We then followed as rapidly as possible, skirting the swamp. I saw on this battlefield the only case I can remember of a native putting love before fear or danger.

In a bare spot my comrades had just swept over, I passed a woman seated on the ground by a dead chief, quietly crying with his head in her lap, while the bullets whizzed round her, sometimes only missing her by inches. A little later on, when re-crossing the battlefield, the only signs left were bloodstained spots here and there, marking the place where the victims of the fight had been cut up to furnish a banquet in the evening to the victorious survivors. Our disgust may be better imagined than expressed, for we found that the camp followers and friendlies made no difference in this respect between the killed and wounded on their own side or the enemy's.