The first brigade was ordered to advance at daybreak. The Commander-in-chief and his head-quarters were to move with the second brigade at ten o’clock, so as to allow the baggage of the first brigade to get first to the bottom of the ravine. The first brigade were to march to within two or three miles of Magdala. The second were to encamp upon the river, and to march on early the next morning. There was then not the slightest intention on the part of Sir Robert Napier that any attack should take place, and indeed, as I have before said, it was considered very probable that we should await the arrival of the troops hurrying up from behind before any assault was made upon Magdala. However, I determined to go on early, as it was quite possible that something would take place, and I had afterwards good reason to congratulate myself upon having so done, as several others who had not started until ten o’clock lost the exciting scene at the end of the day. Sir Charles Staveley was in command of the advance, and Colonel Phayre, as quartermaster-general of the army, went on in front with six companies of the Bombay and Madras Sappers to prepare the road, should it be necessary. At half-past five the next morning (Good Friday) we were in motion, and at once entered upon the steep descent to the Bachelo. It is a ravine of about the same depth as the Djedda, namely, 3800 feet, and the road, as made by Theodore, is a wonderfully good one. It is shorter, but at the same time scarcely so precipitous as parts of that down to the Djedda, and can hardly have presented quite so many difficulties, that is, there were fewer places where the basalt had to be cut through with blasting-tools. Still, it was a fatiguing descent to the Bachelo, and the sun, when it rose, came down with tremendous power. The men had had but a scanty supply of water the night before, and hardly any before starting; they therefore looked forward eagerly for the welcome stream at the bottom. It turned out, however, a disappointment, for although there was an abundance of water, the river being eighty yards wide, and nearly waist-deep, the water was of a consistency and colour which would have rendered it perfectly undrinkable except to men suffering from great thirst. I do not think I ever saw such muddy water in a stream. It was the colour of coffee with milk in it, and perfectly opaque with mud. It looked like nothing so much as the water in a dirty puddle in a London street, just as it has been churned up by the wheels of a passing omnibus. However, there was no help for it, and, dirty as it was, everyone had a drink, and the soldiers filled their canteens, for it was probable that no more water would be obtainable during the day.