not promote comfort. Also, the mosquitoes and
sand-flies were more determined, and more hairy
than ever.

A prisoner brought in a day or two later,
said that the King of Burrabaloo was greatly
enraged at our taking and destroying Kahome,
as it is regarded here as a sort of Mecca. The
Woolahs are Mahomedans, and nearly every
house in Kahome had a Koran in it. But it
appeared that the town was not so completely
destroyed as we had imagined, and that the king
had sent his chief warriors and two of his sons
thither, and that they had orders to hold Kahome
against " a mile of white men."

On receiving this intelligence, the colonels
and the commodore determined to march at
once against Kahome. For, if the Woolahs
would stand and fight, we might give them a
severe lesson, and so end the war.

Once more the marines and blue-jackets were
brought in from their ships, and once more we
marched against Kahome. We found it defended
by a stockade about nine feet high, constructed of
small trees stuck some four feet into the ground;
a breastwork and a trench were behind this, so
that it was impossible to hit a man inside, unless
you were on higher ground and fired down on
him. There seemed to be a great many people in
the town. Our shot, shell, and rockets, did no
damage worth speaking of to the stockade and
earthwork, so it was determined to storm.
Sailors and marines formed the storming
party, supported by the 98th; the 99th in
reserve.

The sailors rushed up to the stockade, and, in
another minute, would have been over; when,
by one of those unfortunate accidents which can
never be explained, a bugle sounded to retire.
There was a moment of hesitation, the enemy
fired a heavy volley, and the first lieutenant of
the Valiant, and some twenty or thirty of the
sailors, fell.

The governor of Musseguiob was only a
spectator; but, when the gallant soldier saw the
men halting within ten yards of the place and
falling fast, he galloped up, jumped from his
horse, and cheered them on, hat in hand. Again
the advance was sounded, again they rushed
at the stockade. There being no means of
getting in, the sailors doubled round the side,
and fairly heaved one another over, rolling
into the midst of the Woolahs. The
flag-lieutenant of the Valiant was the first man in,
and immediately a Woolah clouted him on
the head with a clubbed musket. But a sailor
bayoneted the Woolah and helped up the
flag-lieutenant, not much the worse. The jolly old
commodore was the second man heaved over,
with— I think, a riding-whip in his hand, but of
this I am not certain— it may have been a sword.
Anyway, he did not use it, but quietly pointed
with it, desiring a sailor to stick a man who was
making himself unpleasant.

Once in, a scene began neither pleasant
to describe nor to witness. The sailors,
maddened by the loss of their officers and
comrades, dashed at the Woolahs with the
bayonet, and the Woolahs fought to the last, no
quarter being asked or given. In about five
minutes one hundred and fifty men were killed,
and every man fell where he stood. Among the
killed, were the two sons of the king, and several
chiefs. It was a gallantly contested action;
but, when once our men were in, the Woolahs
stood no chance.

When the sailors were advancing, an officer
of the 98th rode his horse straight up to the
stockade and hung his bridle over the top,
intending to jump in; but he was shot through
the leg, and his horse was shot dead. A black
sergeant of the 99th, before the advance was
annoyed by a man lying outside the stockade,
who kept taking pot shots at him; and, at last,
hit him in the calf of the leg. The black
sergeant's gun was empty, so he snatched one
from a comrade, rushed close to the stockade
through the thickest of the firing, and discharged
his gun full in his enemy's face. He then
returned to the ranks, and immediately fell from
pain and loss of blood. When the first
lieutenant of the Valiant was killed, a sailor
walked deliberately up and looked through the
stockade at the man who shot him. Then he
took his musket like a spear, with the bayonet
fixed, darted it through, and transfixed him.

The French do things we can never manage
to achieve. As soon as the action was over, our
French ally sent mules with panniers that
carried two men each, for the conveyance of the
wounded sailors. Then began the march home,
and although a decided victory had been gained,
it was not joyous, for we were taking our
dead and wounded with us. The sailors were
buried in the river next morning at eight
A.M., and very melancholy the dead march
sounded, as it came faintly over the broad,
silent river.

Sailors, I think, have more feeling and less
feeling than any other class of the community.
They were as bloodthirsty and remorseless
as the savages who opposed them while they
were fighting; but they were as tender and
careful as women over their sick comrades.
It was very touching to see them handing
their wounded from the Hastings to their own
boats when they arrived abreast the Valiant.
A great boatswain, with his eyes full of tears,
supported his messmate's head, and handled
him as tenderly as a mother would her child;
two hours before he had been yelling like a
savage inside the stockade, and driving his
bayonet through the body, or dashing out the
brains, of a Woolah.

And so the war ended, as it must end always
when organised and well-disciplined troops
encounter savages. The Woolahs were thrashed,
and their king was humbled. He promised to
behave better for the future, and to pay a fine.
He did behave a little better for a little while,
but he never paid the fine, and so the war is
ready to begin again.

Instead of the King of Burrabaloo, and his
Marabouts, and the tribe of Woolahs and the
town of Kahome, take any king on any part of