It is said that Trumpeter's Drift is so called from a trumpeter of the 21st Light Dragoons having been lost in the river one dark night. It is a small post about twenty miles from Graham's Town. The little barrack for the soldiers and the officer commanding, faces inwards upon a quadrangle, and makes but a dull abode, the windows looking into the little square, and the air being admitted through loop-holes in the outward walls. This gives the quarters a dreary appearance; but, in a land of savages determined to annoy us whenever they dare, and in whom no faith should be placed, prevention is better than cure. Fort Peddie, from a distance, reminds one of Cooper's descriptions of groups of buildings erected by settlers in the prairies of America. The Fingo huts scattered all round favour the delusion, especially at night, when dark figures stalk to and fro, dimly seen in the light of their fires, and the chant I have endeavoured to describe rises and falls on the air. It was worthy of English philanthropy to rescue the Fingoes from their captivity, under their hard taskmasters, the Kaffirs; but their idleness is almost incredible. It is true that on occasion they are able assistants to the Government agents in rescuing stolen cattle; but for this they are amply rationed. The Missionaries are indefatigable in teaching them their catechism; but no attempt is made to fit the women for service. Idle they are, and idle they will be; and we foster their idleness by protecting them with troops, while they absolutely refuse to milk the cows, unless they want money at the moment. As Fort Peddie is on the eastern side of the Great Fish River, which is frequently impassable from its swollen state, we were often without the comforts of butter, rice, flour, wine, etc. The mutton, of the Cape breed, is indifferent, and the beef execrable. The bread was of the coarsest description. Poultry could only be obtained, when the Fingoes took the trouble to catch their fowls and sell them.