1909 THE DOWNFALL OF THE DERVISHES How many hundreds, nay, thousands, of these wounded Dervishes ultimately succumbed to the fearful injuries inflicted by the “manstopping” bullet, no one, I suppose, will ever know accurately; but one may be tolerably sure that behind the hills many a poor creature lay down to die.

In handing Captain Smeaton’s glasses back, I noticed that one of the mules harnessed to the Maxims had just been struck by a bullet, which passed clean through the animal’s neck.

The wounded mule, by name Tommy, was evidently quite a pet amongst the gunners, and though it looked rather anxious and depressed, it dragged the Maxim with unabated vigour.

In places, as we marched along, the ground was strewn thickly with bodies, as the fire had struck the enemy down in little heaps. In one spot I saw a ring of nine men and three horses, all evidently slain by the explosion of a single shell, One Dervish, as I passed, raised his face to mine with a ghastly smile, as if deprecating our vengeance, and throwing his gzdéeh on one side, displayed an awful wound. A shell splinter had struck the miser-