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 



