The stench was abominable, and the water was nearly as much tainted as the atmosphere. The liquid mud we had drank the day before was, in comparison, a healthy and agreeable fluid. However, there was no help for it, and few, if any, refused the noxious fluid. This climate must certainly be an extraordinarily healthy one; for, in spite of hardship and privation, of wet, exposure, bad water, and want of stimulants, the health of the troops has been unexceptionally good. Only once, at Gazoo, have we had threatenings of dysentery, and this passed away as soon as we moved forward. I question if we had a single man in hospital upon the day of the fight, which is certainly most providential, considering the extreme paucity of medical comforts, and the very few dhoolies available for the sick and wounded. Before daybreak we again started—as the place upon which we were encamped was within range of the enemy’s guns—and marched back to this, the camping-ground of the preceding afternoon. The 2d brigade arrived soon after daylight, and took up their camp a little in the rear of the position in which we had passed the night. Our baggage came on with us, and we had now the satisfaction of being in our tents again, and of getting what we greatly needed—food. After breakfast I rode over to the camp of the 2d brigade, and then, leaving my horse, went down into the ravine, where fatigue-parties were engaged in the work of burial. The scene was very shocking. In one or two narrow gorges in which they had been pent up, fifty or sixty dead bodies lay almost piled together. Very ghastly were their wounds. Here was a man nearly blown to pieces with a shell; near him another the upper part of whose head had been taken off by a rocket; then again, one who lay as if in a peaceful sleep, shot through the heart; next to him one less fortunate, who, by the nature of his wound, must have lingered in agony for hours through the long night before death brought a welcome relief. Two of them only still lived, and these were carried into camp; but their wounds were of so desperate a nature that it was probable they could not live many hours. Strangely enough, there were no wounds of a trifling nature. All who had not been mortally wounded had either managed to crawl away, or had been removed by their friends. With a very few exceptions it was a charnel-place of dead, whose gaudy silk and coloured robes were in ghastly contrast with their stiffened and contorted attitudes. Among the few survivors was the Commander-in-chief of Theodore’s army, who was carried to the camp. He, like the others we were able to succour, expressed his gratitude for our kindness, and said the affair had been a complete surprise to them. They saw what was apparently a train of baggage without any protection whatever coming up the valley; and they had not noticed our small body of infantry on the brow. They sallied out therefore, anticipating little or no resistance. It certainly speaks well for the