In the afternoon we pitched our tents on a burning plain; and never did I enjoy anything so much as a bathe that evening in the gloomy crocodile-suggesting-stream, called Sunday River, whose sluggish water, overhung by deep forest, scarcely moved the twigs that dipped into it. After this refresher, we all dined together at the little lonely inn; the rooms of which were covered, from the ceiling to the floor, with the skins of lions and tigers; shot, as the host assured us, "within sight of the house." During the night, my tent pole, which had already shown rickety symptoms, gave way from the overstraining of the canvass, tightened by the dew, and down came the wet tent on our faces, nearly smothering C----n, my companion in misfortune. We cut an odd figure in the moonlight, in our shirts and red woollen caps, creeping from under the fallen tent, and in that airy costume clearing away the wreck, turning in again between our blankets on the open plain; where, at the risk of being walked over by orderly officers and stray horses, we slept soundly until _réveillé_, when awaking, I found every article of clothing thoroughly saturated with dew; in spite of which, it was impossible to resist laughing at the autumnal appearance of my comrade, whose nightcap, hair, and eyebrows were heavily loaded with sparkling dewdrops. After about an hour's marching, the sun rose, and we met a returning party of traders going down to the Bay with several waggon-loads of skins, escorted by about a score of naked Fingoes. In the forenoon we arrived at Commando Kraal, where was an encampment of Fingoe Levies, stationed at the entrance of the dangerous Addo-bush, in which, a short time previously, one or two rencounters with the Kaffirs had taken place. A small party of them joined us, armed with flint-locks and assegais, and dressed in the most grotesque manner possible.