The next morning, on the order being given for the men to fall in for roll-call, no one stirred. Sergeant Waine, who had been a non-commissioned officer in the 44th, but broken and discharged for bad conduct, to whom I had given the stripes in consideration of his regimental knowledge, stepped up to me, and said that the men wanted grog served out to them before they would budge, and if they did not get it, would return to Port Elizabeth. I did not reply to him, but, getting on my horse, rode up to the men and asked if they had enlisted with the intention of obeying orders or not. No one replied; and giving the word to fall in, they sullenly did so. The Hottentot drivers inspanned the bullocks, and I repeated “Forward!” in a tone that seemed strange even to myself, so authoritative and full of energy did it sound in my own ear. All obeyed, and we started on the march; scarcely, however, had we entered the bush before a shot was fired. I saw from the smoke where the discharge came from, so, riding to the spot, inquired who had fired. Sergeant Waine came to the front and said he had. I reminded him of the order which had been given that no firing was to take place under any consideration, unless I or Lieutenant Pilkington gave the command. He muttered something unintelligible in reply; and I repeated the order aloud, to be heard by all around, that if any man discharged a firelock without orders I would have him punished as severely as the circumstances allowed. I then rode on again towards the head of the column, when another shot was fired, and this time the bullet came whistling very close to my head. On looking round I saw that the shot was fired from the same spot again, around which the men were now gathered in a cluster. I felt that the crisis had come, so loosening my pistol in the holster-pipe (an Adams’ revolver, one of the first made), I rode back and asked who fired. Waine replied he did. “Who gave the order?” said I. “A magpie,” he answered. I called out for Sergeant-major Herridge, the late police officer, who had quite recovered, and had become a most efficient subordinate. “Take Waine’s firelock from him,” I said. This was quickly done. “Now tie him up to that gun-carriage and give him three dozen.” Waine bawled out to the men, and asked whether they would see him flogged like a nigger. Before they could reply I drove my horse amidst them, revolver in hand, and cried out that the first man who opened his mouth, or moved, I would blow his brains out, at the same time pointing the muzzle to some of their heads, as I saw they were more or less inclined to disobey my injunctions. Sergeant Herridge was a powerful man, and Waine was soon tied up; but there being no “cat” to flog him with, I ordered it to be done with his belt. And well was it laid on. The fellow bellowed lustily, and I asked the men what they thought of such a blubbering cur. Happy Jack now began to cry “Shame.”