"In the middle of this great cloud," says Bruce, "we began to perceive, indistinctly, part of the horsemen, then a much greater number, and the figure of the horses more accurately defined, which came moving majestically upon us, sometimes partially seen, at other times concealed by being wrapped up in clouds and darkness; the whole made a most extraordinary, but truly picturesque appearance." The whole of Powussen's army now appeared; they advanced, riding forward and backward with great violence, and appeared to be diverting themselves rather than attacking their enemy. After a most desperate battle, the king's troops fell back under the hill of Serbraxos; but on the right the rebel forces were obliged to retire. Near three thousand men perished on the king's side, and among them nearly one hundred and eighty young men of the best families in the kingdom. The enemy's loss amounted to about nine thousand. The king now received the compliments of his troops, and a most barbarous ceremony, which is still customary in Abyssinia, ensued. Each man who had killed an enemy appeared with a certain part of the man he had slain hanging upon the wrist of his right hand, and, after making a speech, in which he extolled himself as the greatest of heroes, he threw down his barbarous trophy before his chief. The account which Bruce gave of this ceremony was disbelieved; the reason, as usual, being, that it was a savage custom which had not been described before; but Pearce, the English sailor, left in Abyssinia by Lord Valentia, confirms it. He says, in his letter published by the Literary Society of Bombay in 1817, "I saw and counted eighteen hundred and sixty-five of these inhuman trophies brought before the ras after not more than seven hours' fight." Mr. Coffin, Lord Valentia's valet, and who remained in Abyssinia from the time of Lord V.'s departure until the year 1827, has verbally informed us that he has himself seen upward of two thousand of these trophies heaped before the ras. "For my own part," says Bruce, "tired to death, low in spirits, and execrating the hour that brought me to such a country, I almost regretted that I had not died that day in the field of Serbraxos. I went to bed, refusing to go to Ozoro Esther, who had sent for me. I could not help lamenting how well my apprehensions had been verified, that some of our companions at last night's supper, so anxious for the appearance of morning, should never see its evening. Four of them, all young men and of great hopes, were then lying dead and mangled on the field; two others, besides Engedan, had been also wounded. I had, however, a sound and refreshing sleep. I think madness would have been the consequence if this necessary refreshment had failed me; such was the horror I had conceived of my present situation."