be caught by a bramble suddenly between the eyes, or to be nearly borne over the crupper of the horse by a stiff bough under the chin. At last, just when we had arrived at the conclusion that we must have missed our road, and that it would be better to draw off the way and pitch our tent until daybreak, we saw the camp-lights in the distance, and, after another mile’s travelling, arrived here, as I began this letter by saying, at half-past nine o’clock. ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Ashangi Lake, March 19th. I finished my last letter on the night of my arrival at Mahkan, very tired, very hungry, and a good deal out of temper. We halted at Mahkan on the 17th, as the animals imperatively needed a day’s rest. There can be no question that these very long marches are a mistake in every way. Many of the animals which started at seven in the morning did not get in until ten or eleven o’clock next day; and fatigue of this sort, together with an almost starvation diet, is too much for any animals. The number which actually died upon the road was very small—only three or four, I am told; but then the animals have had a rest at Antalo, and have still some little strength left. I have no hesitation, however, in saying that three or four such marches as this would find the great majority of the transport-train animals _hors de combat_. It is terribly fatiguing too for the troops. Nor is anything gained by it. The old proverb, “the more haste the less speed,” is amply verified. We did fifteen miles, and then had to halt a day; whereas had we halted at a spring at the foot of the steep descent, six miles from Mahkan, the animals could have easily marched some miles beyond Mahkan on the following day. Fifteen miles over a flat country is one thing, fifteen miles over a succession of mountains, with a rifle, sixty rounds of ammunition, and etceteras, is quite another; and I sincerely trust that we shall not again attempt such a tremendous march as this.