Loll Mahommed, his palanquin, and his men, were now not above two hundred yards from the fort.

Loll was straight before me, gesticulating and shouting to his men.

I fired--bang! ! ! I aimed so true, that one hundred and seventeen best Spanish olives were lodged in a lump in the face of the unhappy Loll Mahommed.

The wretch, uttering a yell the most hideous and unearthly I ever heard, fell back dead; the frightened bearers flung down the palanquin and ran--the whole host ran as one man: their screams might be heard for leagues.

"Tomasha, tomasha," they cried, "it is enchantment!" Away they fled, and the victory a third time was ours.