Before dawn we entered the belt of forest separating us from the other brigade, and met with no obstruction; the bush was still as death, and at the top of the path leading out of it lay the corpses of the Kaffirs killed on the 14th. The stench was intolerable. It was impossible to remove them, and as they lay right along the centre of the narrow track we had to file singly past them. A few yards further on lay the clean picked skeleton of the Serjeant of the 12th, killed at the same time, which was recognised by the fragments of his red coat, torn to pieces, and trampled in the dirt by the hyænas and jackals, which invariably attack white flesh in preference to black. Just at the edge of the wood on the open, lay many dead Kaffirs, and the putrifying carcases of four horses shot on the above occasion; we were nearly all ill from the continued insufferable stench, and hurried along to escape it. We now stood on the N.W. corner of the Horseshoe, and on the site of the principal Kaffir village; the ground was covered with the remains of burnt and levelled huts; native utensils and ornaments lay about, burnt dogs and dead horses, and here and there the corpse of a Kaffir or Tottie, with hundreds of flattened bullets and fragments of exploded shells that had torn up the rocks around. In front of the position was a line of small stone breastworks, ingeniously constructed of loose rocks, built up about three or four feet high, and from three feet, to twenty, in length, invisible at musket range, on account of their similarity to the rocky ground on which they stood.