At the commencement of the war a party of Winterberg settlers, returning to their mountain farms from Fort Beaufort, were attacked here by the Kaffirs; two of them were killed, and their heads cut off and sent to the witch-doctor, Umlangeni; and two were dangerously wounded, one in seven places, who escaped only by remaining till dusk immersed up to his chin in the river among the reeds. The Pass is a rough and almost impracticable waggon road, winding down the mountain side through thick forest. A magnificent perpendicular krantz or precipice, on our right, of immense height, completely commanding the road below, was crowned by the 2nd and 6th and artillery, while two guns, guarded by a detachment of Cape Corps, cleared the way before us, throwing shell from the heights on our left down into the forest, in a nook of which, snugly embosomed, lay a Kaffir kraal, which, together with several scattered huts, the Fingoes set on fire as they scoured through the bush. This fertile valley, now totally deserted, was formerly the location of the Gaika chief, Hermanus, or Hermanus Matross, who, it will be recollected, was killed in his attack on Fort Beaufort. The Kaffirs, who had on our approach fled from the kraal, stood watching us from a rock, from which they were quickly driven by a shell, thrown over our heads right amongst them. After our warm march we luxuriated in a bathe in the river, on the banks of which, and close to the ruins of an old military post, we had made our bivouac; and having washed our own shirts, and dried them on the hot rocks, felt more comfortable than we had done for many days. Kaffir fires on the heights above Hermanus' Kloof and Fuller's Hoek smoked till dusk, when their ruddy light became visible, and blazed brightly all night. The following day we remained stationary, waiting for the supplies. The clouds came creeping down the hills all around, as if to envelop us, and ended in heavy rain, which continued steadily pouring down all the afternoon and evening. As we had not even patrol-tents, we sat crouching round the miserable fires in our steaming cloaks, mingling the smoke of our pipes with the heavy wreaths from the damp wood fires, which, circling and eddying round, filled our eyes with tears, giving us altogether, with our dripping forage-caps and damp clothes, a ridiculously forlorn aspect. After a final pull from the flask of "Cape-smoke," to keep out the cold, we spread our plaids on the sloppy ground, which, at all events, had the advantage of being much softer than usual, and with a few green branches stuck into the turf to keep the wet off our saddle pillows, rolled ourselves up, and, in defiance of the rain, slept till daybreak.