The Fight 
free from a smattering. Every few feet there 
gaped a large hole, where a three-pounder shell 
had penetrated. 
On the ground floor, in a room facing the creek, 
I found the man who had probably fired the 
shot that killed the lieutenant. A shell had 
carried away half his head. I counted fifteen 
bullet holes in his chest, caused, I think, by 
Maxim fire, whilst he had several more bullet 
wounds in his legs. Close by I found another 
native, also dead. 
I now joined Major Denny, of the Marines, 
who was in charge of the land forces, and up a 
boggy, muddy lane we slipped and staggered, 
the men firing volleys en route. The new seven- 
pounder belonging to the Protectorate was 
somehow dragged through the morass, until we 
came to an open spot, from which the path 
streaked away to the left. At the end of this 
path an old nigger, unarmed, walked towards us. 
The major shouted to him to come to us, motion- 
ing him at the same time that he was not to be 
afraid. Plucking up courage, the native walked 
into our midst. He was in a dreadful plight 
from some disease of the skin, and was handed 
over to the surgeon of the expedition for treat- 
ment. 
There was a corrugated-iron church fifty yards 
away on our right, so I left Denny and went off 
to investigate. I found a straight, broad creek 
: 61 
