and a look-out, whom I had sent to the top of the highest tree, reported nothing moving on the plain as far as he could see, we came out of our hiding-place; the birds, very much astonished at our appearance, took themselves off, and we marched back by a little hollow to our comrades in the wood.