Colonel Somerset then moved with his division to a place where wood and water offered the means of a pleasant bivouac, and the troops were about to open their haversacks and turn their horses, knee-haltered, out to grass, when Lieutenant Bisset, Cape Mounted Rifles, who had gone out with Lieutenant Armstrong, of the same corps, to reconnoitre (the latter having observed a few Kaffirs skulking near the bush, and surmised that more were in the neighbourhood), rode back with the intelligence that, his horse having carried him up the slope of a hill, he had found himself just above a body of about six hundred Kaffirs. These savages, having had a long march, were halting on their way, preparatory, perhaps, to attacking the waggons, which they did not know had passed through Commatjes Bush; or, it may be, they had been stayed in their progress by the sound of the shells thrown into the kloof, to rout the "breakfast-party," two hours before. There they were, however, a regular "clump of Kaffirs." Down the slope flew the fiery steed, which could only be guided, not stopped, in its career, and right past the dark mass was borne the rider, while they, bewildered at the unexpected sight of the "wild horseman" in that sequestered valley, never moved, but gazed in silence at him as he sped past them. "Wearing round," in sailor's phrase, his impetuous and hard-mouthed horse, he managed to bring it up at the halting-place of the division, where he reported the near proximity of the enemy to Colonel Somerset, who, lifting has cap from his head, gave three hearty cheers and shouted to Major Gibsone (7th Dragoon Guards), "Return carbines, draw swords, and charge!"