It was on the 8th or 9th of March that Bruce met Ras Michael at Azazo. This man, feared by almost every one in Abyssinia, was dressed in a coarse, dirty cloth, wrapped about him like a blanket, with a sort of table-cloth folded about his head: he was lean, old, had sore eyes, was apparently much fatigued, and sat stooping upon a favourite mule, that carried him speedily without shaking him. As Bruce saw the place where the ras was to alight, which was marked by four cross lances, having a cloth thrown over them like a temporary tent, he did not speak to him; but a Greek priest told the ras who Bruce was, and that he had come on purpose to meet him. The soldiers then made way, and Bruce, advancing, kissed his hand; after which Michael pointed to a place where he was to sit down. "A thousand complaints," says Bruce, "and a thousand orders, came immediately before him from a thousand mouths, and we were nearly smothered; but he took no notice of me, nor did he ask for any of his family." A few minutes after the young king came, passing at some distance: Michael was then led out of his tent to the door, where he was supported standing. As the king passed by he pulled off the towel that was upon his head, and then returned to his seat in the tent. "All the town was in a hurry and confusion; thirty thousand men were encamped upon the Kahha; and the first horrid scene Michael exhibited there was causing the eyes of twelve of the chiefs of the Galla, whom he had taken prisoners, to be pulled out, and the unfortunate sufferers turned out to the fields, to be devoured at night by the hyænas." Two of these poor creatures Bruce took under his care; they both recovered, and from them he learned many particulars of their wild country and rude manners. The next day, which was the 10th, the army marched into the town in triumph, and the ras placed himself at the head of the troops of Tigré. He was bareheaded, with long hair as white as snow; over his shoulders and down his back hung a cloak of black velvet with a silver fringe. A boy at his right stirrup held a silver wand about five feet and a half long. Behind him, all the soldiers who had killed an enemy and taken his spoils had their lances and firelocks ornamented with their horrid trophies, and also with small shreds of scarlet cloth, one piece for every man he had slain. "Remarkable among all this savage multitude was the doorkeeper of the ras. This man, always well-armed and well-mounted, had followed the wars of his master from his infancy, and had been so fortunate in this kind of single combat, that his whole lance and javelin, horse and person, were covered over with the shreds of scarlet cloth. At the last battle of Fagitta, this inhuman being is said to have slain eleven men with his own hand: most of them probably being wretched, weary, naked fugitives, mounted upon tired horses, or else flying on foot."