“Yes,” he continued, “we fought hard; but half our men were killed, and the Nagas were there in hundreds. If we could have kept them off till dark we might have got away; but they surrounded us, and after Kama Ram was shot there was no one to lead us, and we got broken up and scattered. He told us to leave him there and fight our way back to warn the Sahib at Kohima; but how could we leave him? We carried him away, firing and then retreating. And so we got away, a few of us; but Kama Ram was heavy—was he not a big man?—and he said, ‘Oh, brothers, let me alone to die! I am dying now, and you must save your lives and get back to Kohima and help the Sahib; they will go there. You cannot save me. Put me where they cannot find me, as they will take my head.’ And then he died. We hid his body well, and then came on, and only two of us are here, and the Nagas are now on their way; they wait to take the heads. By daybreak they will come.” The little Nepalese woman crept quietly away. Her child was sleeping in a corner of the over-crowded room, and she sat by him with her head turned against the wall and cried not loudly but most bitterly. “What is the use of crying?” asked the other women in high-pitched trembling voices. “We shall be killed too in the morning.” “Yes,” said the wounded man, “we shall all be killed. There are thousands of them coming on us.” Then came the quiet question from a broad-faced rosy Naga woman— “And my man—did you see him?” Without the slightest sign of sympathy or feeling the curt answer came— “Your man was shot down amongst the first that fell.” Without a word she went away. None of the women had any sympathy to waste upon a Naga woman, even though her husband had been a constable and she had left her home and people to live with him. No one attempted to detain her, or said a kind word as she passed. Following her out, I asked her why she went away, and warned her not to go. Her child would probably be killed by the first Angamis that she met, because her husband was well known. “They will not harm the child. I must go and find my husband,” she replied, and passed on into the darkness and the rain. The chance of finding him alive urged her to hurry on. If he had fallen in the first attack, she knew the place, and made her way straight for it. But perhaps he was not killed. He might have been one of those who had rolled down the steep khud from the narrow pathway where they fell, and she would find him wounded, but safely hidden, at the bottom of the khud. If he was dead, she might yet be in time to save his head and bury him, and hide him from the cruel hands of her savage countrymen. The Nagas met her on her way and jeered at her, asking her where her Sepoy husband was; but still they let her pass, and on she went. Who can describe the horrors of that journey!